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  “Mmm. I love it.” She fists her hands in the sheets and turns her head from side to side. “More. Please, more.”

  “This?”

  I brush my lips over the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs, barely kissing her, barely breathing on her. She squirms and presses close for more.

  “Or this?”

  I move my fingers down and wait for her to hold her breath. She does, expectant, but I don’t give her exactly what she wants. I hardly touch her, actually, and she tries to wiggle in a way that will make my fingers slide deeper, press harder.

  “Not so fast. We don’t need to rush. We have all night.”

  “Why are you torturing me?” she whimpers.

  “Trust me. You’ll be thanking me later.”

  My instinct is to not let up at all, to do exactly what she asks, but we’ve tried it this way before, and she always winds up getting me caught in a moment where I can’t say no to her. And then she manages to get me to use my dick instead of my mouth.

  It’s a point of pride for me. I want her to come from the way I lick her, the way I kiss her. She told me no guy ever got her off that way before, and I’m burning to be the first, to be the one who exposes her to new ways of feeling pleasure. After the stupid fight we had this evening, after the way I threw her generosity and sweetness in her face—no matter how noble my intentions—I owe her this.

  I draw my hands over her lightly, lick softly, kiss so that my lips barely brush her skin. She lies with her limbs thrown out, back arched tight, hips slightly off the bed, breathing shallow and quick. I can feel the impatience and passion building in her, and that’s exactly what I want.

  “Adam,” she begs, but I tune her out.

  I’m not going to get distracted tonight.

  Especially not after the head she gave me a few afternoons ago. I was on my way to a presentation. I’d prepared my slides and I’d practiced my speech in front of the mirror, then in front of Genevieve, until I had every single phrase and gesture down. I was ready to go, but nervous as hell when she offered to take the edge off.

  I thought she may have been talking about a massage or a shot of some hard liquor, but then she sank to her knees, tugged my fly down, folded my boxers back, and took me deep in her mouth, all the way until I was pressed to the back of her throat, moaning against me and rubbing my thighs with her hands the entire time. She sucked hard, swirled her tongue along the length of my dick, used her hands to twist and pull at it and then cradle and cup my balls. She took my hands and buried them in her hair, and the last scrap of controlled man flew out the window.

  I was an animal, and all I could do was feel the hot, wet slide of my wife’s mouth as I sank my fingers into her hair and pulsed against her, coming harder than I ever had before.

  I’d never felt anything better than that orgasm, and I wanted to do that for her.

  I lick her with more pressure, and she tugs on my hair.

  “Please, Adam, I want you in me. Now.”

  I stop and ask, “Do you touch yourself?”

  “W-w-what?” Her voice stutters out and I smile and lick at her again.

  “Do you touch yourself? Masturbate?”

  “Sometimes. Not as often anymore.” She smiles and inches her hand down. “Why? Do you want to watch me?”

  I shake my head, wrapping my arms around her thighs and sucking her clit. She relaxes for a few seconds, pressing hard against my mouth, then she tries to get me to come to her.

  “Why don’t you want me to do this?” I ask, kissing and nuzzling her thighs. She squeezes them together slightly and moans.

  She stays flat on her back and answers to the ceiling. “I don’t…I don’t like to feel out of control while you’re down there so calm.”

  I pull away. “Do you enjoy sucking me off?”

  She giggles nervously. “Yes. But that’s different.”

  “How?” I ask, flicking my tongue slowly over her.

  A single shiver shakes her, and she answers, “Because you like it. You’re comfortable with it.”

  “It’s trust, Genevieve.” I kiss her lightly, inhaling the salty damp smell of her. “I want to experience everything with you. I don’t want to be greedy. I don’t want to let you do all the work. This is a partnership, right? Fifty-fifty?”

  “You really want to?” she asks, her voice small. “It might take a while.”

  “Trust me. That’s no problem,” I promise, sliding my thumbs along the lips of her pussy. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath.

  “Think about whatever you think when you touch yourself.”

