Page 157 of That Moment
“Bed,” I manage, though my legs feel as unsteady as a baby deer.
He scoops me up without a word. I loop my arms around his neck, nuzzle into the clean, salt-cedar smell of his skin. He places me on the bed, then stands, towering, chest heaving as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt, then pauses, eyes roaming like he’s mapping me to memory.
“Look at you,” he says, almost reverent.
He strips off his shirt, muscles flexing and ripping with the movement. My hand goes for his tux pants, desperate to free him, but he stops me with a kiss to my palm.
“Not yet.” He unclasps, shoves the black fabric and boxers down his thighs. My breath catches. He grips his cock, thick and hard, stroking slowly from base to tip. My mouth goes dry watching his big hand glide over himself, veins standing out, precum glistening.
“Look at you,” he rasps again, eyes locked on mine. “Lying there like a dream, still trembling from my mouth… and all I can think about is filling you. You want my cock, baby? You want your husband to fuck you with it every night for the rest of your life?”
“Yes,” I moan, thighs rubbing together, need clawing at me. “God, yes.”
He strokes harder, groaning low in his chest. “Say it. Say you want this cock inside you.”
“I want it. I want you. I want your cock, Scotty.”
His control snaps. “Good fucking answer.”
He crawls over me on the bed, still stroking himself until the head drags against my slick heat. Then he pushes my hand aside and lines up, eyes blazing down into mine.
“Open for me, Mrs. Bescher.” I do, and he sinks in, inch by devastating inch. My back arches, a cry tearing free. “Fuck, yes,” he groans, burying to the hilt. “So tight. Wrapped around me like you were made for my cock. Mine.”
The filthy words in that worshiping tone wreck me. My nails dig into his shoulders as he bottoms out, the stretch perfect, the fullness a claim I crave now. The pain afterward is a delicious reminder of where he’s been inside me.
“Mine,” he breathes against my mouth. “All of you. Forever. Say it.”
“I’m yours.” I meet his thrust, hungry. “I’m your wife. Forever”
“Forever.” He repeats as he starts to move, slow and deep, rolling his hips like he’s trying to memorize the way I break open for him. Each glide hits something sweet and unbearable. He watches my face, like the way I fall apart is the only thing on earth that matters.
“You like that, Mrs. Bescher?”
“Yes.” I’m shameless, begging. “More.”
“Greedy wife.” He kisses my grin, then gives me exactly what I ask for. He shifts, hooks my knee over his hip, and drives deeper. The bed creaks, my breath stutters, and he talks me through it. “That’s it. Take it. Let me make you feel how greedy you are for my cock.”
I’m gone. The second climax builds fast, hot, and high. He feels it and doesn’t stop. One hand laced with mine over my head, the other steady at my hip.
“Look at me,” he orders, gentle but commanding. “Come, looking at your husband.”
I meet his eyes. I fall. It slams through me, hard and fast. My toes curl, my nails digging into him as I squeeze my thighs against his hips. He follows with a growl, thrusts stuttering as he spills, forehead pressed to mine, breath harsh.
He stays inside me, heavy and warm, then kisses my forehead, my nose, my mouth. “You good, baby?” he murmurs.
I smile up at him, boneless. “Floaty. Boneless.”
He laughs, low and happy, and eases out. He disappears to the bathroom, returns with a warm cloth, and cleans me with careful hands. Even the aftercare is like worship. He tosses the cloth, pulls back the sheets, and brings me into his chest. I tuck into him, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the ridges of his stomach.
“Married,” I whisper, still in awe. “We did that.”
He kisses my hair. “Damn right we did.” He cups my face. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making this good for you. Making you happy. Making sure you never wonder if you chose right.”
“I never wondered.”
His arm tightens. “Say it again.”
“I never wondered,” I repeat, kissing his chest. “I chose you. Always you.”
