Page 68

She catches my gaze and whispers, her voice no more than a breath, “I’ve always been yours. I waited for you all this time.”

The zipper moves slowly under my fingers, unveiling her inch by inch. I take my time, worshipping every part of her with my lips, my hands—memorizing her skin, her shape, her heat like a language I was born to speak.

When her dress pools silently at her feet, I pull her gently against me, her bare back against my chest, and she melts into the contact like she’s been waiting for this exact moment her whole life. Her hands slip into my hair, tugging—a quiet, desperate plea.

I guide her to the bed and lower her onto the soft white sheets, slow and reverent. She obeys me—trusting, aching, ready.

I undress slowly, letting her eyes follow my every movement, letting her desire rise and burn between us. I can feel the lust simmering in the air between us. She doesn’t speak. But she doesn’t have to.

And then… I climb onto the bed beside her, pulling her body flush against mine once more.

“Do you remember what I said earlier about loving and respecting you, Sierra?” I ask, my voice calm—almost too calm.

“What?” She blinks, confused by the sudden shift in my tone and actions. “Yes, I remember. Why?”

“Good,” I say, gripping her hips and flipping her onto her knees. “Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

She gasps as she stumbles forward, bracing herself on her hands. Her breath catches. Her body trembles. She’s trying to adjust, trying to obey, but the moment has already taken over.

I take my cock in my hand and pump it a few times—just enough to feel the heat surge—then press the tip against her clit, teasing her with slow, deliberate circles.

The metal of my piercing drags across her swollen flesh, and she cries out, her hips jerking back instinctively.

I coat myself in her wetness—letting it build, letting it burn—watching the way her hips instinctively push back against me.

“Look at how wet you are for your husband, Sierra,” I growl, my voice thick with lust. “Is this what you want? Is my cock what you need, baby?”

With one slow, punishing stroke, I sink into her.

She moans—low, broken, raw—the sound crashing through me like a lightning strike. Her body tightens around me instantly, as if she’s been waiting for this moment, this exact feeling. And fuck, so have I.

I slide out just enough to feel the resistance, then sink back into her, deeper this time. Her fingers twist the sheets—knuckles white, back arching. She’s trying to stay quiet, but I know every breath, every gasp, every quiver of her thighs. And they all betray how much she needs this.

How much she needs me.

I lean down, my chest pressed to her back, lips brushing the shell of her ear as my hand wraps around her throat—gentle but firm. “Who’s fucking you, Sierra Hardy?” I whisper.

A shiver ripples through her. I feel it so intensely as if it belonged to me.

I grab a fistful of her hair, tilting her head back just enough so I can kiss her jaw.

“Say it,” I growl. “Say who I am to you.”

“My husband,” she breathes, barely able to speak.

I slip my hand between her thighs, circling her clit with my fingers—my wedding band cool against her skin, a silent, possessive brand.

My rhythm deepens. I thrust harder, faster—but I don’t let it become rough. I want her to feel everything. Every inch of me. Every ounce of this need.

Because this isn’t just sex.

This is ours.

This feels sacred.

This night is about claiming her completely. Holding her. Loving her the way she’s meant to be loved.

She cries out as I increase the movement of my fingers against her clit and I feel her start to unravel.