CHAPTER EIGHT
Olivia
WHEN I GET HOME, THERE’S A box wrapped in brown paper outside the front door. The name Mrs. Olivia West is scrawled in Dean’s familiar handwriting. With a smile, I bring the box inside and lift off the lid to reveal a clutter of puzzle pieces.
I dump the pieces onto the floor and start putting the puzzle together. Halfway to completion, I know what it is. An upwelling of love and emotion fills me.
I lock the last piece of the puzzle into place and stare at the photograph of me and Dean on our honeymoon in front of the Saint-Chapelle chapel in Paris. I grab my phone to call him, but his voicemail picks up. A text message from him buzzes a few seconds later.
Forty-five minutes.
I hurry to shower and dress in a purple, flower-print bra and matching hiphuggers under a fitted slip. I zip myself into a black sheath dress with a lace overlay, taking extra care with my hair and makeup.
I open the front door when I hear the foyer door snap closed. I step onto the landing just as Dean looks up.
A sizzle of energy arcs between us. My pulse zings through my veins at the sight of him—tall and handsome in a navy suit beneath his black coat. His hair gleams in the foyer lights, and a smile curves his mouth as he walks up the stairs to me, extending a bouquet of a dozen perfect red roses.
“Thank you.” I take the bouquet, the flowers’ perfume filling the air.
“If I’d thought about it earlier, I’d have recited a poem or something too.” Dean stops in front of me, his gaze filled with appreciation. “You’re so damned beautiful.”
“That’s all the poetry I need.” I stand on tiptoe to press my lips against his cheek. The scent of him slides into my blood—a hint of spicy aftershave mingling with the crisp night air.
“I love the puzzle,” I tell him.
“Good. One day soon I’ll take you to Paris again.” He tilts his head toward the street. “Ready?”
“Let me put the flowers in water and get my coat.” I gesture for him to come inside, while I go into the kitchen to find a vase.
After arranging the roses, I bring the bouquet into the living room. Dean is standing by the window, his hands in his pockets. The sight of him back in our apartment, right where he belongs, warms me down to my toes. With the town lights shining behind him, he’s so breathtakingly handsome that my heart does a little flip of happiness at the knowledge that he’s mine. All mine.
I set the vase on the coffee table and fuss a little more with the arrangement of the roses.
“Your peace lily bloomed,” Dean says.
“What?” I glance up.
“Your peace lily.” He tilts his head toward the open flower. “It’s pretty.”
I smile, pleased that he noticed. “It’s the same kind of plant I gave you that first time I went to your place for dinner.”
“I remember.” Warmth brews in his eyes as he returns his gaze to me. “That plant thrived because you took care of it the whole year.”
“And I thrived because you took care of me the whole year.”
Dean looks at me for a minute, then shakes his head. “Ah, Liv…”
I go to slide my arms around his waist, loving the hard press of his body against mine. He takes my hips in his hands, a murmur of pleasure rumbling from his chest as our lips meet.
“Let’s go, beauty,” he whispers, trailing his lips to my neck. “If we don’t leave now, my plan will be shot to hell.”
I laugh and untangle myself from him. We get our coats and walk to his car, and I’m so caught up in being with him again, breathing the same air, feeling the warmth of his presence beside me, that it’s a good half hour before I realize we’re heading out of Mirror Lake and up into the mountains.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
It’s a cloudy, crisp evening with reddish clouds skimming the mountaintops. Dean guides the car over a narrow road toward a domed building sitting on the crest of a ridge.
“The observatory?” I don’t quite get it. “What are we doing here?”
“Dating.” He winks at me and offers me his arm.
With a smile, I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow as we walk toward the entrance to the building. There’s a truck parked nearby, though I can’t see the lettering on the side of it. Dean holds the door open for me, and we walk into the hushed silence of the lobby.
He pulls open the auditorium door, and all the breath escapes my lungs at the sight of the silent room lit by a million brilliant stars spread over the arched ceiling. Soft music plays from hidden speakers. It’s a singular, private universe, the stars and planets contained within this space, and for this moment, it’s all ours.