  She moans and shakes her head.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “It’s just…that’s when I’m alone. It’s embarrassing with you here.”

  “Genevieve, I can’t see what you’re thinking,” I point out, licking her with more pressure, more quickly. I know she’s doing what I asked because her hips find that trance-like rhythm that’s elemental. I could keep this going, but there’s a question burning in my brain, and I break my mouth away for quick second to ask it. “Do you think about me?”

  “Huh?” Her voice is pleasure-soaked.

  “What do you think about?” I go back to licking her, this time wildly focused while I wait for an answer.

  “That’s private, Adam.” Her voice is dreamy.

  I pinpoint my focus, trying not to fly off the handle when it occurs to me that I asked a question I expected a certain answer to. If I didn’t like the possibility that her exes might play a main role in her private fantasies, I shouldn’t have asked.

  Instead of obsessing about things that are none of my business, I go back to touching her, tasting her, bringing her as much pleasure as I possibly can while I listen to the high, breathy gasps and shaky, loosened moans spilling out of her lush mouth.

  Whatever she’s thinking about, it’s working. She forgets to be self-conscious and spreads her legs, reaches down to press her hands to the back of my head so my mouth is closer, rather than pulling me away. She twists and whimpers excitedly when I smooth my tongue over the peaked swell of her clit.

  “Mmm, do you think I could ever give you head in your lab?” she asks, her voice a raw whisper.

  I pull back for a single second, my brain fuzzy with the incredibly appealing prospect of Genevieve and her hot, wet mouth sucking me off in the lab—

  “Of course,” I say, my words ragged.

  “Because that’s what I think about. When I touch myself. For the last few months. I’ve thought about you and me, in the lab, closing the damn books and you telling me that you’re sick and tired of tutoring me. That you want to spread me out on the lab counter and peel my clothes off and kiss every inch of me. That you want to feel how wet I am and that you want—oh! Adam! Adam!”

  The entire time she told the story, I kept pace, waiting to feel her changed rhythm under me, sliding my fingers deep inside her while my tongue stroked her over and over right where she was almost ready. And then, as her story got more vivid, her body started to shake and jerk against me, until her hands were fisted hard in my hair and she was pressed against my mouth with persistent need, convulsing and crying out my name.

  I’m dizzy with a sense of triumph. She’s gone slack on the bed, her breathing so hard her chest rises and falls visibly.

  “Holy. Damn. Amazing,” she wheezes. “That was so incredible, Adam. That felt so…hmmm. Thank you.”

  I am perfectly willing to end the night with her taken care of and the two of us snuggled close. But—

  “Are you good, or do you want more?”

  She rolls onto her stomach and smiles over her shoulder. “Do you have any more to give?”

  “Genevieve,” I groan, my hands already running over her legs, along her smooth calves, to the edge of the fishnets where her thighs are so soft and so damn sensitive. I hook the waistband of the lacy thong I pushed to the side when I licked her until she came in a sweet torre
nt against my mouth and drag it down, leaving it tangled at her ankles.

  I spread her legs apart and slide a hand under her, pressing up on her stomach so her hips lift. She stretches her arms wide on the bed and then presses her ass back at me. I slide into her, so hard I have to keep one hand at the base to control it.

  Her hips pull and pump in time with my thrusts, and it’s a whole new feel, a whole new way to sink into my wife. I pump into her quick and hard, keeping my hands firmly on her hips.

  “Adam,” she moans. “Adam, I feel like…”

  But she doesn’t need to finish that thought because she goes slicker and tighter around my dick, and her moans echo in my ears.

  “Genevieve, baby, I can’t…”

  And then I’m completely out of control. I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to, and I don’t. I know Gen has been satisfied every way I’m capable of satisfying a woman, so I let everything go. I come hard and let my chest press down over her back, my mouth planted next to her ear. “Thank you. That was so damn good.”

  She rolls underneath me and traces her fingers over my face. “Thank you. I can’t believe I’ve been telling guys not to do that all these years.”

