Part 2 (1/2)
”Dean?” I squeeze his c.o.c.k lightly. ”Come on. I've told you about my fantasies, right?”
”Mine aren't nearly as vivid as yours,” he replies.
”Remember that dream you once had in which I was a librarian?” I ask, smiling when his c.o.c.k stiffens even more. ”That was pretty hot.”
”That was a dream, not a fantasy.”
”A dream is an unconscious fantasy,” I remind him. ”But I want to know what you fantasize about when you're awake. Am I a nurse? A farmer's daughter? A vestal virgin?”
Dean shakes his head.
I try to think. ”Oh! Am I a dominatrix?”
”Beauty, as much as I love the idea of you in leather, I'd never be up for that.” He slides his hand over my a.s.s.
I can't really see it either-even in my imagination, s.e.xual submission and Dean West are a total mismatch. Control is just one of the things that makes him who he is, and though it's also the characteristic that has caused the most problems between us, I've accepted that it will always be part of him.
”What do you fantasize about, then?” I ask.
”How about you tell me?” he suggests. ”You have some pretty imaginative, elaborate fantasies. Elves and pirate captains and all that, right?”
Right. I used to have elaborate s.e.xual fantasies. Now my most intense fantasies involve sleeping past five a.m., or eating an entire meal without getting up once, or having time to read a book whose plot doesn't revolve around Arthur or the Berenstain Bears.
Stay on track, Liv. No thinking of Brother and Sister Bear...
”So?” Dean prompts, winding a lock of my hair around his finger.
”Um, so I had this fantasy where you were... uh, a deliveryman,” I say, ”and I was... a bored, lonely housewife and you were delivering some s.e.x toys...”
”Sounds more like a p.o.r.n flick,” Dean remarks.
”Yeah.” I sigh. ”I guess I haven't fantasized much lately.”
”So instead of talking, why don't we just get dirty?” he suggests, tugging at the hem of my s.h.i.+rt. ”Take this off.”
Though I'm not entirely ready to be done with this conversation, I'm getting hot, and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are aching. I lift myself up to take off my s.h.i.+rt and unhook my bra, tossing both to the floor. Cooler air caresses my skin, and Dean's breath hisses out in pleasure at the sight of my bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my nipples jutting out, hard as cherries.
I s.h.i.+ver, desire rolling through me at the darkening heat in his eyes, the visible strain of his muscles.
Yes.
Oh, it feels good to be aroused, even if we haven't done much of anything yet. Especially because we haven't done much of anything yet.
”C'mere,” Dean mutters roughly, grabbing my waist and hauling me toward him. He fastens his lips around my nipple and tugs, the light pull sending a current of heat right to my s.e.x.
I move over him to straddle his waist, bending forward so he has full access to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His body tenses as he palms and squeezes my b.r.e.a.s.t.s until waves of heat wash through me.
”G.o.d, Dean.” I squirm on top of him, rubbing my c.l.i.t against his torso. ”I'm getting really hot.”
He pushes his hips upward, nudging his c.o.c.k against my a.s.s. He grips the waistband of my pants, and I s.h.i.+ft so he can tug them down my hips and slip his hand between my legs. He groans.
”Ah, f.u.c.k, you're wet already.” He yanks at my pants. ”Get these off. Now.”
I maneuver around to pull my pants off and ease down Dean's body, pressing kisses to his gorgeous chest, down the line bisecting his abdomen, following the trail of hair leading right to the tantalizing hardness of his erection.
I grasp his hips and press my mouth onto his c.o.c.k, right over the cotton of his pants. Dean groans, fisting a hand into my hair. The heat of his shaft burns through the thin material, his thigh muscles tightening like corded wire. I pull his pants down just enough to release his c.o.c.k, the beautiful, thick length almost gleaming in the dim light.
I glance up at him through the veil of hair that has fallen over my face. He's watching me, his dark eyes smoldering. He reaches down to squeeze my breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
”Use these,” he says huskily.
A s.h.i.+ver rains through me. I get to my knees and cup my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Dean grasps the base of his shaft. I position myself over him and press my b.r.e.a.s.t.s together to create a deep cleavage before sliding his c.o.c.k between them.