“How did you manage this?” I ask as Dean takes my hand and leads me to a cloth-covered table set up on the stage.
“Pulled a few strings,” he replies. “Closest I could get to giving you the universe.”
I smile. “Good one.”
“Wait here.”
A bouquet of spring flowers blooms on the table, which is set with china plates and wineglasses. A candle flickers, but the light can’t compete with the illumination of the stars. Dean returns a few minutes later with two delicious-smelling filet mignon dinners from the catering truck parked outside.
And under the dome of our own private universe, we spend a lovely hour eating and talking. My eyes keep straying to Dean’s mouth, the curve of his hand around his fork, the way the starlight glows off his hair.
I’m reminded anew of our very first date, which included our first kiss. Even now, my body tingles at the memory of the heat filling Dean’s eyes as he’d taken my face so gently in his hands.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he’d whispered, a second before our lips touched in a kiss that spun me into a whirlwind of knowing I could love this man.
That one day… I would.
Never before had I been so certain of my own instincts, and that knowledge has brought us to now.
After dinner, Dean spreads out a blanket on the stage and we lie back to look up at the stars sprinkled like sugar across the sky. Dean points out all the constellations and starts talking about medieval cosmology and philosophy. His deep voice flows over me, and I ease closer to him so our bodies touch.
“I wish it could be like this forever,” I whisper. “Just us and the stars.”
A faint apprehension ripples between us because we know it can’t be. Not with the threat to his career looming over us like smoke obscuring the sky.
But none of that can touch us here. It can’t obscure the beauty of our reunion.
Dean pushes to his feet, extending a hand to help me up. A little shudder runs through me at the heat in his eyes. We gather our things and return to the parking lot.
“Now.” Dean bends to nuzzle my neck right before opening the car door for me. “Come back with me. Be mine all over again.”
There is nothing in the universe I want more. Everything inside me lights with anticipation as we return to the Wildwood Inn.
When the cottage door closes behind us, my heartbeat intensifies. It’s been weeks of fraught, tense longing, our sexy phone calls no comparison to what we can create when we’re in the same room. Arousal blooms inside me, filling my veins with fire.
Dean leans against the door, his gold-flecked eyes sweeping over me in a slow, easy appraisal that makes my breath catch. I’m half-expecting him to stalk toward me with all that restrained lust uncoiling, to grab me in a wild fervor… but instead he gestures for me to come to him.
“Come here, beauty,” he says, his voice husky. “Give me what I’ve missed so much.”
My pulse pounds as I approach him. He lifts his hands and settles them against the back of my neck, his fingers sliding into my hair. The gentle way he holds my head, his gaze never leaving mine, wraps me in the knowledge of how precious I am to him. Everything inside me softens as I look at the lines of his cheekbones, his black eyebrows, the way his eyelashes frame his eyes, the shape of his mouth.
He lowers his head, his lips touching mine in a kiss of infinite warmth and tenderness, and then we’re both home again, back in the place of Liv and Dean, sparks lighting the air as we fall into the spiral of us.
Dean shifts his hands, angling my head so that he can settle his mouth securely against mine, parting my lips with his. My blood surges with a love that will never fade and a desire that has been denied too long. I slip my arms around his waist, feeling the heat of him through the material of his suit and my dress.
He murmurs something low in his throat, caressing the arch of my back and down to my hips. I nestle closer, light glowing inside me like a million fireflies as our kiss deepens. It’s everything we’ve both craved all these weeks—the movement of our lips pressed together, the grip of his hands on my hips, my breasts rubbing against his chest.
Dean pushes my hair aside so he can unzip my dress. I let the material slither over my shoulders and fall in a puddle at my feet. I’m wearing a fitted satin slip over my lingerie, and Dean’s breath escapes in a rush as he slides his gaze over my body again.
“Beauty, you make me want to stop time so I can look at you forever,” he whispers as he tucks his arm beneath my legs and lifts me against him. I twine my arms around his neck, bringing our mouths together again as he takes a few strides to the bed and lowers me onto the feather-soft quilt.
