Spiral Of Bliss: Adore Part 2

"Dean?" I squeeze his c.o.c.k lightly. "Come on. I've told you about my fantasies, right?"

"Mine aren't nearly as vivid as yours," he replies.

"Remember that dream you once had in which I was a librarian?" I ask, smiling when his c.o.c.k stiffens even more. "That was pretty hot."

"That was a dream, not a fantasy."

"A dream is an unconscious fantasy," I remind him. "But I want to know what you fantasize about when you're awake. Am I a nurse? A farmer's daughter? A vestal virgin?"

Dean shakes his head.

I try to think. "Oh! Am I a dominatrix?"

"Beauty, as much as I love the idea of you in leather, I'd never be up for that." He slides his hand over my a.s.s.

I can't really see it either-even in my imagination, s.e.xual submission and Dean West are a total mismatch. Control is just one of the things that makes him who he is, and though it's also the characteristic that has caused the most problems between us, I've accepted that it will always be part of him.

"What do you fantasize about, then?" I ask.

"How about you tell me?" he suggests. "You have some pretty imaginative, elaborate fantasies. Elves and pirate captains and all that, right?"

Right. I used to have elaborate s.e.xual fantasies. Now my most intense fantasies involve sleeping past five a.m., or eating an entire meal without getting up once, or having time to read a book whose plot doesn't revolve around Arthur or the Berenstain Bears.

Stay on track, Liv. No thinking of Brother and Sister Bear...

"So?" Dean prompts, winding a lock of my hair around his finger.

"Um, so I had this fantasy where you were... uh, a deliveryman," I say, "and I was... a bored, lonely housewife and you were delivering some s.e.x toys..."

"Sounds more like a p.o.r.n flick," Dean remarks.

"Yeah." I sigh. "I guess I haven't fantasized much lately."

"So instead of talking, why don't we just get dirty?" he suggests, tugging at the hem of my s.h.i.+rt. "Take this off."

Though I'm not entirely ready to be done with this conversation, I'm getting hot, and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are aching. I lift myself up to take off my s.h.i.+rt and unhook my bra, tossing both to the floor. Cooler air caresses my skin, and Dean's breath hisses out in pleasure at the sight of my bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my nipples jutting out, hard as cherries.

I s.h.i.+ver, desire rolling through me at the darkening heat in his eyes, the visible strain of his muscles.

Yes.

Oh, it feels good to be aroused, even if we haven't done much of anything yet. Especially because we haven't done much of anything yet.

"C'mere," Dean mutters roughly, grabbing my waist and hauling me toward him. He fastens his lips around my nipple and tugs, the light pull sending a current of heat right to my s.e.x.

I move over him to straddle his waist, bending forward so he has full access to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His body tenses as he palms and squeezes my b.r.e.a.s.t.s until waves of heat wash through me.

"G.o.d, Dean." I squirm on top of him, rubbing my c.l.i.t against his torso. "I'm getting really hot."

He pushes his hips upward, nudging his c.o.c.k against my a.s.s. He grips the waistband of my pants, and I s.h.i.+ft so he can tug them down my hips and slip his hand between my legs. He groans.

"Ah, f.u.c.k, you're wet already." He yanks at my pants. "Get these off. Now."

I maneuver around to pull my pants off and ease down Dean's body, pressing kisses to his gorgeous chest, down the line bisecting his abdomen, following the trail of hair leading right to the tantalizing hardness of his erection.

I grasp his hips and press my mouth onto his c.o.c.k, right over the cotton of his pants. Dean groans, fisting a hand into my hair. The heat of his shaft burns through the thin material, his thigh muscles tightening like corded wire. I pull his pants down just enough to release his c.o.c.k, the beautiful, thick length almost gleaming in the dim light.

I glance up at him through the veil of hair that has fallen over my face. He's watching me, his dark eyes smoldering. He reaches down to squeeze my breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Use these," he says huskily.

A s.h.i.+ver rains through me. I get to my knees and cup my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Dean grasps the base of his shaft. I position myself over him and press my b.r.e.a.s.t.s together to create a deep cleavage before sliding his c.o.c.k between them.

"Oh, G.o.d." I inhale a sharp breath, my skin tingling at the sensation of his smooth, veined shaft against my damp skin. "Is that good?"

"h.e.l.l, yeah." He grits his teeth and pushes his hips upward, like he wants to thrust into my cleavage. "f.u.c.k me with them."

