It was a startling contrast, the way August could let her get close in some ways, but he continued to doggedly fend her off in others. Last night at her mother’s house, they’d been each other’s one-person hype squads. They’d comforted each other with touches and . . . God, at some point it started to feel like she was actually introducing her husband into the family. She’d forgotten about their arrangement right up until Ingram stood to leave for the night.
She’d wanted to forget again on the ride home, but the silence was too deafening.
Was he waiting for her to announce her returned feelings?
Was he waiting for her to announce she wanted him as her real husband?
Reading August was next to impossible this morning, when he was working in the barn with the door closed, a clear sign to stay out. She wasn’t welcome there. And it was too much of a reminder of how she’d been raised. Allowed to participate only when it was convenient for everyone else and there was no chance she’d screw up.
Maybe she would screw up his operation, even worse than it already was.
After all, she’d flamed out brilliantly in New York.
If he were hurting her intentionally, maybe she could find the heart to be mad at him.
But really, he was just a stubborn, determined man who saw only the goal, not sparing any thoughts about who he climbed over to reach it. And instead of being mad at him, she missed him. Missed sitting shoulder to thigh with him like she’d done last night. Missed the sound of his big, obnoxious laugh—and it had been only one day.
Whether she’d hurt him by protecting herself and not vocalizing her feelings or he was shutting her out, she still wanted to hear that laugh. She wanted this time with him and she wanted to experience it to the fullest because it . . . made her feel a way she couldn’t admit yet. Not without questioning her vision for the future.
Natalie’s attention drifted away from her laptop and around the kitchen, landing on a package of cookies above the stove. Should she make August some food? Heaven only knew the last thing he’d expect was for her to bring him a snack.
An idea struck. A perfect way to hear his laugh again.
She closed her laptop and made sure the door was locked, then she spent the next forty-five minutes setting her plans in motion.
At one time, she’d been known in this town as the prank queen. But it had been a while since she’d played a prank. Funny how the series of pranks excited her more than the chance to guarantee a billion dollars in financing, but that was a problem for another day. For now, she desperately needed to lighten the tension between her and August. And in the process, she’d get him back for making her dance to “Brick House” at their wedding.
Close to an hour later, Natalie plated the cookies she’d been working on, schooled her features, and walked out to the barn. She stopped just inside the door and watched August pulverize the grapes like they’d stolen his bike. Shaking her head, she picked up the cookie on the right edge of the plate and nibbled on it, bumping her hip against the creaky barn door to draw his notice.
When he turned, Natalie was caught off guard to find him looking a little haggard. She considered calling off the whole plan she’d hatched, especially when he saw her and brightened, that weariness vanishing without a trace. Like maybe he’d been out here feeling just as unbalanced as she’d been at the kitchen table.
“Hey,” he said, taking a rag out of his back pocket and mopping his brow. An eager step forward. “You found my Oreo stash.”
“Mmmm.” She took a proper bite out of the one in her hand. “I’m not sharing. I just brought these out here to taunt you.”
At her customary barb, she saw relief landslide down his entire body and it made her stomach hurt. She was right. He’d been out here feeling just as terrible.
“You brought me out a snack, princess. That counts as cooking.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Anything you put on a plate is a culinary creation.”
“Stop trying to walk back your bad cook insults. It’s not working.”
“You’re smiling. It’s working.” He came closer and snatched one of the Oreos off the plate. “How about this? In our household, if it’s on a plate, it’s considered an entrée.”
Trying not to look too smug, Natalie sighed. “If you insist.”
“I do.” He sank his straight white teeth into the Oreo and chewed. “Hey, that’s my second ‘I do’ in less than a week—” He froze. Chewed a little more. Then doubled over and spat the chewed-up glop onto the ground. “Christ, what did you do? Replace the frosting with toothpaste?”
“The old Colgate switcheroo,” she confirmed over his dry heaving. “Too easy.”
“Tell that to my esophagus,” he choked.
A laugh blew out of her.
August looked up and smiled, his teeth caked in cookie, turning her laugh into a full-body guffaw. “You realize you’ve incited a war,” he said.