For all our pent-up longing and sexy talk, for all my expectations that we would fall on each other in a crash of frenzied heat… a lovely sense of restraint winds through us both. Dean eases on top of me, our lips still locked together.
The weight of my husband’s body, combined with the deliciousness of his kiss, envelops me in a warm, protective shelter. He moves his lips across my cheek, his breath a hot trail to my ear. Tension rolls through his body as he tangles his fingers into the straps of my slip and pulls them off my shoulders. I shift to help him, thrilled by the way his gaze darkens as he stares at my breasts clad in the flowered purple bra.
He growls low in his throat with appreciation before moving to press his mouth against the swells of my breasts. He tugs the slip off me and tosses it to the floor. When he eases his forefinger beneath my panties and into my slit, my body flames.
“Ah, fuck, Liv…” His voice is hoarse with desire. “Want you so bad…”
He shifts to lower his mouth to mine again. His cock is rock-hard, pushing against the front of his trousers. Desperate need floods me as he slides two fingers into my body and circles my clit with his thumb.
“Come on, beauty,” he whispers against my mouth, his teeth closing gently on my lower lip.
I’m lost in the swirling, beautiful pleasure of his intoxicating kisses, his body pressed against mine, his fingers stroking me. I tighten my hands on his shirt, letting my head fall back as he eases another finger inside me. One more stroke and sensation bursts through me in an explosion of light, wrenching a cry from my throat.
Dean’s voice is a low rumble against my ear, his muscles taut as he pulls at my panties and unhooks my bra. When I’m naked, his hot gaze moves over my body like the most fervent of touches. He lowers his head, and then he’s kissing me everywhere, his lips gentle on my breasts, down to my belly, his tongue circling my navel as his hands glide over the curves of my waist and hips.
I melt, closing my eyes as sensation washes over my skin. Dean moves to press kisses against my palm and up my arm to my shoulder. By the time he reaches my lips again, I’m tingling all over with fresh desire.
“Your turn,” I whisper, pressing on his shoulders to urge him to lie back.
My heart races as I straddle his waist and unfasten his tie, pulling it off with one tug. I yank at his shirt, buttons popping off in my sudden haste to get him naked.
I spread my hands over his chest, his muscles rippling with the force of his breath. I trace all the ridges of his abdomen, back up to his chest and over his shoulders, reacquainting myself with the map of my husband’s body.
When my core begins to throb again, I move back on his thighs to unfasten his belt and trousers, releasing his thick, erect cock. I close my hand around his smooth shaft, running my fingers over the pulsing veins.
With a groan, Dean grasps my wrist. “Need to be inside you.”
I ease back up the length of his body, pressing my fingers between my thighs, shivering as another explosion rocks my insides. He sheds his clothes and rolls me onto my back again.
“I need you inside me,” I gasp and arch toward him. “Do you have a—”
A faint relief curls through me when he reaches for a condom from his wallet. I want us back again before we leave things up to chance, and I want us both to go into our future knowing exactly what we’re doing.
The air around us loosens, releases, as if all the pain of recent months has been a messy, snarled ball of knots that is now, finally, unraveling into silken threads of lust and love. Wrapping us in our own personal intimacy, the place where everything is right.
I roll the condom onto him before he moves between my legs to align our bodies. Anticipation unleashes inside me. I grip his shoulders, weakening with need as his thick erection slides into me. And then, finally, we’re joined together again, a key fitting into a lock, our bodies straining toward each other and our hearts beating in unison.
Our eyes meet, glittering with passion. My soul overflows with an emotion so complex and intricate that the ties holding it together seem both indestructible and as fragile as gossamer.
I pull him toward me, pressing my forehead to his. Our breath mingles between us, hot and rapid. He pulls back and presses forward again, filling me, stretching me.
