“What do these taste like?” she asked, her voice a sultry, playful purr.
“Like sweet cherries,” he drawled huskily.
Reaching up to him, she slid her fingers into his silky hair and drew his mouth down to her breasts, the length of his strong, muscular body now pressing hers more firmly into the hard wooden desk. “Lick them.”
He dipped his head and slid the flat of his soft, velvety tongue over her aureole, then nipped at her with his teeth and sucked her into his mouth. The hot, wet sensation shot an arrow of desire straight down to where they joined, where his thrusts were picking up pace and becoming more insistent. More urgent.
She wrapped her legs around his hips and slid her hands beneath his shirt and up the slope of his spine, urging him on. With a low, feral growl, he lunged upward and kissed her, sealing their lips and buffering her soft moan of need.
His hot mouth devoured. His wicked tongue pillaged. Roughly, he shoved his hands through her hair, wrapping the long strands around his fingers, holding her captive as he ravaged her mouth with the same edgy, desperate way he took her body.
Deeper and deeper
. Harder and faster.
Her fingernails dug into his muscled back as he plunged, again and again. Everything about him was hard and strong, all primitive, animalistic, carnal male. The incredible power of his passion sent another orgasm rippling through her body, and thank God he still had his mouth locked tight over hers or else her scream of pleasure would have undoubtedly been heard by all.
Dean was right behind her with his own release, a guttural groan vibrating from deep in his chest as his body jerked hard against hers. He collapsed against her, both of them breathing fast as they tried to calm their racing hearts.
In time, he lifted off her and straightened, his clothing as askew and rumpled as his hair. He helped her off his desk, picked up her discarded clothes from the floor, and handed them to her.
“Go ahead and use the bathroom to get dressed,” he said, nodding his head toward the private quarters connected directly to his office.
She disappeared into the luxurious bathroom, decorated in sleek black tile and chrome accents. She cleaned up and put her panties and dress back on, then glanced in the mirror above the sink. Bright blue eyes, a few shades darker than her normal sky blue, stared back at her. Her lips were swollen from Dean’s kisses, and her complexion was flushed with sated passion. She ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, incredibly pleased with the way her visit with her husband had played out. His response had been better than she’d imagined.
She stepped back into his office and found him sitting in his chair, all tucked in and zipped up. His hair was still ruffled from the way she’d clutched those thick strands in her hands just minutes before, and she loved that he wasn’t like one of those prissy metro-sexual males who had soft, manicured hands and untouchable hair that was always in place. Dean was a man’s man, rugged and alpha and secure in his masculinity, without any excess trappings. He was bold, confident, yet always a gentleman.
Those more gallant, honorable qualities had their time and place, but just as men preferred a lady in public and a whore in private, Jill had come to the conclusion that she wanted a rake and a libertine in the bedroom, and all of the down and dirty, risqué acts that came with her husband being an assertive, demanding lover. And in order to get what she desired, she had to ask for it. Demand it. Take it as her due as Dean’s wife.
His gaze met hers, and while his body was relaxed, there was a slight crease between his brows that told her he was analyzing the situation, and her. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking, because he was good at hiding his feelings and emotions. She wanted that to change, too.
“Come here,” he said, and held his hand out to her.
Placing her fingers in his warm palm, she let him pull her toward him and guide her so that she was sitting across his lap. He wrapped one arm around her waist and settled his other hand on her thigh, exposed by the opening slit of her dress. His touch was hot but gentle, as was the look in his eyes as he met her gaze.
“Care to tell me what that was all about?” he asked.
His tone was curious, and Jill knew this is where everything was about to change. That being open and honest with him would either make their relationship stronger, or break their marriage. Depending on how he viewed her bold request.
“I thought it was obvious,” she said with a flirty smile. “It was all about putting some spontaneity into our sex life.”
He arched a dark brow. “You’ve never been impulsive.”
True. She was more practical by nature, having been raised by conservative, wealthy parents who always had a plan for everything . . . including their daughter’s future, which hadn’t included Jillian getting pregnant at the age of seventeen by a defiant, rebellious boy from the very low income, and rough neighborhood on the outskirts of Austin, Texas. She’d been the quintessential good girl, until Dean and all his arrogance and swagger had coaxed her to take a walk on the wild side with him.
He’d been so mysterious and exciting, yet incredibly sweet and gentle with her, and it hadn’t taken long for the two of them to fall in love. Even as a teenager, he’d faced his responsibilities like a man, including his commitment to her and their unborn child.
Though her parents had insisted Jillian put their baby up for adoption, she’d refused and married Dean on her eighteenth birthday at the local courthouse—just five days before he left for Navy basic training. And that’s when she’d learned to finely hone those practical, sensible qualities, because she was now a wife and months later, a mother to a baby boy.
Their second son arrived fifteen months later, and with Dean serving an eight year term as a Navy SEAL, being impulsive was something that hadn’t really fit into their lives for the past nineteen years.
Now it did.
“Having two grown boys always running around the house, along with their friends, made spontaneity difficult,” she admitted. “But now that they’re both gone, maybe it’s time to shake things up . . . and try new things.”
He frowned, and she could see the glimmer of concern in his gaze. “Are you unhappy?”
“With us, as a couple?” She shook her head adamantly and placed her palm against his jaw in reassurance, liking the slight stubble already forming there. “No. I love you, Dean. More now than ever.”