“Yes, sir. The only war in which I can—and will—beat a Navy SEAL.”
He threw back his head and let out a punctuated ha. “Not in your wildest dreams.”
She checked her manicure. “I hope you have good medical.”
“You are toast, Natalie. Pumpernickel. Rye. Sourdough. Toast.”
They were standing at the entrance of the barn, grinning at each other like dummies. Natalie didn’t want to acknowledge how much steadier she felt already. So she wouldn’t. Nor would she acknowledge the fact that she wouldn’t always have the option of going out to the barn and antagonizing him until they got to the other side of whatever was bothering them.
For now, though . . . thank God she did.
Because the thought of being anywhere else made her shudder.
She’d have to get over it. Another day.
Natalie turned and speed walked toward the house, feeling almost buzzed from the giddiness. She couldn’t seem to stop giggling under her breath, the lightness in her chest almost sweeping her up off the ground. Must be the prank. Had to be the prank.
“You know, in my high school yearbook, I was voted Most Likely to Replace Your Hand Sanitizer with Glue.”
August’s laughter boomed across the front yard. “Oh yeah? Well in my high school yearbook, I was voted—”
“Class Clown. Fart Champion. Guy We’ll Miss the Least.”
“Wrong, princess. Most Likely to Surprise You.” There was a short pause. “I do think that was in reference to the fact that I used to sneak up behind people and fart, but still.”
She had to stop halfway up the stairs to the house, because she was almost blinded by tears of mirth. They were streaming down her face, her sides trembling. This was definitely worth the time she’d taken to lick the frosting out of five Oreos. Especially when August followed her into the house a moment later and turned toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower and then it’s on. You’re not getting the best of August Cates.” He traveled halfway down the hallway and stopped. “You didn’t do anything to the shower, did you?”
“What could someone do to a shower?” she asked innocently, sitting back down at her laptop. “I’m going back to work.”
Eyes narrowed into slits, August turned again and, a second later, closed the bathroom door. Natalie bit down hard on her lower lip, listening to him open cabinets and slowly pull back the shower curtain, as if wary of a snake jumping out. She even heard him uncapping the shampoo bottle and taking a big sniff of the contents, which she had to admit was pretty wise.
Just too predictable.
Calmly, she stood up from the table, opened the drawer containing the plastic wrap, tore off a long piece, and attached it across the hallway entrance. She squinted an eye to judge August’s exact height and left the plastic there, waiting. That was when she heard the shower start, the pelting spray interrupted by his large frame.
And the resounding “What the fuck?” that carried though the house, sending the cat skidding from one dark hole to another.
Ready to explode from excitement, Natalie sat down at the table and pretended to type, but kept one eye on the hallway. Sure enough, August burst out of the bathroom a moment later, towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips, blinded by the chicken bouillon cube she’d hidden in the shower nozzle. And just like a dream, he walked straight into the plastic wrap, the film clinging to his slimy features until he tore it off.
“Something wrong, honey?” she asked with mock concern.
“You’re . . .” he sputtered, turning in the direction of her voice while searching the immediate area for something he could use to wipe his face. “You’re a criminal.”
Natalie gasped. “That’s no way to speak to your bride.”
“Fine. You’re a criminal bride. Coming to CBS this fall.”
All right, that deserved a paper towel. When was the last time she’d laughed this hard? Or didn’t feel like the uncertainty of the future was hanging above her head like a hundred-pound sack of fish guts? “Here,” she said a little breathlessly, standing up and handing August the paper towel roll he kept on the counter. “I think you’ve had enough. For now.”
“You, on the other hand . . .” He swiped at his face hastily, cleaning his eyes off enough to pin her with a predatory look. “Haven’t even begun to feel the wrath.”
“Oooh, look at me. I’m shaking.”
“You should be.”
There had to be something terribly wrong with Natalie that she’d never been more attracted to anyone in her life—and he was currently wearing chicken-flavored slime and his mouth probably tasted like mint hell. Yet if he kissed her in that moment, she would have been moaning for him to take her to chicken town in a heartbeat.