“Oh…” I run my hands down his back, my whole body vibrating with pleasure. “You feel so good… I’ve missed you so much…”
He lowers his mouth to mine. Our lips crash together in a collision of urgency, muscles tensing and flexing. He braces his hands on either side of my head and thrusts again and again. Intense need takes over, and our world dissolves into a chaos of moans and gasps, the deep push of his cock into my body, the heat flaring through our blood.
I cry out his name, lifting my legs to hug his hips, tightening my inner flesh around his pulsing shaft as bliss cascades through me. I feel the pressure releasing through his body, the delicious increase in the pace of his thrusts, before he presses into me with a heavy groan.
Panting, Dean rolls over and takes me with him, pulling me against his chest. We sink into the exquisite afterglow together, my body pressed to his side, right into the space where I will always fit perfectly.
Since the world will, unfortunately, not stop revolving just because Dean and I are together again, I force myself to wake early the next morning for a shift at the bakery. I stop at home to change and pack a small travel bag, as I have no intention of leaving the cottage for the next couple of days.
Though I’m tired after last night, my body hums with happy energy, and I’m in an excellent, friendly mood as I help customers with their croissant and baguette choices.
Because Dean is… well, Professor West—a man with an ironclad work ethic who values company time—he doesn’t send me any sexy emails or texts while I’m working, though on my break I find a note from him in my satchel:
I smile and send him an email:
Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.
—Rose Franken, author and playwright
Anyone can love, but it takes Liv and Dean to love like THIS.
—Olivia West, Dean’s very hot and sexy lady
After I clock out at the bakery, I hurry to the museum in the hopes that I can finish my shift there early. It’s a cool, sunny day, green grass pushing through the melting snow as spring makes its final big push to overtake winter.
As I approach the Historical Museum, I see Florence Wickham getting out of a car parked in front of the building.
A member of the Historical Society’s board of directors, Florence is a white-haired, elegant lady in her seventies wearing a belted camelhair coat and delicate, diamond jewelry. She sees me and waves. I walk over to greet her.
I’ve been a little embarrassed around Florence ever since she caught me and Dean getting hot and heavy in a coat closet at the Historical Society’s holiday party last December, but she seemed more envious than horrified by the act. I suppose the fact that she left us alone to finish indicated her tacit approval of our sexy escapade.
“Hello, Florence.” I take her elbow to help her step over a slushy puddle by the curb. “Looks like spring is finally in the air.”
“Nice, isn’t it, dear?” She glances behind me. “Is your husband with you?”
“No, he’s working at the moment.”
“Oh. What a shame.”
“Indeed it is.”
I hold open the museum door for her and follow her inside. We walk past the exhibition rooms to the Historical Society offices at the back of the building.
“Is there a board meeting today?” I ask Florence, as we take off our coats and hang them on a rack in the hallway.
“Monday morning.” Florence pats her hair into place. “We’re discussing the fate of the Butterfly House, that old place over on Monarch Lane. It’s in such an ideal location by the mountains, both overlooking the lake and close to town, that developers have been trying to purchase the land. Of course that means they would demolish the house.”
“That would be terrible.”
“Yes, it would,” Florence says. “We’ve managed to prevent that so far because the house is historically important. It was bequeathed to the Society years ago, but unfortunately we can’t afford to do anything with it.”
She waves me into one of the offices, where a drafting table is covered with blueprints and photographs.
I pick up a black-and-white photo of the grand, old Butterfly House. It looks to be primarily an American Queen Anne-style building with a large front porch, decorated spandrels, and overhanging eaves. There’s a balcony on the second floor, bay windows, and a polygonal tower rising from the front that makes it look like a fairytale castle.
“When was it built?” I ask.
“In 1890,” Florence replies. “It was a beautiful place in its heyday.”
“What’s going to happen to it now?”
“We’re starting a fund-raising campaign to try and restore it,” Florence explains. “We thought we could open it for tours and such, but we’re in a bind because of zoning laws. Also there’s quite a bit of resistance to the idea of a site open to the public, since it’s close to a residential neighborhood.”
I pick up another recent photo of the Butterfly House that shows the extent of its disrepair—the front steps are decayed and overgrown with weeds, the door and porch scarred by graffiti, the windows boarded up, the shingles broken.