I do. I squeeze my b.r.e.a.s.t.s together tighter and slide them up and down his stiff c.o.c.k, the pathway eased by the combination of his fluids and my perspiration. My head fills with the scent of him, urgency tightening through my entire body. I'd almost forgotten how uninhibited and s.e.xy I could be with him, how good pure, undiluted l.u.s.t could feel.

Mesmerized, I watch his thick erection push in and out of my pillowy cleavage. I twist my nipples, jolts of heat pouring through me. I pause and s.h.i.+ft to take the head of his erection into my mouth. The salty, male taste of him floods my tongue. His body tautens beneath me, his hand tightening in my hair.

I circle my tongue over the tip of his c.o.c.k before easing him into my mouth inch by inch. His shaft is warm and pulsing. I press my tongue to the vein throbbing at the underside, then ease back and move my head up and down, f.u.c.king him with my mouth. His breath saws through the air, and I feel his muscles flexing.

A groan shakes his chest. He grips the back of my neck as he pushes his c.o.c.k gently into my mouth. I let my eyes drift closed and breathe, focusing on the sensation of my husband's body, the smooth feel of his shaft, the quickening breaths signaling his increasing drive toward release. His fingers tighten briefly on my nape before he releases me and slides his hand down to rub my back in an almost soothing motion.

"Come here," he orders gruffly.

I release him, crawling back up the length of his body and splay over him, my thighs hugging his hips and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed against his chest. Our lips meet in a hot, full kiss as he strokes his hands down my back to my rear end. In one movement, he turns me over, his body rigid with self-restraint.

"Open," he whispers against my lips.

My breath catches. I spread my legs, letting him move between them. He gets to his knees and pushes my legs farther apart. I rake my gaze over him, the planes of his chest and thighs, the ridge of his erection, the burning gleam in his eyes. He slides his fingers into my cleft. The first touch is a delicious shock, his thumb circling my c.l.i.t as he pushes two fingers into my opening.

"Oh, G.o.d, Dean..." I clench my fists into the sheets, feeling as if I'm aroused for the first time ever.

I'm vibrating with sensation-streams of blue and gold coursing through my veins, the press of Dean's fingers stimulating my nerves, the heat-drenched air pressing against my skin. I push my hips back and forth, as all thought slides away into a warm, heady pool of sensation. All I know is this feels so good, so right, and it's been much too long since we've indulged in such hot intimacy.

"f.u.c.k me," I murmur, hooking my legs around his thighs. "I want to come with you inside me."

He needs no further invitation, pus.h.i.+ng into me with one slow, easy surge. He groans. I gasp, my inner flesh stretching and tightening around his shaft. I grip the sheets tighter as he starts to thrust, his deep movements blazing heat over my nerves. I arch upward to meet his repeated plunges, our bodies pus.h.i.+ng and pulling in a rhythm as powerful and natural as tides.

Tension winds through my lower body. I slide my hand down to rub my c.l.i.t, craving the intense explosion of pleasure I haven't felt in weeks. Sometimes I can hardly remember not having to work to get into the moment, to push away all the worries, plans, and schedules cramming my head.

There's always something to think about, whether it's the cafe staff schedule, profit and loss, what to make for dinner, Nicholas's daycare payments, or... Oh, s.h.i.+t, I forgot to give the monthly payment to Christine last week, which means I need to double-check that there's enough to cover- "Ah, good." Dean, still thrusting into me like a well-oiled piston, braces his hands on either side of my head and lowers his mouth to mine. "Put your legs up... yeah, like that..."

I writhe under him, trying to get my head back in the game, but my rhythm is off, and we both pull back at the same time. He slides out of me and stops, his breathing hard. His expression darkens.

"Where did you go?" he asks.

"Nowhere. Just, um..." I dig my fingers into his back and wiggle again. I strain for the resurgence of arousal, but it's like trying to grasp a fistful of water.

Dean slips his hand between my legs, ma.s.saging my c.l.i.t in the way I usually love. I sink back against the pillows, playing with my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and waiting for delicious arousal to coil through me again.

Did I tell Christine about the change in my work schedule? I can't remember. I need her to take care of Nicholas on Thursdays instead of Tuesdays, and I need to s.h.i.+ft the pickup time to...

I shake the thought off and reach down to palm Dean's erection and guide him back inside me. I arch upward as he slides in, smooth and easy, his breath rasping against my temple. His body grows taut with familiar urgency as he pushes into me again.