Gulping through the humiliation of that, she swiped the screwdriver off the counter where she’d left it, handing it over. “For the showerhead.” She shrugged. “I don’t think they make a tool big enough to fix your pride.”
He shook his head slowly. She expected a hot take to come out of his mouth. Instead, she got “Sam would have adored you.” His gaze carried over her face, as if memorizing her features. “That’s not a prank.”
“Thanks. Thank you,” she sputtered, because she couldn’t think of anything else. Or process thoughts into words when an erosion was taking place inside her.
Looking sort of at a loss himself, August turned on a heel and creaked back toward the bathroom. “Sleep with one eye open, princess,” he shouted before closing the door.
She caught his smile right before it closed.
* * *
August was cooking something on the other side of her bedroom door.
It smelled incredible.
She didn’t trust it.
After round one of the Prank War, they’d retreated to their battle stations. He’d gone back outside and flipped his tire for a while before occupying the kitchen with so much presence that she’d fled like a coward to stop herself from doing something stupid like sliding between that thick, badass body and the counter, leaving the rest up to fate.
It was getting darker outside and there seemed to be some correlation between the sunset and her libido. The damn thing had a personality now and it wanted to know why it hadn’t been pampered since their wedding night. She definitely hadn’t exfoliated and lotioned herself to death hoping something might accidentally happen again. Of course not.
They were in the midst of a war!
What was his first move going to be?
She didn’t know his prank style yet. What if he shaved off one of her eyebrows? That was exactly the kind of nonsubtle action her husband would take. Had she gotten herself in too deep? Why was exhilaration spinning in her tummy like a Ferris wheel? Who got this much enjoyment out of a fake husband? Was she doing it wrong?
Obviously, yes.
A ping on her laptop signaled an incoming email. She was on the verge of assuming it was an advertisement when she noticed Claudia’s name. Why was her business partner emailing her so late? With no subject line?
Frowning, Natalie opened the email and found a short message: Sorry if I’m the first one to tell you, just didn’t want you to be blindsided this week. Below that cryptic statement was a link to a New York Times article.
No, an engagement announcement.
For Morrison and his new girlfriend.
Her whole body beat once, a tingle at the crown of her head. Mostly out of shock. After that, she waited for the jealousy to rise up and drag her under.
It never did.
They were like two fictitious characters on the screen, smiling and two dimensional and so far away. What did those two people do for fun? Probably not a prank war. They definitely wouldn’t dance to “Brick House” at their wedding. But she hoped they had their own versions of those activities. She really did. Like, wow. She actually found herself truly hoping they would be happy. How evolved was that?
Thanks for letting me know, Natalie typed back. I’ll send a fruit basket.
She hit send and sat on the edge of the bed for another moment, still a little wary of the total lack of shits she gave over Morrison’s being engaged. What did that mean?
A gruff rendition of “Love Train” being sung in the kitchen drew her attention. She set her laptop on the bedside table and promptly forgot about the news. It was time to face her fate. No more putting it off. Whatever comeuppance was in her future, she would take it like a woman and immediately begin plotting revenge. Would it be sugar replaced with salt in an evening coffee? Or maybe even an old-school whoopee cushion. That smacked of August—
As soon as she opened her bedroom door, a bucket of water turned over and rained down on her head. It was like that famous scene from Flashdance, except she wasn’t wearing a sexy leotard and the absolute soaking wasn’t voluntary. No cinematic value whatsoever.
Standing at the stove and laughing like a psychotic hyena, August snapped a picture with his phone. “Photographic evidence. Bet you wish you’d thought of that.”
Natalie was still rendered speechless by the deluge. Not to mention, the fact that her embarrassment was now immortalized digitally. But when the bucket came loose from the door frame and plunked her square on the head, she thought on her feet, grabbing onto the opportunity for quick revenge with both hands.
“Ouch.” Her hand flew to the spot where the empty bucket had connected and sucked in an unsteady breath, blinking rapidly, as if holding back tears. “Ow, my head. Ouch.”