I’m suddenly reminded of a children’s book I once read at Allie’s store—The Little House, about a lovely cottage that began falling apart when no one was left to take care of it. And though I have a ton of stuff to do for the Wonderland Café, I find myself asking Florence if I can help.
“Oh, we would love to have your help, Olivia,” she replies. “There’s so much to do with researching the historical value of the home. Samantha told me you’re writing the exhibition brochure, so perhaps you’d like to work on something about the Butterfly House’s history?”
I agree, thinking I can do the work at home in the evenings. Florence and I spend the next hour going over all the photographs and documents that the Society has already collected pertaining to the house’s history.
After I finish my museum shift, I finally get back to the Firefly Cottage close to three. I find Dean sitting out on the porch overlooking the lake.
My heart just sings at the sight of him, all rugged and handsome in faded jeans fitted to his long legs and a worn T-shirt beneath a long-sleeved flannel shirt. He extends his arms. I sit in his lap and burrow right up against him like a cat curling into its favorite patch of sunlight.
“Good day?” he asks, brushing his lips across my hair.
“Mmm. No work tomorrow, though, and Monday’s my day off. I’m all yours for the next two days.”
“You’re all mine for the next two millennia.”
He leans in to kiss me, and I lose myself easily in the moment. A light rain drives us back inside, which is entirely fine with both of us as we spend the rest of the afternoon watching a movie, making love, and reading. We order room service for dinner, though by the time we get to dessert, I’m starting to yawn.
“Long week,” I say apologetically, as Dean nods toward the huge bed and tells me to call it an early night.
I crawl under the covers and fall asleep, waking only when Dean climbs in next to me a few hours later. I tuck myself against his side. After so much time away from my husband, just sleeping beside his strong body is arousing. My subconscious soon spins and twirls with a resurgence of hot dreams, mostly involving Dean in the guise of a sexy warrior intent upon ravishing me.
Heat slides through my body. I shift, imagining him all rough and commanding, fondling my breasts, his cock hard. I dream of straddling his thigh and writhing against him. In the fog of sleep, I hear myself moaning, feel his fingers rubbing my damp cleft, his breath on my neck. And though reality with my husband is always better than my dreams, I wake all warm and loose, even a little sweaty.
Leaving Dean to sleep, I take a shower and wrap myself in one of the fluffy hotel bathrobes before grabbing my brush and going back out to stand in front of the mirror over the dresser.
“What were you dreaming about?”
My brush tangles in my wet hair. I yank it out and turn to stare at Dean. He’s lounging on the bed wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms and a rather smug expression.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You were having a major sex dream last night.”
Oh, lord. The images flood back into my mind, pornographic and vivid. I clear my throat.
“I was not.”
“Uh huh.” He grins. “You were moaning and everything. Very lusty.”
A blush heats my face. “I was not.”
“Yeah, you were. Got me all hot too.”
As much as I don’t want to admit to actually acting on a sex dream, it would certainly explain why I woke up feeling really good.
“So what were you dreaming about?” Dean asks again.
I turn back to the mirror and continue dragging the brush through my hair. I can still see him in the mirror, watching me with that cat-ate-the-cream look.
“Stop it,” I mutter.
“Don’t you want to know what else you did?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, you did something. You rode my thigh, then spread your legs so I could finger your pussy.”
“Dean!” I turn to face him again, my pulse leaping. “Did I really do that?”
“Uh huh.”
“You are such a liar.”
His grin widens. I stride toward the bathroom. As I pass him, he bolts upright and reaches to grab me around the waist. With a shriek, I tumble onto the bed. He moves over me and straddles my thighs, locking his hands around my wrists and pinning them to either side of my head.
The look he’s giving me—teasing but hot—is enough to spike my arousal higher. I buck my hips upward half-heartedly to try and throw him off. His grip on my wrists tightens.
He leans down to press his lips against mine, his tongue doing a slow sweep of the inside of my mouth. He tastes like mint.
