Page 46 of Edge of Stars

“No. They don’t! Maximus? Help me. Make them—”

“I will. I’ll make them.”

If I could leap into her nightmare this second, making good on my promise with whoever they are… But I can only demonstrate the point by holding her tighter, wrestling her closer as I move onto my haunches then dipping my lips close to her ear.

“I’m right here, sweet wife. I’ll help you. I promise.”

“Mmm, ohhhh. Maximus?”

Reluctantly, I shift up again. Only by the few inches that I need to see her face—and confirm the new awareness in her eyes. Still, there’s enough groggy drag in her blinks to make me try for the details…

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she murmurs, still adorably croaky. “What’s…going on? What’s the—where the freak are we?”

“Magic hydro hideaway?” I prompt, though she’s already straightening with more cognizance.

“Right, right. With the orgasm-worthy library and lakeside living room.”

My chuff is instant and uncontrollable. “And there’s why your test essays always got moved to the top of the grading queue.”

She swings back around with sultry new angles across her face. “No other reasons?”

Five syllables. And that look.

They’re all she needs as friendly reminders of my body’s interesting…condition…before we fell asleep.

In this room. On this bed.

Details I’m pushing under the figurative rug—because of this bigger issue. “I had to wake you up. You were in a pretty unhappy place.”

The sultry flair goes dark and moody. But not after she goes for the flirty hair toss. “But in a dream. Nothing real. Not worth rehashing. A simple dr—”

“You mean a nightmare, in which you were arguing like somebody was about to burn you at the stake.”

“Maybe.” She’s dropped her stare to my lips, but not fast enough for me to miss the troubled tightness in her deep irises. “All the more reason not to revisit it.”

“Unless the people with the torches were friends,” I persist. “Or…family.”

It’s her final straw. I anticipate as much, already steeling for the mighty huff she expels. I don’t expect her to shove all the way clear from my lap, winding herself and the dingy tatters of her dress in one of the bed sheets on the way. The tangle results in an audible rip from somewhere south of her waist, likely more of her gown giving in to its own stress, but she doesn’t bother to check. She’s set on hitting me with as much of her ire as possible.

“Are you seriously still going there, when your near-naked wife is making eyes at you in the best sex bed ever created?”

And we’re officially clear of everything I was prepared for.

At least she’s able to preen, if only a little, with the line drive she’s nailed to my throat. I’m unsure where that places the actual balls she’s talking about here, but there’s one fact I am damn certain of.

They’re as ready as she is.

Really. Fucking. Ready.

She lifts one side of her mouth then the other, slowly savoring my fascination with her luscious mouth. I make a note to ask about the lip stain she used for the wedding, since its dark-cherry hue still clings to the fullest parts of her pretty moue. Tempting forth some ideas for my own mouth…

The best of which I finally endorse…

By pushing forward and lunging over.

By covering all those cherry-tinged curves with my greedy mouth.