Page 68 of Fox
Never before has he made so much effort.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
I shake my head, pushing the tears back. “I…just…ah…you know, wish I remembered.”
God, I’m a horrible person! Here he is being so wonderful, and I’m lying my ass off to him.
24
TAKING WHAT I WANT
LUCY
We have an easy dinner at home the night of our anniversary. Rigatoni with heritage pork ragu that he ordered from Rolf and Daughters.
Afterward, he washes up, and I sit on the kitchen counter, which I do sometimes now because he doesn’t want me to cook, clean, or do anything strenuous, which is ridiculous because I’m fine now. Really fine. And my husband looks ridiculously delicious as he fills up the dishwasher.
Talk about being horny!
“Come here.” I hold my hand out because it’s time.
It’s way past time, and I’ve learned that he’s not going to make the first move. Oh no, he’s waiting for me to do it because that’s who Fox is now, not someone who grabs what he wants, the consequences be damned, but someone who wants to give me agency.
He turns from the sink and stalks up to me, predator to prey.
Who is who?
My heart hammers against my chest as he comes closer.
The kitchen counter is cold against my summer dress-covered skin.
Fox spreads my legs and stands in front of me. His hands scorch me as they slide up my thighs, rough and possessive.
“What do you want, Luce?” he asks softly.
“You,” I reply.
His mouth crashes onto mine, teeth scraping my bottom lip.
I moan.
His fingers hook into the lace of my panties and pull them down. I’m glad. I don’t need a lot of foreplay. I just need him inside me. I want the connection. I want the intimacy. I want my husband.
“Missed this pussy,” he growls against my neck, biting down hard enough to bruise.
“Then why haven’t you?—”
He stops my words with a kiss. “I’m desperate for you. Desperate to feel how tight you get around me.”
I gasp as his thumb circles my clit, slow and cruel, dragging slickness in teasing spirals.
“I know you can’t remember us.” He shoves two fingers inside me without warning, curling them just right, and my back arches off the counter. “But your body remembers.”
I clench around his fingers, greedy and wet.
His cock is a thick, impatient weight against my thigh, straining against his jeans.
I rock my hips, shameless, grinding against his hand.