“What were you dreaming about?” he whispers.
I’m starting to melt. I try to strengthen my resistance. “None of your business.”
“Come on, beauty.” He presses kisses along my lower lip. “Were you dreaming about getting fucked in public?”
I shake my head. His erection is starting to poke against my belly.
“Or about being with a woman?” he asks.
That thought makes his cock swell hard.
I shake my head again.
He shifts his hips, pushing against me. Since I just got out of the shower, I’m naked beneath my robe. One tug at the belt and he’d be sliding his cock against my bare skin. I draw in a breath. My heart is thumping, especially with him straddling me and looming over me the way he is.
“So?” he asks. “What was it?”
I stare at the bulge in his flannel pajama pants. “You.”
“Yeah?” He’s still rubbing up against me. “What were we doing?”
A blush begins to creep up my neck. “Um, you know. Having sex.”
He pauses and eyes me skeptically. “What kind of sex?”
“Regular… just regular sex.” I try to keep my voice casual, but he’s not buying it.
Dean sits back on my thighs and continues to look down at me.
“Your reaction was pretty hot for regular sex,” he says.
“Well, you did say I was lusty,” I remind him.
“Which is exactly why I don’t believe you were having a dream about regular sex.”
He tugs at the knot on my bathrobe belt. I squirm and try to buck him off again. He pulls the knot loose and eases apart the flaps of my robe.
“Very nice.” He gazes down at my damp skin—though I don’t know if that’s from the shower or if I’m starting to sweat.
Then he palms my breasts and runs his fingers across my hard nipples. His touch is light, gentle, and delicious. I press my legs together because I’m throbbing.
“Tell me.” He trails his hand down to my belly button, then lower to brush my mons. “Tell me and I might let you come.”
Oh, God. I’m helpless against that kind of talk, and he knows it.
“Dean.”
“Uh huh. Where were we in your dream?”
“Um.” My flush deepens. I twitch under his teasing touch. “On a… a ship.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “A ship.”
“Yeah. A… a pirate ship.”
“A pirate ship.” Dean stares at me before a glint of humor lights in his eyes. “And might I have been a pirate?”
I skirt my gaze from his and look at the ceiling. “You might have been, uh, the pirate captain.”
He laughs, but it’s so filled with affection and amusement that I can’t be irritated. He leans down to kiss me again, his tongue stroking the corners of my lips. Desire rushes through me.
“The pirate captain, huh?” he says. “And what were you?”
“A captured maiden.”
“And did I ravish you?”
“Totally.”
He sits back and squeezes my breasts. “Tell me.”
By now I’m getting so aroused I’ll tell him anything if it means he’ll give me an orgasm. I take a deep breath and shift underneath him, making sure his erection rubs against my belly again.
“You had me tied down in the… whatever it’s called. The brig or something. Had my… my hands tied above my head.”
“What were you wearing?”
“A long dress.” I can’t think straight with his fingers tweaking my nipples like that. “I can’t remember why you captured me. I think you wanted my land or something. Maybe it was my house. Or maybe I owed you money for a—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean interrupts. “Get back to the ravishing.”
“Well, you had me tied up down there, and then one night I heard you coming down the stairs. You threw open the door and stalked in, all angry and menacing. You untied my hands and ordered me to pull up my skirts.”
“And did you?” His eyes are starting to get a little glazed with arousal, which makes me warm to the story.
“Uh huh. All the way up past my hips. Skirt and petticoats. Then you told me to pull down my drawers and turn around so you could see my ass. Next thing I knew you were standing right behind me. I could feel your breath on the back of my neck. Then you… you spanked me.”
“I spanked you?”
“Several times. You were wearing leather gloves. It stung. Made my cheeks red. But it also made me wet.” Now that my hands are free, I reach up to caress the bulge in his pants. “Then you told me to bend over a barrel.”
“And you did.”
“I did.” I grasp the waistband of his pants and pull them down. When his large, beautiful cock springs free, I can’t help sighing. “I knelt down on the cold stone floor and positioned myself over an oak barrel with my drawers down and my petticoats up. You told me to reach back and spread my…”
The blush fires my skin again. I can’t help it.
