Spiral Of Bliss: Adore Part 25

Wincing, I do, feeling my damp cleft open for his view alone. His breath escapes in a rush.

Oh, how I want to look over my shoulder and see him-all sweaty and muscular, his eyes burning with l.u.s.t as he stares at my spread p.u.s.s.y, his c.o.c.k sticking straight out and his hand stroking up and down the shaft...

But I can't see him. I press my face into the pillow again and wait. The head of his c.o.c.k rubs deliciously against my folds before he sinks into me again with a rough groan. I shriek, my whole body jerking forward as he grips my a.s.s and starts to thrust.

In this position, he's harder to take, impossibly big, his c.o.c.k firing me with both need and apprehension. I grip the silk ties and struggle to take him, my head filling with the wet, smacking sound of our bodies slapping together. Cries spill from my throat with every deep plunge, my nerves blazing with heat.

"f.u.c.k, you feel incredible," Dean mutters. "Like a tight, hot glove... look at how you spread your legs so well... such a good girl... so f.u.c.king perfect."

His words pour over me, flooding me with pleasure, l.u.s.t, love. Sweat drips into my eyes. Despite the shocking sense of vulnerability, I know I could crouch here forever, letting him drive into me over and over again, but the pressure inside mounts, coiling through me like a whip ready to strike.

"Please, sir," I beg, turning toward him over my shoulder even though I can't see him. "I'm so close... I need to come..."

"You don't get to come first," he says, giving my a.s.s a little stinging spank. "I do."

A shudder rocks through me. "Then I... oh, I want to feel it, sir, please let me. Come inside me, come on my a.s.s... wherever you want. Whatever you want... please."

He plunges into me once and pulls out, and I know he's stroking his c.o.c.k. A burn scorches me as I see him in my mind's eye, his head back and his hand wrapped around his shaft as he thrusts into the vise of his fist. His shout vibrates against my skin the instant before warm seed splashes over my a.s.s. I moan, wiggling my lower body, desperate to escape the restraints.

"Dean." My voice cracks, on the verge of breaking.

He moves swiftly to unfasten the ties and pulls me against his sweaty body, his arms coming around me in the strong, secure haven I know so well. I sink against him, panting and still aching for release. He lowers his lips to my ear and slides his hands over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"I love you," he whispers, his breath hot. "You're so G.o.dd.a.m.ned beautiful you break my heart in two. I will climb mountains and cross oceans to get to you. You fill every f.u.c.king part of me, my blood, my heart, my soul. I will slay monsters for you until the end of time. And I will make you come so hard you'll see stars."

I can't speak. I'm shaking, trembling, aching. And when Dean slides his hand between my legs and rubs my c.l.i.t, I explode like a rocket. A scream rips from my throat as I buck against his hand, a torrent of vibrations trembling violently through me.

Dean's voice is a low, deep whisper against my ear, a stream of praise filling me with as much bliss as the physical release. Tears stream down my cheeks and dampen the blindfold. I turn, pressing my face against Dean's chest as the sensations slide from my body.

We lie there for a long time, his arms around me, our bodies pressed together. Then he tugs the blindfold off me and brushes my hair away from my sticky forehead. I blink, momentarily off-balance as my eyes adjust to sight and light again. The bedcovers are rumpled, the silk ties tangled on the pillow.

Dean cups his hand beneath my chin and lifts my face to his. Love floods me at the sight of him-his beautiful, gold-flecked eyes warm with tenderness, the sharp angles of his cheekbones flushed with heat, his hair tousled and falling over his forehead.

"Hey, beauty," he says.

I smile. "Hi, professor."

Dean kisses my forehead and pulls me to him. All thought slides away as I relax against his solid strength, and we settle together into the fluffy pillows.

Before long my eyelids start to droop. As the haze of sleep descends, I have the fuzzy thought that I need to call Kelsey and at least say goodnight to Nicholas...

I wake with a start, disoriented and confused until I feel Dean's warm body next to mine. He threads his hand through my hair.

"Midnight," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep. "Tomorrow is Sat.u.r.day, your day off. Archer and Kelsey are taking care of Nicholas until late afternoon."

"Oh." Relief washes over me, and I sink against him with a sigh. "You mean we can stay here all day?"

"We're going to stay here all day," he replies, skimming his fingers down my spine. "Now that I have you, I'm not letting you go."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

OLIVIA.

Our night is an echo of the ones we used to spend together. We doze for an hour before pulling ourselves from the allure of sleep and back toward each other. Our lips meet lazily, I run my hand down Dean's chest, and he tugs my bare leg over his hips. We make love again but slowly, a marked contrast to the rawness of our previous encounter.

