Page 23 of Pucking Curves

I squirm beneath him, too turned on to be embarrassed. At this point, I think I’ll say anything, give him anything, if it gets his mouth on me faster. “Please eat my pus–”

He lunges, burying his face in my pussy with a wild growl.

My hips come off the bed, only to be driven back down by the force of his hunger, the depth of his need. He holds me still beneath him, attacking me with his lips and tongue.

“So fucking good,” he grunts, his tongue running in circles around my hole.

I sob, already on the verge of coming unglued. He’s a master with his tongue, working me over until I’m a voiceless, thoughtless wreck beneath him. Even then, he doesn’t stop. He just thrusts his tongue inside, using it like a cock to drive me right over the edge into another orgasm.

His hand slips between my cheeks, one finger rubbing against my back entrance.

“Archer!” I gasp, shocked…turned on. That shouldn’t feel so damn good. But it does. God, everything he does feels incredible.

“Don’t fight me, baby girl,” he snarls against my pussy. “Just relax and let me in.”

I can’t help it. I give him what he wants. I do more than that. I push back against him. Eager. Willing.

His finger slips inside bit by bit, stretching me. He watches my face as he twists and plunges, fucking my ass with one finger. And then he adds another.

“Every hole will belong to me, Wren,” he rasps. “Every fucking time you get horny, you’ll come looking for me. You’ll climb on my cock and use it like your own personal plaything.”

My inner muscles clench and quiver. I’m so close, climbing higher with every word he says. With every press of his fingers and flick of his tongue.

“You’ll breathe for your husband’s cock.” He wraps his lips around my clit, and I’m gone. Lost. Drowning.

I shatter with his name on my lips, screaming it to the freaking heavens. I come for so hard and so long, everything goes white. The whole world…lost to him.

I come back to myself with a gasp when his lips touch mine, breathing life into me like he’s my own wicked Prince Charming. He lifts me up in his arms, pulling me onto his lap. He’s naked, every inch of his body on display.

His cock standing thick and proud. My stomach clenches at the sight. At the feel of him against me, nothing between us but want and need and shattering desire.

“I want you just like this,” he murmurs, adjusting me on his lap so I’m hovering over him. “Want to be able to see your face while you fuck yourself with my cock.”

“Archer.” Who knew the Carvers’ perfect captain had such a filthy mouth? That he was so potently sexual? He’s always so put together, always so composed. He isn’t right now. He hasn’t been since we woke up in bed this morning. He’s just raw intensity and burning need.

“We’re consummating this marriage, Wren. And you’re going to do it.” He nips at my lips, bucking his hips so his cock glides through my folds. “Claim me, wife. Sink those little claws into me and ride.”

I grip his shoulders and slowly sink down, sobbing in ecstasy as he fills me inch by inch, splitting me open and spilling himself into me. He feels so good. And this feels so damn right.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head kicked back, intense pleasure radiating from every pore. He’s wild and unkempt beneath me, all mine. My husband. My obsession. And, as my ass settles against his lap, the certainty that he’s my future rips through me, too.

I rock against him, trying to find a rhythm. He moves with me, lifting me up and down with his hands on my waist.

Within minutes, I feel like I’m flying.

I drag my nails down his shoulder blades, moaning his name.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans. “Fuck me just like that.”

I whimper, loving the gritty rasp of his voice, like he’s as lost to pleasure as I am. Like he’s in heaven just like I am. Nothing has ever felt this good before. Nothing has ever felt this right.

I slam myself down on him harder and faster, wanting—needing—him deeper. Until he’s part of me, something that no one can ever take.

“Please, please,” I gasp.

“You want more, little bird?”

“Yes!”

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