August went still as a statue, the blood draining from his face. “Oh my God.” He dropped his phone and it bounce-skidded under the table, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”
She gave a long, brave sniff and looked at her hand, wincing like she’d spotted blood. “I . . . I don’t know. I probably only need a few stitches.”
“Stitches?” August roared, stumbling into the table and upsetting the saltshaker. The poor man looked on the verge of passing out. His hands were shaking as he turned off the stove burners with jerky movements, reached for a dish towel, and stomped toward her, chest heaving up and down. “Come here, princess. Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. The bucket wasn’t supposed to fall.”
“I’m feeling a little faint,” she rasped, pitching to one side and clinging to the doorframe of her bedroom. “Do you think it’s a concussion?”
“No,” he breathed, horrified. White as a sheet. “No, no, no . . .”
Okay. Jig’s up. The man had suffered enough.
Right before he could tug away her hand to examine the nonexistent wound on top of her head, Natalie smiled. “Gotcha, babe.”
It was like watching an air mattress deflate in fast motion. The air just sort of blew out of him and he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. “That’s not funny, Natalie,” he wheezed. “I thought I split your head open.”
“You do. But only with migraines.”
He lifted his head, his complexion still lacking in color. “You’re really okay?”
Suddenly her heart weighed four hundred pounds.
And was roughly the size of a watermelon, the whole thing seeming to pry apart her ribs and protrude from her chest. Perhaps she needed an ambulance after all. “Yes, I’m okay. I was just getting you back.”
“Consider me gotten.”
He commenced a breathing exercise—in, in, out, in, in, out—she suspected was designed to calm him. And it was just barely working. Come to think of it, she was having a pretty difficult time breathing, too, her heart galloping like a Derby winner.
I’m falling for my husband.
Hard and fast.
Might even be well past . . . fallen for him territory.
Oh shit.
And he wiggled a little deeper into her heart when he straightened suddenly and crowded her into the doorway, brushing around the wet hair on her head gently, looking down at her from above. “I just need to check for myself,” he said, his warm breath on her forehead. “I don’t see anything. Thank God.” He closed his eyes, pressed their foreheads together. “You scared forty-six years off my life.”
“That’s a very specific number,” she whispered, staring at his mouth.
Did it always look so delicious?
Yes. Always.
“That’s the number of fights we’ve had since we met,” he said, almost to himself, his lips lingering on her forehead. Kissing the center and remaining there for long seconds. “Which, coincidentally, is the number of times I’ve wanted to kick myself afterward. And bad news, I don’t see me learning my lesson anytime soon. I’m a glutton for punishment.” He brushed her hair back from her shoulder. “Yours.”
Her knees wobbled like they might send her splattering to the ground. “I’ll do my best to keep meting it out.”
“Good.”
Natalie wet lips that had become parched, despite the fact that a bucket of water had been overturned on her head. “I better get out of these wet clothes.” She tilted back her head so their mouths could rest on top of each other and just like that, they were struggling to breathe. “Want to help me?”
August swallowed audibly, then took a long inhale and exhale through his nose. “It’s not a question of wanting to. I always fucking want you. Every minute, every hour of the day.” The words weren’t even finished coming out of his mouth when she kissed him, their mutual groans coming from deep within. “But I told you the night we got married. Before we go there, I want to know you’re not going to wake up with regrets. Don’t you dare roll over in my bed tomorrow and act like this was a one-night stand. It’s not.”
“What is it?” she whispered against his mouth, almost terrified of the answer.
Funny, he didn’t look scared at all. Only determined. “We’re going to find out.” The determination flickered a touch and some vulnerability shone through. “Tell me how you feel about me, Natalie.”
Her heartbeat spread to her entire body, pulsing in every limb, every hair follicle. “Oh my God, who just puts somebody on the spot like this?”
“I’m done wondering.” He backed her into the bedroom one slow step at a time. Mouth to mouth. His fingertips traced gently down the sides of her face, her throat. Then they took hold of the neckline of her T-shirt and tore it straight down the middle, making her cry out. “I’m done obsessing about you every waking second and having no idea if you’re obsessing about me, too.”