In a drowsy haze, the air scented with l.u.s.t and cherries, I let Dean pull me on top of him and position his c.o.c.k at the opening of my body. I slide down onto his shaft, welcoming the faint twinge of pain because it reminds me of how completely I've been taken.

"Oh." I lower my head to kiss him, my hair falling into a veil on either side of us, coc.o.o.ning us in our own private world.

Tension coils through Dean's body as he grips my hips and thrusts inside me, the head of his c.o.c.k hitting the sweet spot that makes me burn. I curl my fingers against his chest and ride him, feeling every inch of his stiff flesh, the exquisite friction on my c.l.i.t, the powerful strength of his body beneath me.

"Come on, beauty." He captures my lower lip between his teeth, his fingers digging into my hips. "Work yourself on me, nice and hard. Ah, f.u.c.k, that's it. Sit up. I want to look at you when you come."

I pull myself to sitting, a hot flush sweeping over me as his gaze rakes down my naked, sweaty body. Any self-consciousness I might have felt dissolves in the face of his desire.

It's so f.u.c.king hot-the burn in his eyes, the intensity of his expression, the way he looks as if he wants to devour me. I s.h.i.+ft my hips up and down, faster, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s bouncing and my whole body saturated with s.h.i.+vers.

"Dean, I'm going to... oh, G.o.d..."

"Yeah. Show me. f.u.c.king tell me."

"I'm going to come," I gasp, bracing my hands on his chest as our eyes clash through the l.u.s.t-drenched air. "I feel you so deep inside me, so big. Oh, it's so good, I want more... more... oh!"

The instant I start to come, Dean grabs the length of my hair and pulls me down to him, our lips cras.h.i.+ng together. I moan into his mouth, still pumping up and down on his c.o.c.k as the o.r.g.a.s.m shudders through my body, waves flooding and peaking.

Before the vibrations have ebbed, I sit up and start moving faster again, my gaze on his face as the urgency builds inside me with increasing force. An intense, heady sense of power fills me as I work my husband to an o.r.g.a.s.m, feeling his muscles flexing and tensing, his hoa.r.s.e groans breaking through the air.

"Ah, f.u.c.k, Liv. So close... faster, baby... yeah, like that... ah!"

Hot splashes of seed fill me as his body arches upward, pus.h.i.+ng deeper inside me. I squeeze my inner walls, milking the final pulses from him as he crests the wave and slides down the other side. There are few things more beautiful in the world than making my husband come so hard that I'll feel him inside me for the next day.

I sink against him, and we fall into another light doze, our bodies wrapped together like the entwining vines of a plant. We wake again in early morning only to order a delectable room-service meal of coffee, eggs, a basketful of flaky croissants, and fresh strawberries, which Dean feeds to me in bed before we indulge in a hot, soapy shower together.

After another drowsy nap, I look at the clock and almost laugh when I see that it's past noon. Noon on a Sat.u.r.day, and Dean is still sleeping. My body feels delicious-warm, sated, and loose, like melted honey is running through my veins, like I've been soaking in bubbling hot springs and lying naked in the sun.

Or like I've been intensely and exquisitely f.u.c.ked by my gorgeous husband. I press a kiss to his smooth shoulder and slide out of bed carefully so as not to wake him.

The purple silk scarf falls to the floor. I pick it up and wind it around my neck before going in search of something to wear that isn't my crumpled lingerie or raincoat.

I use the bathroom and tug my hair into a ponytail. There's a travel bag on the bathroom counter. Inside, there's a clean pair of yoga pants, a T-s.h.i.+rt, and slip-on shoes. Of course Dean would have thought of everything.

I dress and go into the main room. The curtains are still drawn, revealing a bright, sunny sky and the glittering expanse of the lake. I find my purse on a chair near the front door and rummage around for my cell phone, which I haven't even looked at in close to twenty-four hours.

I hadn't even thought of checking it. Heck, I hadn't thought of anything except how incredible it was to be alone with my husband again.

A slew of texts runs across the screen of my phone. My heart stutters with fear in the instant before I remember Kelsey or Archer would have contacted Dean if anything had happened to Nicholas.

My initial panic eases a bit and I scan the messages, which are mostly from Allie and Sheryl, the head waitress at the cafe.

Liv, get over here now. Where are you? She says you approved this... omfg, a police officer is asking for our permit.

WHERE ARE YOU?? Can't reach Dean, cell not working.

