With Dahlia claiming Lady Thomley’s here, under the same roof as us—and has been this entire time—I can’t help but feel silly for thinking Suzanne was dead when she’s apparently very much alive. Maybe Rhys is right and it’s been too much on me. Maybe this is all finally taking its toll.
“Rhys,” I start, but he begins to peel off my clothes and lays me down in the center of our bed. “We’re going to be late.”
“Then we’ll have to move a bit faster,” he answers, reaching behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head.
I do have to admit how much I like to look at my husband. His muscular chest with a light covering of dark hair and that V at his hips that tapers down to where his thick cock is pressing against the zipper ofhis jeans.
“See something you like?”
“Maybe…”
“Good because I see something good enough to eat,” he says. He shucks his jeans, expertly stepping out of them while his heavy cock bobs up against his belly button. He fists it in his hand for a moment before jacking his hand up and down, making a shiny pearl of precum bead at the tip.
A hungry look crosses his face and he leans over, crawling up the bed toward me and throwing my legs over his shoulders. I don’t even have a moment to react before his mouth is on me, sucking my clit hard. My thighs press against his ears as if they have a mind of their own and I have no control over them.
“Rhys,” I cry out, arching my back, the very core of my body seeking him out.
I think I just might die when he thrusts two fingers inside of me, curling them up to hit the spot that makes me scream, as he rolls the flat of his tongue against my clit. There is no slow climb toward a gentle orgasm here, Rhys is about to hurtle me off of a cliff and I cannot wait.
I spear my fingers through his hair and hold him to me, begging, demanding—I don’t care which, whatever will get me the orgasm I need—and I rasp out his name. “Rhys.” I don’t even recognize my voice.
Then growls against my swollen clit and I sob as I come.
Rhys pulls his arms out from under my thighs and drags his big body up over mine, his cock finding its true home immediately, driving deep inside me and making me gasp. He plunges in and out of me, setting a brutal pace.
“Do no’ ever hide from me,” he growls, his face just inches from mine as he braces himself on his arms on either side of my head. “I canno’ take it.”
“I know,” I pant. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he says as he moves his body over mine. “Never. You’re mine. My Queen to love, My Queen to fuck. My Queen to protect.”
“Yes!” I cry.
“Forever,” he shouts as he plants himself deep inside me, filling me with his cum and triggering my own climax.
He holds me tight in his arms as he breathes heavily against the side of my head and then rolls us so we’re lying on the bed, staring at each other. His thick cock is still inside me and my head is tucked under his chin.
I rest my hands on his strong chest and wait. Nothing is resolved. He doesn’t believe me and now I don’t believe me either, but what am I going to do? The sex is still fire, but that’s not a great precedent to fall into for problem solving. And as the endorphin rush from my orgasms wanes, I feel frustration settling in again and try to pull away.
“No,” he says, his arms tightening around me.
“You can’t just say no when I want to get up.”
“Aye, I can when my cock is still inside you and my cum is panting your creamy thighs,” he says.
“Don’t be gross,” I snap.
“It’s no’ gross,” he says. “It’s beautiful and besides I have something to say to you.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” He steals my breath again. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I only want to protect you, and I didn’t take care with your feelings the way I should have.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m learning to be married at the same time you are,” he says. “Can I have a little grace too?”
“I don’t want to give you grace. You’re the reason my life is all topsy turvy, but I’m here now. And I love you. And you hurt me.”