She stared down at her ripped shirt in shock, eyes shooting back up to meet his increasingly intense ones. “Do you want me to obsess about you?”
“Yes.” With gritted teeth, he unsnapped the front of her bra and tugged it down her arms, throwing it clear to the other side of the room, along with the remains of her shirt. “Maybe you’ve been with men in the past who don’t want to label shit or be tied down. Well, that’s not me. Not when it comes to you. I want you to count the minutes until we’re breathing the same air again, the way I do.”
There was quicksand shifting beneath her feet, preparing to suck her down. “W-we only married for money—”
His mouth stamped down on hers at an angle and she went from protesting the existence of her own feelings to kissing him eagerly, whimpering into the possessive stroke of his tongue. “Go sell that lie somewhere else, princess,” he rasped, pulling her yoga pants and panties down to her knees, dragging his nose upward over her stomach and between her breasts on the way back to looking her straight in the eye. “Now am I just giving you head again? Or are you going to admit how you feel about me so we can fuck like animals?”
Her sex gave a very dramatic, very enthusiastic clench in favor of the latter. But speaking of animals, her heart was still hammering like a jackrabbit. Just admit how she felt? Who did that? Obviously people who had never been on the receiving end of a No thank you, I’ll pass.
Natalie stood poised on the edge of a canyon being asked to walk a tight rope to the other side. But the longer she looked into his seeking eyes, the steadier that rope became until it turned into a full-fledged bridge. “I do it, too,” she whispered in a rush. “I count the minutes until we’re breathing the same air again.”
“Okay.” He wrapped his arms around her, his relieved exhale blowing her hair in several directions. “Damn. Okay. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“That? Was like standing in the woods smeared in honey.”
His chuckle was halting. “Brave girl.” He smoothed his palms down her naked hips, back up the sides of her rib cage, his lips moving on the side of her neck. “My girl.”
In that moment, it was the truth. Her body belonged to him. Her heart lay defenseless.
Just asking to be mauled.
When his strong hands finally closed around her breasts, Natalie’s neck lost power, her head tipping back on a breathy moan. In one swift movement, his ropy forearm wrapped around the small of her back and he knelt on the mattress, dropping her down beneath him. Her yoga pants were around her knees. Never taking his eyes off her, he pulled her pants and underwear down the remaining distance, letting them slap wetly onto the floor. They joined the rag that used to be her shirt as he licked her nipples. Just once each and she was shaking.
“Have I told you lately that your tits are insane?” he murmured into the valley between the two mounds, his thumbs brushing circles around the puckered peaks.
“On our wedding day.”
He lifted his head, grinning. “Took away the nerves, didn’t it?”
Don’t smile back. Don’t—
Too late. She was beaming like a headlight. “It shifted my priorities. From trying not to faint to trying not to sock you in the junk.”
“My junk is deeply grateful.” Eyes twinkling, he winked at her. “And I promise to make you deeply grateful for my junk.”
The laugh snuck out before she could trap it. “You’re such a bozo.”
“I’m your bozo.” The words were half muffled because he closed his wet mouth around her right nipple and suctioned lightly. His tongue provided friction at the same time and God, God, her legs jerked up around his hips, her back arching in a half-moon shape. He used his mouth on her breasts for so long, lapping and biting softly and thumbing her peaks, she almost reminded him they’d agreed on sex. But when she started to grow hot and agitated, she realized—once again—that this man knew exactly what he was doing.
“August.”
His hand slid up and cupped her face, tongue still working, working, working her swollen nipple and now . . . there was some kind of tugging cord between said nipple and her core. It vibrated and hummed, sending reverberations throughout her body. “Hmmm?”
“Can you please.”
“Please?”
“Be inside me now?”
The movements of his tongue were so slow and savoring, she was caught off guard when he lifted his head and she found his pupils taking up nearly his entire irises. “I’m not entering the palace without paying homage to the queen, Natalie,” he said, out of breath.
“What does that mean?”
