Page 239 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
Me.
That she’s still here.
That I still want her.
That nothing, nothing, has taken this from us.
She responds immediately.
Of course she does.
She always does.
Her hands come up, gripping me, pulling me closer, her body leaning into mine like she’s been waiting for this, like she’s been holding her breath for days and I’ve just finally given her air.
The sound she makes, soft, broken, needing, goes straight through me. And I lose whatever was left of control. My hand moves, over her throat.
I hesitate for half a second, just long enough to feel the fear try to claw its way back in, and then I close my hand gently around her neck.
Not tight.
Not forcing.
Just holding.
And the way she reacts, the way her breath catches, the way her body leans into it instead of pulling away, the way her mouth opens against mine like she’s been waiting for this exact touch, that’s it.
That’s the moment everything breaks.
Because she’s not fragile.
She’s not breaking.
She’s responding.
She’s mine.
And she wants me.
The kiss is brutal in its need.
I devour her mouth like a man who’s been drowning and she’s the first breath of air in days. My tongue slides deep, claiming every inch, tasting the soft, desperate sounds she makes as shemelts into me right there on the lounge-room floor. My hand stays wrapped around her throat, not squeezing, just owning the wild flutter of her pulse under my palm, reminding me she’s alive, she’s here, she’smine.
I pull back only enough to growl against her lips, voice low and raw. “You want me to take you, wife?”
“Yes,” she breathes, no hesitation, eyes locked on mine.
That single word shatters the last of my restraint.
I surge forward, hands gripping her hips as I lift her off the floor. She’s still fully dressed, shirt rumpled, pants still on, and the feel of fabric between us only sharpens the hunger. She wraps her legs around my waist instinctively, arms around my neck, and I carry her through the apartment with long, purposeful strides, past the couch, down the short hallway, straight into the bedroom. The door kicks shut behind us with my heel.
I lower her onto the bed with controlled force, her back hitting the mattress hard enough to make her gasp. I climb over her immediately, caging her in, still fully clothed while she lies beneath me in everything she’s wearing. For a long moment I just look at her, flushed cheeks, parted lips, the faint rise and fall of her chest under her shirt. Then I start stripping her with firm, demanding hands.
I grip the hem of her shirt and yank it up and off in one rough pull, tossing it aside. My palms slide over her bare skin, possessive and rough, cupping her breasts and squeezing just hard enough to make her arch and moan. I pinch her nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling them firmly until they tighten into hard peaks and she whimpers. My mouth follows, teeth grazing her throat, sucking marks into the skin just below her ear until she gasps, then lower, biting down on the curve of her shoulder hard enough to sting before soothing it with my tongue.
I don’t linger softly.
I move with purpose, with the edge of the hunger I’ve been choking back for days.