“Spread your…” Dean prompts.
“Spread my pussy for you.”
His cock pulses in my grip. The evidence of his reaction, his lust, has my blood burning.
“You did it,” he says.
“While you watched,” I add. Parts of the dream are still vivid, but other parts have faded with daylight. At this point, though, I don’t care whether I dreamed it or am making it up on the spot. “Then I felt your hands skimming over my ass again, felt you kneeling behind me.”
I squirm. I want his hand between my legs. Shivers wash through me. He puts his hand over mine, indicating he wants my grip tighter. He sucks in a breath.
He looks gorgeous, all masculine and sweat-damp above me, his skin flushed, his thighs hugging my hips. I’m so turned on that one flick of his finger on my clit and I’d come like a rocket.
“Go on.” His voice is strained.
“Then I felt you pushing inside me,” I gasp, “and your hands gripped my ass which was still red and burning from the spanking. I felt you filling me, but all I could see was darkness. My breasts pressed against the barrel, aching. You started thrusting, making my ass burn hotter.
“I was moaning and jerking against the barrel, astonished by the feeling of your cock sliding in and out of me. I couldn’t stop my excitement, the urgency that drove higher and higher. I started pushing back against you, begging you to do it harder. Then you thrust so deep I felt it through my entire body, and that was it. I screamed and came all over your cock… oh!”
An orgasm pulses through Dean’s cock like a wave. He grunts and pushes forward into my fist, spilling over my breasts and belly. It’s a sight that has me gasping with need, but before I can say anything, he slides down and pushes my legs apart.
The instant his tongue swipes across my clit, I shatter. I clutch his head and moan as he closes his lips around me and urges every last sweet sensation from my body.
“Damn.” He heaves in a breath and crawls up the bed to lie beside me. “Those are the kind of dreams you’ve been having while I’m gone?”
“Nice, huh?” Even so, the mention of him being gone elicits a twinge of sorrow.
I push it aside, snuggling into the warmth of the sheets and the heat of his skin. My pirate captain, my gladiator, my white knight. I rub my cheek against his bare chest and stretch.
“Hungry?” he asks, skimming his hand up and down my arm.
“A little.”
He pushes out of bed, and I admire the muscular lines of his body as he tugs his pants up and goes to the kitchen. As the coffee brews, we dress and bundle up in our jackets, then take our coffee and toast out to the porch so we can watch the sun rise over the lake.
I squeeze myself into Dean’s chair, half on his lap so I can stay pressed close to his lean, strong body. The coffee is hot, steam rising in whorls, the air cold, the sun streaked with red and gold. Whitecaps ripple the surface of the lake.
We stay out until the sun is hovering over the water, then we go back inside and sink deep into the whirlpool bath, soaping each other down until we’re both breathless and wanting each other again.
I make him sit back this time, straddling his lap and easing his thick cock into me with one glide of my body. Then we’re both panting and moaning, water splashing over the sides of the bath as I move faster and harder, and Dean grips my hips and pushes up into me. I come violently, squeezing his shaft inside me as some distant part of my mind wishes this would never end.
As the day progresses, that wish intensifies. We watch a movie, leaf through some magazines, trade massages, play backgammon with a board that Dean finds in a cabinet by the bookshelf. We fool around, laugh, tickle each other, order room service, consider and quickly dismiss the idea of actually leaving the cottage.
I spend most of the day wearing Dean’s sweater vest and nothing else. After dinner, I get dressed so I can do a little striptease for him in front of the fire—even though I forgot to bring along an extra set of sexy lingerie. Still the dance doesn’t last long, as Dean growls his appreciation once before pulling me down on his lap and crushing his mouth to mine.
He fumbles with the clasp of my white bra, groaning at the sight of my bare breasts before hefting me into his arms and getting us both to the bed in three strides. I open my arms, feeling excited, happy, loved to the very center of my soul as my husband lowers himself on top of me and kisses me senseless.