Butterfly Bayou (Butterfly Bayou 1)

“Armand est mon homme.”

“I’m your man, chérie. It’s all I want to be.”

“You’re my man.” They weren’t words she’d thought she would ever say. They were words meant for romance novels, not ones she would claim for her own. Now she realized it was because she’d viewed them in the wrong way. Armie wasn’t saying he owned her or she owned him. Those words were a declaration of intent, the intent to try, to be together, to support each other. He was telling her she could count on him. “I’m your woman.”

“Tu es ma femme,” he agreed and took her mouth again.

Then there was no more talking. There were his hands and his mouth and his body against hers. There was communication, communion through kisses and caresses and the way his big body shuddered when she touched him.

She explored him. Somehow it always felt like discovery when she touched Armie. He let her explore. Her hands skimmed over his torso and down to his strong legs. He’d been so giving with her in bed, but they’d forgotten a few things. She’d been so wrapped up in his dominance in bed that she’d forgotten how much fun it could be to give back.

She dropped to her knees, the warmth of the shower at her back.

“Tu vas me tuer, mon amour,” he said, his eyes hotter than the shower.

She didn’t need any translation for that one. She’d rarely done this. Sex hadn’t been an indulgence. It had been a bodily function, a thing to enjoy and forget and get back to work or sleep after. Now she wanted to revel in it. She wanted to try all the things that had seemed unimportant before. She reached out and stroked him, loving the feel of him in her hand. The skin was soft but he was hard, wanting.

“That’s what I need, chérie. I need you to touch me everywhere.” His head was down, watching her as she played with him. His hands came down to toy with her hair and she knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d fisted them there and he took control.

She was all right with that. He’d never led her the wrong way, but she was going to enjoy these few moments where she was in charge. She leaned over and licked the head of his cock. It tried to leap in her hand, but she held him firmly. She stroked him again and gave him another teasing kiss.

“You’re going to pay me back, aren’t you?”

She simply smiled up at him. The man could spend hours playing with her. She’d never had any lover lavish his affection on her the way Armie did. She needed to give the same back to him, to let him know exactly how much she enjoyed him.

And she did. Every moan and hiss that came from his mouth let her know how much she was affecting him. Those hands in her hair tightened, the way she knew they would, and she chuckled.

“I love the way you laugh. I love it even more when I can feel it on my cock,” Armie said, his voice deepening along with his accent. When he was deeply aroused, his Cajun came out more strongly than it did in his everyday life, as though when he was with her in the most primal, intimate sense, he became more of himself. Like she got a part of Armie no one else did.

He was the only man who regularly made her laugh. If she was getting some secret part of Armie, he was getting a piece of her she hadn’t known existed. With him, she was discovering that she wasn’t so afraid anymore. She could relax. The man and this place were definitely having an effect on her.

“Take more,” he demanded gruffly, his hands gently clutching her hair.

She even liked the slight sting of him tugging against her scalp. It sent mini shock waves through her.

She softened her jaw and sucked him, whirling her tongue around and around. Humming around him, she stroked him with one hand as she moved up and down.

He tugged on her hair, pulling her off. “I can’t. I need to get inside you. I missed you all day.”

His hand came out and she took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. Her whole body pulsed with desire, as though she could feel her blood pounding through her system. He pulled her in close and suddenly her back was against the stone of the shower wall.

“J’ai besoin de toi,” he said, lifting her up. “Put your legs around me. I need to be with you.”

She needed it, too. She needed to feel that connection to him. It was visceral and real and undeniable when he was making love to her. She locked her legs around his waist as he stroked into her. The orgasm struck and she called out his name. She clung to him, giving up all control and riding the magnificent wave.