Page 96 of Secret Husband
“Lauren, we have not talked in a long time. You have not wanted that and I understood why. I hurt you greatly. I tried to reach out after I returned from playing in Russia, but you blocked me, so I figured you weren’t ready to forgive. But still …” I paused, seeking the words. “I needed to see you doing what you do best. My silver-eyed skater.”
She seemed to be searching for a response. “But … why?”
“Because it helped me feel closer to you.”
Myriad emotions chased each other over her face: sadness, disbelief, awareness, anger, before settling on something more carnal.
She reached for me—or rather the Rudolph nose on my sweater—and pulled me close. I went easy. I always would for this woman.
Our mouths crashed into each other, and my one, singular thought was: my wife is kissing me.
Wife. It was just a four-letter word, yet it was infused with the weight of want over the years. We were connected by a ceremony, a certificate, a drunken night. None of those things should mean anything, yet it had brought me back into her orbit. It had given me a second chance.
I wouldn’t waste it.
I pulled back. “We should talk.”
She shook her head, her eyes smoky with lust. “That’s the last thing we should do. Because if I talk to you, you’ll say something that will make me second-guess what’s happening here. Do you want me to think too hard about this, Alexei?”
She had a point. Sex first, talking later.
The sweater was the first to go. Ladies’ choice, and I was glad of it because it allowed me a chance to move more easily as I contemplated what to do.
This might be my best chance to woo her.
It might be my only chance.
I had to make it good.
I moved in to kiss her again, this time more slowly. Deeply. Thoroughly. I had missed this, though our time together in the past had been brief. I remembered every kiss, every touch, every thrust.
Cupping her jaw, I held her in place, angling for the best approach, then moved my lips to her jaw, her ear, her neck.
She sighed, a sound of immense satisfaction, as if the kissing was the goal here. And in a way, that made sense. We needed to relearn each other. What we liked, how we liked it, a full-scale exploration of our chemistry. This hunger for her would never abate, but today I planned to get as much of my fill as possible.
The kissing continued. The intensity of it surprised me, but then that was Lauren in a nutshell. Fire and fury, my silver-eyed girl, and this moment could have lasted forever. In another life, I might have been satisfied with it, but no longer. I needed to own every inch of her.
I drew back. Her eyes were aflame, her chest rising as she panted. I unzipped her hoodie, slipped it off, then did the same with her T-shirt. She wore a simple sports bra, not particularly sexy, but on her it was perfect. She was strong, vibrant, everything I wanted in this moment. In all the moments.
I ran my knuckles over the exposed skin above her breasts. So soft. So sensitive, as she shivered under my touch. Then she peeled off the bra. It left thin red lines over her collarbones, ones that would probably fade by the time I was inside her.
I kissed her shoulder, ran my tongue over those marks, tracing a trail to her heart. There was something about them that really turned me on. Or maybe that was just everything Lauren.
My lips coasted up her throat before I took her earlobe in my mouth and nipped. Her shiver of pleasure fueled me, so I did it again, then suckled. Which reminded me I could be suckling other parts of her. Her lips, her breasts, her pussy. In the back of my mind was my father, how he would be back soon, how my time these days was crunched into slots of responsibility, and this one, perfect moment was what I needed to focus on.
She was here. Lauren, my forever love.
I moved down, down, to her perfectly shaped tits and wrapped my lips around a pebbled nipple. She moaned, pressed my head to keep me latched, while I feasted on this gorgeous meal, only interrupted by a frenzy of clothes removal and angling my body between her thighs.
Home, at last.
“Condom,” she gasped.
I had never forgotten before, not even the first time with her. But this woman would make the Pope forget his vows.
I reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a square of plastic. My hands were shaking. Giving it to her, I barked a gruff command. “Put it on.”
She wrapped her hand around my cock and stroked, not that I needed preparation. Another loving stroke, and I was on the brink of losing my mind.
