Page 75 of The Refiner

I don’t know if I’m the weirdo here, but I have never ridden a man’s face. I would argue that it seems demeaning to the person on the bottom, but then again, maybe that’s the point. Submitting yourself, putting your pride aside to make someone feel good is the greatest show of love and devotion.

Astor isn’t a man that should be on the bottom. He’s the type of man that I imagine women drop to their knees for, yet, here he is, lying beneath me, his sole intent to pleasure me.

There’s a reason some men make women stupid, and Astor is exhibit A.

Inhaling, I gaze into those beautiful eyes, he’s waiting, giving me time to make the first move. He’s submitting to me, and he’s waiting for me to do the same. It’s a pivotal moment in our relationship—one I no longer want to ignore.

Inching up his body, I hold his eyes until they disappear between my thighs. He doesn’t give me time to settle, his arms come out from behind his head and clamp down on my hips, his tongue slipping inside me in the next breath. At first, it’s a gentle caress, much like how he used the syringe with the gummy. Softly and confidently, he eases in and out of my body, filling and retreating, so that I recognize the emptiness, the need, the hole he leaves when he’s gone.

My hips buck, but he holds me down, making me feel everything, even the rush of wetness that’s likely dripping on his face, but he doesn’t seem to care. In fact, the noises he makes while he nips and tastes me have me thinking he’s enjoying himself even more, knowing I’m losing control.

And the more he teases, the more I find it difficult not to smother him. “Astor,” I beg. “I need—” At this point, I don’t have time to play the “tell me what you want” game. “I need you inside me. Now.”

His mouth stops immediately, and later, I’ll think about how stupid he made me, because I don’t think about a condom. I simply slide down his body, take his cock in my hand and lower myself onto him.

The muscles in his neck flex, his swollen cock demanding entry while my opening stretches around the welcome intrusion. It’s the biting pain that tells me when I’m fully seated and full of Astor Potter’s cock. It feels like he is everywhere inside me, but maybe that’s just him, demanding space in my heart too.

Exhaling, I try relaxing as his palms slide up my thighs to my hips. “Set the pace, Keys.”

With a slow roll of my hips, I do. I take everything I need from this man. His power. His strength. I use it all as I work us into a needy frenzy. “I need you to finish.”

Because as much as I like to be the woman in charge, I enjoy Astor being the man in charge more.

I should have known he was hanging on by a thread, because the man needs no other instruction when he growls out, “Hang on.”

And then he grips my hips, slamming me down on his cock, moving my body to the speed of his liking.

I can’t breathe as he thrusts inside, hard and owning. Astor Potter is making sure I know that he’s the only one to ever own my body. When he thrusts for the last time, pulling one final scream from me, I realize that I am completely and utterly in love with him.

Keagan

“What is on her head?”

I pull Tatum from her car seat and grin. “It’s a bow. Don’t you think she looks adorable?”

Astor’s gaze tracks from the olive-green headband with a bow, which I’ll admit, is pretty large for her little baby face, to the matching headband in my hair.

“I think she is adorable,” he says in a flat voice, his eyes never leaving me. “I didn’t realize she favored the boho chic look already.”

I tuck the little nugget in the sling and turn around so Astor can tighten the buckle at my back. “Yeah, we talked about it the other day when you were napping.”

“Oh really?”

His thumb grazes the base of my neck as he moves my hair off my shoulder to get to the ring, pulling the fabric of the sling. I swallow, feeling the warmth of his hand as he pulls me against him, tightening the last of the straps, reminding me of last night when I realized I was in love with Tatum’s father.

“Yeah, Tatum and I decided that you and Piper have the worst taste in clothes,” I recover quickly. “If I didn’t step in, she would end up being the only kid in daycare wearing a Vera Wang pants suit when you go back to work.” I turn around and teasingly straighten Astor’s collar as an example. “Someone had to put a stop to this madness before it got out of hand. Besides, we can’t have the kid going into the grocery store, looking like she’s going to a Milan fashion show.”

Not that Astor has dressed her like that yet—she’s too little, but he will, I just know it.

“So you both decided boho bracelets and oversized linen bows were the right grocery store attire?” Astor’s lips twitch, fighting back a smile.

“Yeah, we did. Are you trying to imply that we have no taste in fashion?” I glance down at my own pair of linen pants and white crop top.

Clearly, Tatum had no say in this matter, but I’ll be leaving soon—the least I can do is impart some style on the girl. It’s not that I want to leave; I don’t. But I can’t put off Archer much longer. He’s resorted to sending me emails instead of calling. My guess, he doesn’t want to risk Astor answering again.

“Not at all.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Just making sure I understand.”

“Good, I’m glad we have that settled. I’ll stock her closet full of acceptable outfits and bows before I leave. If you think they are too big, you’ll know they are just right.”

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