Queen Move

“Bed then.”

Holding his hand, I walk backward toward the large bed, never taking my eyes off him. It’s been so long since we were in the same room, much less alone. The bedroom is barely lit by one single lamp. When my knees hit the edge of the mattress, I reach behind me to undress.

“No.” Ezra gently turns me around, sliding his hands over my bare shoulders and arms, settling at my hips. “I want to.”

The hiss of his breath through his teeth mingles with the hiss of the zipper as he lowers it, peeling the brocaded silk back so air kisses and pebbles my bare skin. The dress slouches at my hips and then surrenders, falling to the floor in a spill of decadence around my ankles. He traces the bare curve of my ass in the skimpy thong, my thighs. He slips his fingers under the lacy scraps at my hips and slides the underwear down. I step out of it and he caresses the inside of my thigh.

“On the bed.”

His deep voice breaks the quiet in a rumbly rasp, and I climb on the bed, waiting for him. My breath comes heavy. My stomach muscles clench, anticipating his hardness. Fully clothed, he stretches out and pulls me on top, straddling his hips. He urges me up farther until my thighs bracket his face, my pussy hovering over his mouth. Our eyes connect, never breaking contact when the slightly callused pads of his fingers spread me open.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers, close enough that his breath mists the wetness of my most private place. A sanctuary I’ve reserved for him, for just this moment since the last time we kissed.

The first swipe of his tongue forces the air from my lungs, wrenching pleasure from my core and streaming through my legs.

“Dammit.” I flatten my palms against the wall over the headboard. My knees tremble as he laves me again and again and again, the languid, steady sweep of his tongue and lips there nearly too much. My knees pull in against a pleasure that’s almost unbearable, but he grips my ass, pressing me harder into his mouth, giving me no respite from the hungry kisses he lavishes on me.

My forehead drops to the wall between my palms and I rotate my hips in rhythm with the glorious work of his tongue. He passes his thumb through my wetness, caressing my clit with each stroke and then tracing the puckered track between my buttocks, pressing there.

“Can I?”

I nod, pushing back, anticipating penetration in the place too rarely touched. His thumb slips in, big, intrusive, perfect. My breath hitches at the tantalizing pressure, the sublime fullness. His other hand reaches up, cupping my breast while he pumps his thumb inside. I gasp, a shiver working itself through my body with sudden force. He slides his other hand down, leaving my breast, gliding over my belly, and finds the bud of throbbing nerves. He works me into a frenzy with the pressure inside and the delicate, unrelenting stroke across my clit. I churn my hips into his touch, caring about nothing but this urgency blooming inside me. It overtakes me, washing over every nerve ending with tsunami force that wrenches a sob from me. The orgasm uncoils, loosening my limbs and leaving me spent.

He slides from beneath my limp body, gently laying me flat onto the bed, turns me onto my back. Slack-jawed, arms and legs limp, I slit my eyes open. His eyes burn over my face, down the length of my body. There’s so much barely leashed passion in his expression, in his eyes. I force my arm to move, reach up and smooth the muscle ticking in his jaw, brush the artfully sculpted bow of his mouth with my thumb. He turns his head into my hand, kisses my palm.

“I love you,” I whisper, watching his long lashes fall, his eyes close as he absorbs the words, allows them to water the dry places I recognize because I’ve been dry without him, too. I’ve been lonely. I’ve been, at times, uncertain how this would work, how it would end. And now—love, relief, reunion.

He stands, stripping efficiently at the foot of the bed, tossing the jeans and shirt away. He’s the same as I remember, muscles hewn from rock, skin cut from swathes of velvet, but having been so long without him, there’s a novelty to his form. A freshness to his male beauty that I’ll never take for granted again.

He slots lean hips between my spread legs. When he looks up, his face still wet from the time and care he took ensuring my pleasure, his eyes connect with mine, searing a thousand unspoken promises into my heart. There’s a knowing between us, an intuition of body and soul and mind that I’ve never had with anyone else. At his first thrust, a hard, sure possession, I know I never will. He doesn’t pull back, but stays buried inside me, his temple pressed to mine. He angles his head until only a breath separates our mouths. He closes the space, kissing me fiercely as he pushes in deeper. I wrap my legs around him, linking my ankles at the base of his spine. He moves, one sure thrust after another, slowly building the momentum between our bodies. Sweat beads, drips as he never lets up, the only sounds in the room our grunting and gasping and panting and urgent whispers of more, faster, harder, please don’t you ever stop.

Finally, he groans into the curve of my neck, spilling into me, a hot flow of love and unleashed passion. I want it all, tightening my arms and legs around him like he’s wisps of smoke that might drift away, like I could lose him if I’m not careful. The percussion of our hearts, mallets in our chests, slows. Our love-slicked limbs are a tangle of copper and bronze. I run my fingers through his hair, trace the muscles in his belly, caress the sinew at his hip, the corded arms. I hold his hand. My body is sated, but my heart hungers for him still, for unbroken contact. I want him until I’m full and running over and exhausted with affection. I can’t stop touching him, making sure he is real and here and mine.

Still only mine.

Our bodies have cooled when he rolls away.

“No,” I protest, my voice raw and husky. “Don’t go yet.”

“I’ll be right back.” He leans down and kisses my forehead.

I close my eyes and pull the duvet up and over my shoulders, relishing the warmth, the scent of us in the sheets. When he gently turns me over to face him, he’s on his knees beside the bed, elbows propped on the mattress.

“Hey, handsome,” I say sleepily, caressing the line of his brows, the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” he replies, his lips quirking, even though his eyes remain serious. “I want to talk to you about a few things.”

“Okay.” I drag myself up to sit with my back against the headboard and the covers tucked beneath my arms. “Talk.”

“We kind of jumped right in,” he says, linking our fingers on the sheets. “But I want to talk about what happened while we’ve been apart.”

A chill skitters across my skin, stiffening my back and tensing my muscles. Is this where he confesses he did give in to temptation and sleep with Aiko once, twice, three times?

“What happened?” I ask, keeping my voice even and just the right degree of curious.

“I did what I needed to do,” he says, studying the sheets. “I wanted to be there for Mai and Noah and Aiko, of course.”

I gulp at the tears threatening, grit my teeth and brace for disappointment.