Page 77 of What Happens in Amsterdam

God, this man is going to turn me feral. “Yes.That.”

Now he takes me in his arms again, pushes me against the wall of the shower. “Watching you come just once wasn’t enough.” He drags his tongue down the column of my neck while I fist a hand in his hair. “Fuck, Dani. The way you come is so gorgeous. How you lose control, bite your lip like you’re trying to hold back, until you just can’t take it anymore. The sounds you make…” As he’s doing this, he slips a finger between my thighs, and I’m completely unashamed of how quickly he finds a slick, torturous rhythm. “Allthe sounds you make.”

A cry escapes my throat. His gaze sparks with mischief as he gets to his knees to start kissing up my legs. It’s such a beautiful sight, him kneeling in front of me, a privilege to see him this vulnerable.

“The number of times I’ve imagined your legs wrapped around my neck…” He grasps my thighs. Presses open-mouthed kissed to them.

In response I can only groan as he licks a hot stripe up my thigh, so close to where I want him.

He holds me steady as he parts my legs. “Tell me what else you like,” he says. “How else does my wife want to be fucked?”

The parts of me that are still breathing stammer out a response. “I like—” Suddenly it’s hard to vocalize. No one’s ever asked me this before, just assumed whatever they were doing was one-size-fits-all, and I writhed around enough to make them believe it. “Everything you did last time.”

A fingertip traces a line of freckles on my hip. “There has to be something else.”

There is. Of course there is. “If you lick me while you have your finger inside me, that’s—I like that. And then—” I swallow hard, wondering how far I can go. “You can put a finger in my ass, too. If you want.”

He loses his cool for just a moment there, like maybe this was unexpected. But he makes no secret of how hungry it makes him, dragging his hands up to squeeze my ass. “Christ. Yes. I want.”

Hearing him say that is an instant relief.

He hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, balancing me with the help of the wall. At first it feels precarious, but there’s a sureness in his grip that makes me trust him. I’m completely bared to him like this—physically, and also with what I’ve just asked for—and yet I’ve never felt safer.

He starts slowly, slowly, a graze of his tongue along my lips. Teasing. Last time he found all the places I’m most sensitive, and he seems to have remembered them all. He fucks me with his finger, languid strokes that drag obscenities from my mouth.

Then he increases his speed. Adds a second finger. Even as my thighs shake, he keeps me upright. I am entirely at the mercy of his tongue, lapping at that sensitive bud of nerves.Fuck—I’m not going to last long at all, but he’s doing his damnedest to draw it out. Every so often, he gives my clit a flick of his tongue or brush of his finger, but he knows better than to give it too much attention too soon.

And even though I’ve asked for it, I’m not prepared for him to slick a finger with my wetness before reaching around to my ass. That touch, that single gentle touch that must only last a couple seconds, as though he wants to make sure he gets it right before he keeps going—it electrifies all my nerve endings. He might as well have reached right inside my chest and yanked. I grab his hair so tightly, I’m worried I might hurt him.

He glances up at me with wild eyes. “Like this?”

Yes, I try to tell him.You’re amazing. You’re perfect. But the only sound that makes it past my mouth is a strangled moan.

“Good girl,” he says, and then he does it again, balancing that soft stroke with his tongue’s more fervent one against my clit. “Beautiful girl. Keep moaning just like that for me.”

It’s too much. Too good. I’m putty in his arms, feeling somehow weightless as I brace myself against his shoulders, against the wall of the shower. Pleasure pools low in my belly, and I can’t look down at his face between my thighs or else I’ll fall apart—but then I’m falling apart anyway, stars bursting behind my eyes, everything in my body letting go. I collapse against him, ungraceful, but he’s got me. He’s got me.

When I finally glance down as he eases me to my feet, he’s grinning. Blown-out pupils. Wet mouth. Pure satisfaction.

“Bed,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Now.”

We bother with towels only long enough to make sure we’re not dripping water everywhere. He gathers me into his arms again, one pair of damp footsteps over to his room, the part of the apartment I’ve spent almost zero time in, but I barely have time to register the details—

—because George is curled up in the middle of the bed, just staring at us.

I let out a startled yelp as Wouter laughs, gently setting me down.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he says, and the dog scampers out of the room, clearly unsure what’s going on but sensing he probably doesn’t want to be here for it.

“We’ll make it up to him with a long walk later,” I say right before my back hits the mattress.

The way he holds me feels different somehow. He plants alingering kiss on my ankle. My calf. The inside of my knee. That first time, we were frantic. This time, though it’s grown dark outside, I make sure to switch on the bedside lamp before crawling back onto his lap and really letting myselfseehim. The angles of his chest, that red-blond trail of hair. How he has more freckles on his shoulders than anywhere else. His laugh, lungs shuddering beneath me as I press my face into his chest and inhale him.

“You said you have an IUD?” he asks, and I nod, skimming a hand over the head of his cock, knowing he’ll feel so fuckingrightinside me. He pulses against my palm.

“I want to feel you. Just you. We’ve never—” When we were seventeen, we always used a condom. “I want it to feel like a first time.”

“I know,” he says softly. Reverent. “A second first time.”

---