”Oh, G.o.d.” I inhale a sharp breath, my skin tingling at the sensation of his smooth, veined shaft against my damp skin. ”Is that good?”
”h.e.l.l, yeah.” He grits his teeth and pushes his hips upward, like he wants to thrust into my cleavage. ”f.u.c.k me with them.”
I do. I squeeze my b.r.e.a.s.t.s together tighter and slide them up and down his stiff c.o.c.k, the pathway eased by the combination of his fluids and my perspiration. My head fills with the scent of him, urgency tightening through my entire body. I'd almost forgotten how uninhibited and s.e.xy I could be with him, how good pure, undiluted l.u.s.t could feel.
Mesmerized, I watch his thick erection push in and out of my pillowy cleavage. I twist my nipples, jolts of heat pouring through me. I pause and s.h.i.+ft to take the head of his erection into my mouth. The salty, male taste of him floods my tongue. His body tautens beneath me, his hand tightening in my hair.
I circle my tongue over the tip of his c.o.c.k before easing him into my mouth inch by inch. His shaft is warm and pulsing. I press my tongue to the vein throbbing at the underside, then ease back and move my head up and down, f.u.c.king him with my mouth. His breath saws through the air, and I feel his muscles flexing.
A groan shakes his chest. He grips the back of my neck as he pushes his c.o.c.k gently into my mouth. I let my eyes drift closed and breathe, focusing on the sensation of my husband's body, the smooth feel of his shaft, the quickening breaths signaling his increasing drive toward release. His fingers tighten briefly on my nape before he releases me and slides his hand down to rub my back in an almost soothing motion.
”Come here,” he orders gruffly.
I release him, crawling back up the length of his body and splay over him, my thighs hugging his hips and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed against his chest. Our lips meet in a hot, full kiss as he strokes his hands down my back to my rear end. In one movement, he turns me over, his body rigid with self-restraint.
”Open,” he whispers against my lips.
My breath catches. I spread my legs, letting him move between them. He gets to his knees and pushes my legs farther apart. I rake my gaze over him, the planes of his chest and thighs, the ridge of his erection, the burning gleam in his eyes. He slides his fingers into my cleft. The first touch is a delicious shock, his thumb circling my c.l.i.t as he pushes two fingers into my opening.
”Oh, G.o.d, Dean...” I clench my fists into the sheets, feeling as if I'm aroused for the first time ever.
I'm vibrating with sensation-streams of blue and gold coursing through my veins, the press of Dean's fingers stimulating my nerves, the heat-drenched air pressing against my skin. I push my hips back and forth, as all thought slides away into a warm, heady pool of sensation. All I know is this feels so good, so right, and it's been much too long since we've indulged in such hot intimacy.
”f.u.c.k me,” I murmur, hooking my legs around his thighs. ”I want to come with you inside me.”
He needs no further invitation, pus.h.i.+ng into me with one slow, easy surge. He groans. I gasp, my inner flesh stretching and tightening around his shaft. I grip the sheets tighter as he starts to thrust, his deep movements blazing heat over my nerves. I arch upward to meet his repeated plunges, our bodies pus.h.i.+ng and pulling in a rhythm as powerful and natural as tides.
Tension winds through my lower body. I slide my hand down to rub my c.l.i.t, craving the intense explosion of pleasure I haven't felt in weeks. Sometimes I can hardly remember not having to work to get into the moment, to push away all the worries, plans, and schedules cramming my head.
There's always something to think about, whether it's the cafe staff schedule, profit and loss, what to make for dinner, Nicholas's daycare payments, or... Oh, s.h.i.+t, I forgot to give the monthly payment to Christine last week, which means I need to double-check that there's enough to cover- ”Ah, good.” Dean, still thrusting into me like a well-oiled piston, braces his hands on either side of my head and lowers his mouth to mine. ”Put your legs up... yeah, like that...”
I writhe under him, trying to get my head back in the game, but my rhythm is off, and we both pull back at the same time. He slides out of me and stops, his breathing hard. His expression darkens.