Page 32 of Yours, Now and Always
And then. Oh god. He licks his fingers clean.
Slow. Unbothered. Like this is just something husbands do on a Friday morning.
No apology for what he just did.
Just that feral look that saysYeah, I did that. And I’ll do it again the second you let me.
Which is rude, honestly, because I’m here trying to get us ready for a wedding. I’ve got a full to-do list, daughters somewhere nearby, and zero time to add “recover from feral-husband-finger-fucking-me” to my list.
I do up my jeans as I mutter, “Jesus, Gage, our daughters aresomewhere in the vicinityof this orgasm.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. Neither does his voice when he says with absolute certainty, “No, they’re not.”
I arch my brows. “And you know this because?”
“Because I installed sensors at the bottom of the stairs and near our door.”
I blink. “What?” I blink again. “You put in literal kid alarms so you’d know when to stop being feral with your wife?”
“Motion sensors. They ping my phone when someone gets too close.”
I just stare at him. “You built an early warning system for your filthy emergencies.”
His mouth twitches. “I plan ahead.”
“Okay, but . . .you built an orgasm perimeter?”
His expression is unrepentant. “I’m not letting anything come between me and your pussy, Amelia. Not even our kids. The sensors make sure of it. You give me a moment, I’m taking it.”
I don’t even know what to do with that.
Part of me wants to be scandalized. Truly. I should probably be making a firm statement about boundaries and children and appropriate behavior in shared domestic spaces.
But the other part of me?
The part still recovering from his fingers?
That part is deeply, wildly turned on.
Because of course he did this.
Of course, my filthy husband with a god complex and a pussy fixation installed stealth sensors to protect his chances of fucking me on sight.
Some husbands buy flowers. Mine buys motion detectors to keep his railings on schedule.
“You realize how insane this is, right?” I press a hand to my chest because, oh my god, this man,my husband, did this for us, and I feel the need to physically hold my heart in. “You bought tech support for your sex life. And I don’t know if I should kiss you or get you evaluated.” My eyes widen a fraction. “Are you planning to do the same at home?”
“It’s on my list,” he says as if that’s the most reasonable answer in the world.
Then, he’s got a hand around my waist and he’s kissing me again. Rough, fast, unfair.
“I’m going to call the girls in while you finish up,” he says against my lips. “We’ve shot our timeline to hell, and—” he checks his watch “—we’re running late. So don’t take your time.”
I give him a look as he pulls back. “Wedidn’t shoot our timeline to hell.Youdid. I’ll take as long as I need to take.”
He’s amused. His expression saysSure, Princess. Tell yourself whatever you need to.
Then his voice drops again. Bossy. No playfulness in sight. “You’ve got ten minutes. Then I’m coming back in here.”