“It means . . .” He licked up the hollow of her throat, all the way to her mouth, capturing it in a blistering kiss. “I thought I’d blown my chance to have you like this. I’m not sure how I was able to go on living. Still a mystery.” He sank his fingers into her hair, angled her head, and took her mouth in several slanting kisses that scrambled her brain, all while his big, fully dressed body kept her pinned hard to the mattress, his thickness trapped between their bellies like a taunt. “Bottom line, I’m not going in like some eager young puppy. Bad as I want to unzip my jeans and give you hell, princess, if your life doesn’t flash in front of your eyes when I finally get my cock inside you, I don’t deserve to call myself your husband.”
Natalie mentally reeled.
Opened her mouth to disagree that unzipping and giving hell was a negative thing.
But August had already stripped off his shirt—oh, the muscle—and rolled over onto his back. “Come here.” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, that broad chest beginning to heave faster and faster. “Let me lick it.”
Her brain had gone offline. “I don’t understand.”
August either didn’t hear her or was choosing to ignore her confusion, because his teeth were sinking into that glossy bottom lip now, his palm stroking the ridge in his jeans. “Christ, just thinking about you sitting on my face might finish me.”
“You want me to—”
“I’m not above begging.”
Forget the fact that she’d never done that before. Not from the top position. But she’d experienced the force of nature that was August’s tongue on their wedding night and the memories were not just glorious, they were fresh. He didn’t need to beg. He didn’t even need to ask her twice. She straddled the mile-wide mountain range that was his chest, whimpering when he took two rough handfuls of her backside and dragged her onto his mouth.
Dragged.
Grinding her there. On his stiff tongue.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, she would never again underestimate the effects of nipple stimulation. There was no awkward moment or easing into the act of being pleasured from below. Not when he’d already gotten her this wet, this sensitive. There were only the desperate writhes of her hips, the shallow, hiccupping sounds emanating from her throat, August’s moans, and the wild urgency to climax.
He entered her with his tongue, pushed it as deep as possible—and her womb itself constricted, her thighs going rubbery. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” His middle finger teased her rear entrance, that magical tongue driving in, out, in—and goodbye reality, she was now a resident of the stars. She rode on a rainbow unicorn over the Milky Way and waved at an astronaut. Her body was still in the bedroom, thighs squeezing the sides of August’s head, fingers clutching shakily at the headboard while wave after wave of pleasure rocketed through her lower body, tightening and releasing muscles, brutalizing her in the best way possible.
Even after the orgasm crested and she came back down the other side, she was still trembling, her skin speckled in sweat. She actually had to blink several times to align her vision again and look down into August’s face. And he was so turned on by her reaction to what they’d done, so visibly heated, that somehow, against all odds, her own lust rose back to the surface. Unrecognizable, eager sounds fell from her mouth as she scooted backward down his body and found he’d already lowered his zipper. Taken his shaft in his hand.
“The pill, you said?”
“Pill. Yes.”
“Doctor said I’m good, Natalie.”
“Same.”
“No condom?”
All she could do was shake her head.
“Then sit,” he growled through his teeth.
Speaking of eager young puppies, that’s exactly what she did—taking his thickness all the way home, not stopping until he shouted her name.
Deep, so deep.
Fragments of light exploded behind her eyes, her hips moving of their own volition. In a split second, they were fulfilling his promise of fucking like animals, her sex, never wetter in its life, bringing him inside over and over again, her butt slapping down on the top of his thick, hairy thighs.
“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop,” he panted, fingertips digging into the meat of her butt cheeks, his lower body slamming upward to meet the breathless bucks of her hips. “If you squeeze up around my tongue that goddamn tight when you come, can’t wait to feel how you grip that dick. You’re going to ride it until I find out.”
“Uh-huh. Yes, August.”
Oh yeah. This was the new her, apparently. Obedient as all get-out.
How else was she supposed to behave when this man had unlocked secrets to her pleasure that she didn’t even know were being held prisoner? He was magic. And his erect penis, God help her, was pure perfection. Normally Natalie would have called it too large. She had called it that at first glance. But the foreplay—the mothereffing foreplay turned that . . . eight? Nine-inch? . . . monster into a jungle gym. And it had a curve in it. She actually had to throw her hips back to accommodate that slight bow and in doing so, her clit rubbed against the solid, so solid base of his sex, turning her into a moaning, sweating mess.
