“Oui! ” She squirmed under him, but never moved her hands.
He stood and slowly unfastened his trousers, never taking his eyes off her. Still in French, he asked, “Are you only mine, love?”
“Oui, monsieur! ”
He hesitated. She was dangerously close to subspace. The temptation was too great to let her get any closer. His eyes flicked to Cris’, whose expression had darkened. Yes, he’d noticed it too. How could he not? This was as close to the woman he once knew as he’d probably ever get again. She’d changed too much over the years.
He leaned over, his hands planted on the bed on either side of her, one knee between her legs.
He bent his head to her neck again. He switched back to English. “My beautiful wife,” he said as he nuzzled her flesh, “you don’t need to call me that.”
Her arms wrapped around him as she started rubbing her mound against his thigh, her body writhing beneath him as her hands roamed his flesh. One of her legs hooked around his. “Please make me yours!” she begged in English.
“That I will do, love.” He nipped and sucked at her neck, below her ear. Her gyrations below him increased in urgency as her nails raked down his back. When he finally lifted his head, he knew the red mark would be just enough to last a few days at least, but not be horribly obvious. “Mine,” he whispered in her ear. “My sweet, beautiful wife.” He hooked his arms under her knees and shoved her farther back on the bed before he stood again and finished removing his trousers.
One more glance at Cris. Their eyes met and Landry read the mix of anger and agony there.
Good.
She watched Landry’s body, the candlelight flickering off his solid, trim form as he pushed his pants down and stood there watching her. His cock looked even larger in the dim light, his sac heavy below it, framed by dark hair. Her body ached for him, wanted to feel that cock take her, wanted it not just because it’d been a difficult five years, but because she longed to connect with a real body again, needed the warm strength of a trustworthy man to release her from her mind even if only for a few minutes.
She needed him.
God, how she wished she didn’t.
He came to her, his body covering her as his lips roamed hers. She tried to rock her hips to find his cock and take him in, but he teased her, keeping himself just far enough out of her reach she couldn’t capture him.
He lifted his head again and spoke in French. “Are you ready for me?”
She nodded.
Slowly, torturously slow, he pressed forward just so his thick knob teased her desperate sex.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked, still in French.
She nodded. “Please!”
As if holding back, his body trembled while he took his time sinking his entire shaft inside her, spreading her slick muscles apart as he took possession of her.
Damn, it felt good, that hard cock touching places that hadn’t been touched in so, so long, her muscles straining, stretching her.
Once buried inside her, he rested his head against her shoulder. His breath rasped in her ear.
“Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he said in English. “I knew I should have used a cock ring.” She tried to thrust against him, but he dropped his weight on top of her, forcing her to remain still. “No, don’t move. I’ll explode.”
She wrapped arms and legs around him and nibbled at places she could reach on his shoulder.
“Please fuck me!”
“Easy, baby. Give me a minute. I don’t want to cheat you out of this. You are so fucking tight, you have no idea how close I am.” He kissed her again, taking her mind off the fact that he wasn’t moving yet. When he slowly withdrew, his thick head just at her entrance, she whined when he ordered her still again. “Next time, I will fuck you as hard and fast as you want,” he promised, “but let me savor this, please.”
It wasn’t nearly fast enough for her tastes, his body slowly sliding across her clit but not fast enough to get her off. After a few minutes he picked up the pace and reverted to French. “Are you my good girl?”
She moaned, feeling her senses spinning as her body opened even more to him. “Yes!”
“Do you want to come for me?”
“Yes!”
He lifted his head. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
She forced her eyes open. In the dim room, his green eyes looked as dark as emeralds, his face hard and strong. “I’m close, love. If you’re my good girl, come for me…now!”
The sensation ripped through her, amplified by him suddenly thrusting hard and fast. Fighting to keep her eyes open proved a losing battle. Her back arched as her muscles clenched around his solid cock. He drove himself into her harder, faster, deeper. Their bodies, slick with sweat, moved in perfectly synced undulations as she released herself to him.
“One more!” he ordered. “Be my good girl and come now!”
She sobbed as the climax washed through her. He swelled and throbbed inside her as he pushed deep one last time. His body tensed and he let out a moan of his own before he lowered his body onto hers and tenderly kissed her.
Eyes closed, she felt her tears and let them flow. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. It didn’t matter why, she didn’t care to take a time out to analyze herself. Armchair quarterbacking could happen later.
Much later.
After he finished thoroughly fucking her.
After she quit making comparisons between him and Cris in her mind.
He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them onto their sides without withdrawing. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked in English.
She nodded against him, gladly letting him hold her close. He didn’t ask why she cried, didn’t speak, just lay there with her in his arms and his lips pressed against the top of her head.
After a few minutes she rubbed her face against his chest, his hair softly scratchy against her lips. When she felt the subtle, firm bump of a nipple, she flicked it with her tongue and enjoyed his soft kiss of pleasure.
“You’re risking another fucking if you keep that up,” he teased.
She nipped him.
Laughter mixed with his startled protest. When he rolled her onto her back, his cock was already stiffening inside her. She raised her arms over her head again in a gesture of submission she knew he wouldn’t miss. “I’m your very good girl,” she said, in English that time.
His brief look of pleasant surprise was worth it.
She hoped they were ripping Cris’ heart out.
He slid his hands up her arms and laced his fingers through hers. When he pulled her arms down, she pushed them back up and met his gaze with determination. She wanted him to fuck the pain and hurt and loneliness out of her. She wanted every thrust of his cock to drive the memories that much farther away from the woman she was today. This woman wanted this man—her husband—to fuck her so hard and fast that she wouldn’t ever think of herself as anything but his wife, because that’s all she would remember. It would form the sum of her existence and she could forget her past.
The good as well as the bad.
“I need you,” she said. “Please. Take me.”
He untangled his hands from hers and withdrew from her. Before she could protest, he sat up, flipped her over, and pulled her to her knees. His hands stroked her back and ass before he aligned his cock with her pussy. The coarse hair of his thighs rubbed against the backs of hers as he used his legs to nudge hers farther apart.
“Are you my good girl?”
Shivers of anticipation flowed through her. Her eyes briefly locked with Cris’ and she felt another shiver. “Yes!” She wiggled her hips, trying to get him to fuck her.