Page 170 of Beyond the Stroke

His familiar scent hits me first. Driftwood and eucalyptus with a tinge of chlorine. It clings to him no matter how hard he scrubs, and I secretly hope it never fades.

He stares down at me with an expression I can’t read. His typically easygoing grin is replaced by a tense line.

“I missed you so much it hurts.”

“Me, too. Every second you were gone it felt like something was missing.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and he closes the miniscule gap between us, his body brushing against mine.

“I heard about your PR. Congratulations.” I throw my arms around his neck and pull him in tight.

“Thank you.” He squeezes me back. “There was this woman I was hoping to impress.”

His hand drops low to the curve of my ass, those long fingers teasing the skin below the hem of my skirt.

“Well, mission accomplished,” I say, breathless in his ear as our bodies cling to one another. His warm lips skim along the shell of my ear, causing me to forget everything else. “I’m always in awe of you.”

“It feels so good to hold you. And you smell fucking fantastic.”

When his mouth finds mine, I lose myself in him. Rory’s kiss is both comforting and achingly exhilarating. It takes my breath away while at the same time grounding me. It’s the thrill of being swept away, wild and free, while also tethered so you know you’re safe.

When I pull back, the look in Rory’s eyes is pure heat. My stomach flips deliciously at the sight of his intense gaze, and I press my fingers to my swollen lips.

“I made dinner.” I nod toward the table set for two.

“Yeah, you did.” Rory’s eyes snag on the table behind me, but quickly return to me. His gaze is hungry. Ready to devour.

My tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip and his eyes trace every movement. “I figured you would be hungry.” I can’t help but smirk. “You always are.”

“You’re right.” His thumb trails along the column of my neck, his other fingers closing in at the base to add the slightest pressure. “I’m fucking starving.”

In the blink of an eye, his left arm clears the table. Plates, silverware, glasses. It all goes clattering to the floor. In the next instant, he lifts me onto the table.

“Those were our new dishes,” I gasp, half-shocked, half-turned on. “Your parents sent them as a wedding gift.”

“I’ll replace them tomorrow,” he says, voice low and unwavering, already tugging me toward the edge of the table like a man possessed.

The wicked gleam in his eyes makes it impossible to argue.

“I’d like my dinner now, sweet wife.”

My breath catches. I guess the dishes aren’t the only thing getting ruined tonight.

Reaching under my skirt, he hooks his fingers into my underwear, quickly yanking them down my legs. Then, he presses my knees apart and steps between them. My skirt has ridden up my hips, exposing me to him.

He swipes a finger down my center where I’m wet and needy for him, then brings it to his mouth for a taste.

“Mmm.” He groans, licking his fingers clean. “My favorite.”

He does it again, this time swiping his slick finger coated in my arousal against my mouth.

“You’re my favorite meal, Summer,” he murmurs against my lips. “I could eat you every day.”

Then, Rory sinks to his knees, his breath warm against my skin. One slow stroke of his tongue and I’m undone. His mouthis reverent, his rhythm deliberate. Like he’s memorizing every inch of me.

My hands find his hair, the wavy strands the perfect length to tug as he works me toward orgasm.

With the same determination he trains with he brings me to the brink.

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