“There’s a lot happening on your beautiful face, but nothing coming out of your mouth.” He sat up suddenly and she whimpered, because every time this man moved, she found a newer, better angle with which to happily torture herself. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he demanded against her mouth. “While you’re fucking me so fucking good, Natalie, say what’s on your mind.”
“I love your dick,” she blurted in a rush, holding on to his shoulders so she could maneuver herself even faster. “I love it.”
His eyes were almost black by now, upper lip curled. “What do you love about it?”
Why was she shaking so violently when she wasn’t even having an orgasm? Did this man give her pre-orgasms? Was that possible or should she donate herself to science? “It’s . . . y-you made me ready for it,” she gasped. “With your mouth.”
“When I sucked your tits?” He spanked her hard and she screamed into his shoulder. “Or when I stuck my tongue in your pussy?”
Actual moisture was beginning to overflow from her eyes, her teeth chattering. So good, so good, so good. “Both!”
“Tell me the truth. You thought I would throw you into missionary, come in sixty seconds, and fall asleep. Didn’t you?”
“Yes. No,” she babbled, rocking furiously in his lap. “I-I don’t know.”
“Not with my wife.” Without warning, he flipped Natalie onto her back and drove her up the bed with one savage pump of his hips. “I’ll be earning the right every single day to come inside pussy this good.”
The orgasm slapped harder this time and she soared, loving it, loving being objectified and fucked and revered all at the same time. It was in the way he leaned down to kiss her, letting her know with that cherishing stroke of his tongue that he would be there to take care of her when it was all over. That he adored her.
She could feel that.
He made her feel it.
Now she wanted to return the favor. “You’ve more than earned it,” she whispered, scraping her fingernails along his scalp. Raked them down his back and his eyes glazed over. Then she contracted the intimate muscles between her legs and watched his control stumble, his jaw flexing, a stuttered version of her name tumbling out of his mouth. “Although . . .”
“Yeah?” he asked hoarsely, hips moving faster. “Yeah, princess?”
She positioned her mouth against his ear, flexed again, and buried her nails into his back. “Do you really need to earn anything when I want your come so bad?”
“FUCK,” he bellowed, gripping onto the headboard with his left hand, yanking up her right knee in his other one. The bed creaked ominously beneath them, faster and faster, while he worked through his finishing thrusts, finally flattening her with a snarl and filling her with liquid heat. She took hold of his ass cheeks and yanked him in tighter, purring in his ear. He cursed, panted, and groaned through a renewed series of pumps, their flesh connecting and smacking, hands straining to touch, to gain purchase. From above, his huge body dominated her smaller one in a way she instinctively knew she would crave for the rest of her life.
Moments later, they were nothing but a tangle of sweaty limbs, their labored breathing slowing in the small room. August’s mouth traveled along the slope of her shoulder, kissing her beneath the ear as his fingers twined themselves with hers. “Holy shit,” he muttered into her hair, sounding completely dumbstruck. “Holy shit.”
“Hmmm.”
“Seriously, I should get a medal for staying hard that long. You . . .” He rolled her closer, nuzzling his mouth into her neck. “I’ve needed you.”
“I’ve needed you, too,” she whispered, a sting creeping in behind her eyes.
He lifted his head to frown down at her. “You sure that falling bucket didn’t hurt you?”
Natalie felt herself plummet deeper into the feelings that had been building for this man and wouldn’t seem to stop, despite their very opposite objectives. Despite the outward reasons they’d married and the different directions they were heading. “I’m sure.”
Her heart gave a heavy thud, so intense that she reached out suddenly for the glass of water on the bedside table, just for something to do with her hands. In the process, she bumped her laptop and the screen brightened. She barely noticed at first. Not until August tapped her bare hip. “Who is that?”
“Who is who?”
August pointed over her shoulder at the New York Times engagement announcement still very much visible on her screen. The glass of water paused halfway to Natalie’s mouth.