  Thoughts of other guys—one in particular—cloud my brain and make jealousy buck up hard and wild in me. I feel a moment of triumph knowing that I’m the first, that there was no one before me.

  And a moment of pure frustration knowing I won’t be her last.

  I decide not to dwell on that thought. It’s too damn depressing.

  I pull her to me. “Shh. C’mon, woman, don’t ruin my moment of glory.”

  She pulls her legs up and rolls her fishnets down, tossing them on the floor, and yanks at my hand. “Get me out of this corset.”

  I press the hooks together and manage to pop it open. She runs her hands over her naked body and makes me close my eyes and grit my teeth to stop myself from pulling her hard against me and starting all over again.

  “Are you sleeping naked?” I ask when she rolls to the side without making any attempt to put her nightgown back on.

  “Is that a problem?” Her voice drips with sexiness even when she’s completely drowsy.

  “You’d turn me on if you slept in a flannel nightgown. With puffy sleeves and a turtleneck.” I pull her close, my hands on warm, soft skin no matter where I put them. “Do you have any idea what it’s going to be like trying to sleep with a raging hard-on all night?”

  She giggles and wiggles her bare ass against my dick. Unbelievably hot.

  “Will you be turned on…all night?” she asks around a yawn.

  “I’m always turned on when I’m around you.” I kiss along the back of her neck and down the dip of her spine.

  “Always?” she sighs.

  “You can’t even imagine…” I’m about to say how much I love you, but I stop myself short. “How much I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

  Genevieve tenses in my arms. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” I nuzzle behind her ears.

  “You’ve never said…if, in the beginning…before, if you…” She holds her breath. I can feel her go totally still.

  I want to tell her. That I always will. That I do. That there’s no doubt. That I always have. No question, since the beginning.

  But I hold her hard against me and say, “Good night, wife.”

  Because I’m a coward. She fits herself against me anyway, and we fall into a fitful sleep, but not before I realize fully that I’m way luckier than I deserve.

  If only I were the guy she actually chose, rather than the one she settled for temporarily.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Genevieve

  “Wake up, gorgeous.”

  Adam’s voice is so close that it ruffles the hair around my ear and tickles my neck.

  “Too early,” I groan. I pull the pillow out from under my head and press it over my face, blocking the sunlight that streams in. “If we’re going to make this marriage thing work, you’re going to have to understand that I don’t do mornings. At least, not by choice.”

  His hands run up and down my body, and I arch against them. “Oh really? I remember how well you did this morning just a few hours ago.”

  Memories of our pre-dawn extracurricular activity flood my mind, making my toes curl and my breath quicken.

  “Exactly,” I mumble. “Can’t we just savor the memory and go back to sleep? I promise I’ll be good to go for round two—or three? Four? I lost count—in a couple of hours.”

  “No,” he says, as he kisses my throat, then along my collarbone. “Wake up now.”

  “Fine!” I say with a laugh. His lips are hot on my skin, and I don’t even want to try to resist him anymore. “What is it that I need to get up for? God, do we have a mandatory tutoring session?”

  I fling the pillow from my eyes, and Adam grins.

  “No, but I could probably come up with something to teach you if you’d like,” he starts tugging the sheet out of my fingers. “Or, you could get your toothbrush and throw on a swimsuit—preferably a tiny one; I’m fairly certain you have a couple of those—and let me take you on a honeymoon.”

  “A honeymoon?” I choke the words out like I’m gargling wet sand.

  His grin is pure pleased mischief. “It’s about time, don’t you think? We had a legitimate proposal even though we got bonded instead of engaged. We had a real wedding for our marriage of convenience. I think we deserve a honeymoon even though we’re technically friends with benefits—very hot benefits— instead of newlyweds.”

  My heart sinks a little. He isn’t saying a single thing that isn’t true. That doesn’t make facing it hurt any less.

  “Oh. Of course. But, what about school?”

