Page 25 of One Pucking Secret
I bite my lip, certain that telling him my boobs got bigger after I had a child is off the table. “You can thank my killer chest routine for that. Push-ups and chest-flys work wonders.”
“Seems so.” With deft fingers, he unhooks my bra, and it falls away. An unneeded barrier cast aside.
My own hands are not idle. They’re hungry for him. I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, each one a tiny victory as the fabric gapesopen to reveal the sculpted landscape of his abs. The sight of his muscular build, the hard planes and valleys, pulls a gasp from me. My fingers dance across the ridges of his chest, tracing the topography of a man carved from perseverance and strength.
Then, he does something unexpected, something that lifts the world from its axis—he sweeps me off my feet, quite literally. Just like he did years ago. His arms, solid as the pillars of a temple, cradle me close as he carries me toward the bedroom.
We cross the threshold, and the outside world fades to a whisper. All that exists is the magnetic pull of our bodies yearning to become one.
The bedroom surrounds us, a haven of soft light and sleek edges, with a massive king-sized bed and windows that frame the city lights like stars scattered below. He lowers me onto the comforter, his hands tracing every curve like he’s memorizing me. In one smooth motion, I shrug off my blouse, the cool air brushing against my skin.
He leans down, taking one of my nipples into the heat of his mouth, his touch sending a wave of warmth through me. A moan vibrates through me. My fingers grip the sheets, anchoring me to this moment, to the whirlwindof sensation that he conjures with every touch. Memory hadn’t done justice to the skill of his lips—each pull sends ripples of pleasure coursing through me.
My hands find their way to his belt, unbuckling it with an eagerness that draws a chuckle from him.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” he teases, his breath warm against my skin.
“Should I move slower?”
But the urgency in our movements, the way our bodies speak to each other—it’s clear we’re past the point of slowing down.
He shakes his head, blue eyes darkening with desire. “No, this is perfect.” His affirmation is sealed with another deep kiss. I sit up, and he joins me at my side, his hands helping to slide the denim over my hips.
Standing, he sheds his boxers, and the sight of him—powerful, ready, magnificent—draws a bitten lip and a whispered “Wow” from me.
The corners of his mouth lift in a knowing smirk. “Like what you see?”
I nod, mute with anticipation.
“Then why don’t you show me?” he challenges, voice laced with raw need.
I close the distance between us, then settle on my knees to welcome him into the heat of mymouth. My hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking in tandem with the rhythm set by my lips. Every sigh from him, every shift of his muscle under my touch, is a testament to the connection that still blazes between us after all the lost time.
His grip in my hair tightens, a primal affirmation of the moment. “Mm, baby,” he groans, and it’s raw, stripped of any barriers we once had between us. “God, you’re incredible,” he says, his voice hoarse with pleasure.
His praise sends a ripple of pride through me, and I move faster, taking him deeper, reveling in the way he loses control.
“Jeez, I’m not going to be able to hang on much longer.” His blue eyes are clouded with need, locked onto mine, and I can feel the tension coiling within him, ready to spring forth.
“Then don’t,” I whisper against his flesh before my tongue flicks across the sensitive tip. I take him back into my mouth, the taste of him both familiar and intoxicating.
With a final thrust of his hips, he surrenders, releasing himself into my mouth. The taste of him is a bittersweet tang on my tongue.
“Delicious,” I murmur after swallowing, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I rise up to look at him.
“Turn around and get on all fours,” he commands, his voice thick with desire. “Now.”
Obediently, I pivot, feeling the cool air against my heated skin. He tugs on the waistband of my skirt, removing it in one pull. Once he tosses it to the floor, his fingers hook into the strings of my thong, pulling it aside with a swift tug. The fabric falls away, and I’m laid bare to his gaze.
Suddenly I cry out as I feel his fingers trace my slick entrance.
“So wet, Chloe. Seems you’re all ready for me.”
“Please,” I beg, my body aching for him.
His fingers circle my clit, my moans escaping me, one after the other. His touch is light, but enough to make me melt like putty.
“God, Wyatt.” My chest heaves as he massages my clit. My breathing is frantic, my legs shaking. I’ve never been more turned on.