I squirm, disliking the edge of unfulfilled l.u.s.t, but knowing he won't succ.u.mb to his own release until he knows I'm satisfied. For the first time ever, I wish he weren't such a gentleman.

"Oh, Dean..." I breathe his name and wrap my legs around his hips. "You feel so good, so big... f.u.c.k me harder, please... yes, yes!"

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, simultaneously straining for both arousal and something to say in order to keep him, at least, in the zone.

"Do me, baby, good and hard. I'm coming... Oh my G.o.d, I'm coming. Yes... oh, G.o.d, yes!"

I shriek and writhe my hips, pus.h.i.+ng up against him the second I realize he's stopped moving. I open my eyes. He's looking at me, his arms still braced on either side of my head and his chest heaving.

"Really?" he asks dryly.

A hot flush of embarra.s.sment crawls up my face. Dean gives a half laugh, half groan and thrusts a couple more times. Though he comes, I can tell it's hardly as powerful an o.r.g.a.s.m as it usually is for him.

He rolls off me, throwing his arm across his face.

"You're the love of my life, Olivia," he mutters. "But you're a terrible actress."

My embarra.s.sment intensifies. I should have known better than to think he wouldn't notice. But after two weeks away from each other, I was sure I'd have no trouble reaching the finish line.

I turn toward him and put my hand on his damp torso. Lines of frustration etch his forehead, and his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Guilt stabs me.

"I'm sorry." I prop myself up on my elbow to look at him. "It's really not you. It's me. I don't know where my s.e.x drive goes sometimes."

Dean opens his eyes to meet my gaze.

"So what happened?" he asks. "You were into it before."

"I started thinking about something I have to do tomorrow," I admit.

"I'm guessing it wasn't ride Dean's c.o.c.k," he mutters.

I can't help giggling. "No, but I'll put that on my To Do list."

I ease closer to rest my cheek against his shoulder. I slide my hand down his abdomen, tracing the ridges of his abs with my fingertips. Not only does my husband have an incredibly gorgeous body, he knows exactly how and when to both make love and f.u.c.k hard. He's certainly not the reason I have trouble keeping my head in the game.

"Don't do that again," Dean says, his tone so implacably stern that I glance up.

He frowns down at me, his eyes narrowing with a sense of menace I've never before seen directed at me. For some reason, a s.h.i.+ver of excitement runs down my spine.

"I won't," I promise.

"You'd better not," Dean murmurs, his deep voice rolling over me like a hot breeze. "You're not allowed to fake an o.r.g.a.s.m. Ever."

"Oh." I dart my tongue out to lick my lips, wondering why his unyielding command is making me all quivery inside. "Okay."

"If you do that again, I'll have to punish you," Dean warns, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Given the little tingles racing through me, I'm not sure what the right answer to that question is.

CHAPTER TWO.

DEAN.

Well, s.h.i.+t.

After two weeks away from my wife, I was unapologetically expecting explosive s.e.x within a few hours of my return. But after last night fizzled out like a wet firecracker, and with Liv's s.e.x drive here one minute and gone the next, I don't know when explosive s.e.x will be on the agenda again.

Not that I'm deprived. Just a little tired of my right hand.

I take a deep breath and finish shaving. Despite the fact that last night hardly went as planned, I'm glad to be home. Thirteen days away from my family was thirteen days too long.

I'd hoped Liv could come with me to Italy-I've been working on the Altopascio dig for almost three years now, and she has yet to see the site-but the timing didn't work out. It never has. We've made plans a few times for her and Nicholas to join me, but work and schedules always get in the way.

When I go downstairs, the high-pitched voice of Elmo comes from the TV, and the smell of coffee drifts in the air. The picture windows in the sunroom reveal a sky the color of metal and a springtime growth of weeds and plants sprouting from the mushy ground.

"Morning." Liv is standing at the central island, putting out coffee mugs. She's bundled into her padded robe, her hair all loose and tangled around her shoulders. Exactly how I like it.

"Morning, wife." I slide a hand around the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss. A surge of unfulfilled l.u.s.t hits me at the feeling of her lips against mine.

After a minute, Liv pulls away from me and rests her hand on my chest. Guilt flashes in her pretty brown eyes.

"Sorry about last night," she says.

So am I. I've never not been able to make her come, especially after two weeks apart. Never.

"It had just been such a bad day," Liv continues. "And I wanted to make you happy."

"I am happy." I twist a lock of her hair around my finger. "But knowing you're faking it makes me very not happy. You ever do that before?"

"No."

I narrow my gaze. "You sure?"