  Adam is constantly worried about school. I can’t believe he would have forgotten about it. Maybe he’s planning on packing our laptops and binders…?

  “Let’s forget about school. Just this one time. It’s only for a weekend. But it’s better than nothing, right?”

  He pulls away from me, waiting for confirmation with hopeful eyes. Love surges through me, strong and powerful. And something else…is it hope?

  “Absolutely.”

  I nod, flinging my arms around his neck and kissing all over his face. He slips an arm under me and pulls me on top of him.

  “Where are we going?” I ask between kisses.

  “You’ll see when we get there,” Adam says. He pulls my hair away from my face and leans in to kiss the tip of my nose.

  “I hate surprises,” I pout.

  “I didn’t know that. But, that’s what this weekend is all about. We’re going to wind up spending so much time, just you and me, you’ll be sick of my face by the time Monday rolls around.”

  “I doubt it,” I joke, drawing the back of my fingers down his face. “Seriously, where are we going?”

  “Get dressed,” he says, popping a kiss on my lips.

  He rolls out from under me and smacks my butt as he hurls himself off of the bed. I half seethe with anger over his refusal to tell me where we’re going, half smirk to myself as I watch my husband strut nude across the room in search of the boxers I stripped off of him hours earlier.

  …

  “I hate heights,” I say as Adam negotiates the curvy road a little too fast for my liking.

  “Good to know…for next time,” he says, his mouth pulled into a frown.

  We’re cruising up the winding mountain on what I’m sure he assumed would be a scenic and romantic drive, but all I can do is clutch the door handle, white knuckled, and cringe with each twist of the road. Adam seems mostly at ease, but that doesn’t make me want to cry any less.

  “So,” I say, swallowing hard and trying to steady my voice, “what made you choose Big Bear?” Adam takes his eyes off the road to look at me, and I shake my head frantically, pointing out the windshield. “Watch the road!”

  “Wow, so this is Genevieve terrified. The way you popped the question to me without even hesitating…”
He gives a low, infuriating whistle. “I was beginning to think your nerves were made of steel.”

  I glance over, and he’s got a shit-eating grin plastered across his face that—if I could let go of this stupid door handle—I would smack right off. “I hate you,” I mutter.

  I hate this drive. I hate the sight of car paint scrapes on the rocks that line the side of the road. I hate this drop to nothingness out my side of the car. “And stay in your own lane.”

  “Gen, I am in my lane. We’re almost there, baby. Just close your eyes. I promise, for our anniversary, I’ll pick somewhere made for flatlanders.”

  Says the man who was raised in a desert. His voice is warm and comforting, his hand on my leg is lidocaine for my nerves. I release the door handle, lean back in my seat, and close my eyes, thinking of one thing only: what it will feel like to celebrate this marriage with Adam.

  …

  “It’s not exactly the penthouse, but it’s nice, right?” Adam asks, swinging open the door of the tiny cabin.

  The floors are dusty, the kitchen cabinets are all open and completely bare, and the light that Adam just flipped on is buzzing so loud, I think I’d prefer a weekend in constant darkness.

  “It’s fantastic!” I say, forcing enthusiasm into each syllable for his sake.

  Adam worked really hard to put all of this together, and it’s better than sitting in our same stuffy apartment for the weekend. I feel like I’m suffocating in the tiny red rooms most days. Not that I’d ever tell him that he was right about the paint making the room feel like the walls were closing in on us.

  No, the weather is gorgeous here, and we’re going to enjoy the hell out of this weekend. I plan to make sure of it. Operation Perfect Wife didn’t go off quite like I planned the first time around, but I’m gung-ho to try again.

  “It’s so pretty out, let me just put my stuff away, and then let’s go find something to do. Unless you made plans?”

  “We can do whatever you want, Gen.” Adam walks to the kitchen and picks up a stack of brochures off of the small table. “Looks like they left these for us. There’s hiking, zip-lining… Oh! There’s an alpine slide down the side of the mou—”