Page 82 of Just This Once

“You’re the boss,” I say. “And I’ll always take care of you. So tell me. What do you want?”

Taryn has been hurt by the men who were supposed to protect her, so it would make sense that she would want to be protected and cared for by me, but also given the opportunity to take that power back. Make up for all those times she was shouted down or ignored, deserted or made to feel helpless.

I want to give her the chance to take it back.

So I wait.

A minute passes as she stares at me, slowly unwinding from her curled-up position on the couch to sit with her feet on the floor, knees straight, and head held high. Like royalty.

Like the woman I fell in love with.

“Crawl,” she commands quietly, and I put my hand to my ear.

“Didn’t catch that, babe. Gotta speak louder.”

She fights a smile and raises her voice. “Crawl to me.”

I nod and sink to my hands and knees on the floor. My dick, obviously, is already hard because it’ll take my last breath for me not to want her. And even then, I’m not so sure St. Peter wouldn’t think I was a pervert, showing up to the pearly gates with a hard-on.

Now, though, I keep my eyes locked on her and crawl across the floor. She watches me, her breath hitching slightly as I reach the couch and place my palms on her knees. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, the pulse at the base of her neck fluttering rapidly.

“You want me to kiss you, duchess?” My voice is like a rip of paper through the silent living room.

She nods, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and I lean in, pressing my mouth to hers. She tastes like the chocolate and coffee, my bittersweet girl, and I sink my hands into herhair, holding her as I ravish her mouth with my tongue, licking up every morsel of that innate flavor of Taryn.

When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing heavy, and I rest my forehead against hers, waiting for her next command. I’m hers, completely, and I’ll do whatever she asks.

“Kiss my feet,” she whispers, and I grin against her mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.” I drop one last kiss to her lips before moving down her body. I slip off her socks, smoothing my thumbs over the arches, then raise my eyes to hers, once more holding her gaze as I worship her.

“Good boy,” she croons, andholy fuck,it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire miserable life. Nothing, and I meannothing, feels as good as pleasing this woman.

I lift her left foot, pressing my lips to the top, then her toes, and down to the arch. She’s ticklish and squirms, a soft laugh escaping her. I smile, placing her left foot down to take her right one in my hands, following the same path, top, toes, arch. The fit of her pants allows me to push the hem up to her knees, and I skate my lips over her calf and down her shin before sitting back on my heels, waiting for my next command.

She doesn’t let me down.

“Make love to me, Dante.”

Without a second’s hesitation, I stand and scoop her up into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, and I carry her to her bedroom, where I lay her down on the bed, my body covering hers. I kiss her again, slow and deep, pouring all my feelings into it. All my hope, my lust, my pride. Goddamn. So much pride.

I am proud of who she is, of what she’s overcome, and how she so willingly gives herself to me even when it’s hard.

I break away only to remove her clothes until she’s laid bare before me, and I take a moment simply tolookat her. Appreciate the beauty she no longer hides from me. The line of herthroat, the delicate slope of her collarbone and arms, the heaviness of her breasts, the roundness of her stomach, and the softness of her thighs, with the dark thatch of hair between them.

Perfection.

More than how physically attracted I am to her, it’s her strength, her resilience, her kindness that draw me in. She’s a goddess made human, and I’m honored that she’s chosen to be with me.

I swiftly shed my own clothes, tossing them to the side to crawl back onto the bed. I take my time, exploring every inch of her as if I don’t already know it. I reacquaint myself with the taste of her throat, the sensitivity of her nipples, the quiver of her belly.

I spread her legs, settling between them to dip my tongue into her most intimate place and kiss her clit. I use my tongue and fingers to bring her to the edge, then back off, only to do it again. Unlike the first time I edged her, she doesn’t plead with me to make it stop and let her come already, but she still pants and writhes the same way. She’s all swaying hips and fisting hands, holding anything she can, the sheets, my hair, her tits.

When I feel it getting to be too much, her body tensing so hard she’s squeezing my head between her thighs, I give her what she requires and suck on that swollen pearl of her sex, curling my fingers inside her, stroking until she comes undone. It’s beautiful how she breathes my name in a hoarse voice, her body convulsing, her orgasm washing over her in waves.

But I don’t give her time to recover. I’m much too greedy for that. Instead, I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth then use it to hold her leg up and slide inside the sweetest place I’ve ever known to be home. Her neck arches as I fill her completely, and I know it won’t be long until she’s coming again.

“Look at me, duchess.”

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