Am getting worried!

What the...?

My heart plummets with a sickening sense of dread. I look at the date on the screen. I think frantically, pulling up my calendar and schedule.

Oh, no.

Becky Harrison's birthday party. Becky Harrison's fifth birthday party-which I a.s.sured Allie we could handle and I would take care of-started at eleven o'clock this morning.

Oh my G.o.d.

Not only did I forget, I was thoroughly occupied.

Without even bothering to check my voicemails, I hammer out a quick text to Allie. I have no good excuse, so all I can do is admit to my hideous mistake.

I am so sorry. On my way right now.

I scribble a note for Dean-Had to run to the cafe. I love you madly-then I race downstairs to the parking lot.

I force myself not to speed too much as I drive to the cafe. All the pleasure of the past fifteen hours disintegrates as the weight of embarra.s.sment, regret, and responsibility crashes over me. I park at the curb and run across the street, yanking open the front door.

A barrage of noise hits me-children yelling and crying, the clatter of plates and silverware, a customer's angry voice, the stomp of footsteps on the stairs. Parents are cl.u.s.tered around the front counter, apparently trying to collect their children.

I drop my bag and run upstairs to the Castle Room, which is a disaster of raucous children, messy tables, and spilled food and drinks. Allie is standing near the serving station, her hands up in a placating gesture as a blond woman shouts angrily at her.

I hurry over. "Allie."

She turns, her eyes widening at the sight of me. She's red-faced with stress and near-panic. A new wave of regret slams into me so hard I almost can't catch my breath.

"Excuse me." I step between her and the angry woman, feeling the tension tight enough to break. "Are you Monica Harrison? I'm Liv West."

"Liv." Monica's mouth compresses, her furious gaze darting from Allie to me. "Where the h.e.l.l have you been? You told me you'd be here to run Becky's party."

"I'm terribly sorry." My chest constricts. "I'm... I'll handle everything, I promise."

"It's a little late for that now," Monica replies bitterly, spreading her hand out to indicate the chaos. "This is a disaster. You'd better believe I'm not paying you a dime, and if you don't refund my deposit, I'm suing you."

"Of course we'll refund your money. I'll get things straightened out right away."

Monica hardly looks placated, but she turns to another frazzled-looking mother who is trying to drag a resistant five-year-old toward the door.

I face Allie, whose eyebrows pull together with concern. "Liv, where have you been? Is everything okay? Nicholas?"

"Yes." I press my hands to my cheeks and close my eyes. "Everything's fine. I just... I'm sorry. I f.u.c.ked up. I completely forgot about the party."

Silence falls. I open my eyes to look at her. Her expression hardens with anger.

"You forgot," she repeats.

"I forgot."

"You told me you were planning everything. You told me we could handle it."

"I know."

"Where were you?" she asks.

"I was busy," I confess. "I forgot, Allie. I don't have any other excuse."

"Why didn't you answer my calls and texts?"

"My phone was off."

"All morning?"

"Yes." I hold up my hands in surrender. "And Dean got a new cell number that I forgot to give you. Allie, what happened?"

"A f.u.c.king disaster, that's what happened," she hisses. "Rachel is outside with the police officer and the band, who refuse to leave unless they're paid even though they haven't performed."

Allie waves her hand toward the window. "You'd better do something about the officer now. I've been trying to corral the kids and get them to their parents, not to mention dealing with one seriously p.i.s.sed-off mother."

I shut off the guilt buffeting me like a storm and hurry back downstairs. Outside, a few children are chasing each other on the gra.s.s while their parents watch from the terrace. The band equipment is stacked to one side, five musicians standing with their arms crossed, their expressions sullen and mutinous.

I go to where Rachel is talking to a police officer and a curly-headed young man who looks like the Pieman.

"Excuse me." I take a deep breath and extend my hand to the policeman. "I'm Liv West, officer. I apologize for the confusion."

"No confusion, ma'am." He frowns at me. "Pretty clear you needed a permit for the band, and you don't have one."

"I'm sure we can straighten this out," I tell him, though at the moment I'm not sure about that at all.

"You Liv?' the musician asks, jerking his chin up. "I'm Marty Groman, aka the Pieman. Look, we came here to play and thought you had everything set up. The police officer won't even let me play my guitar, and now we've got a ton of disappointed kids. That's not how we work. Slice of Pie makes kids happy, you know?"

"I know. I'm sorry." If only sorrys could fix everything. "Look, could you guys please get your equipment packed up? I promise, you'll be paid the full amount."

"It's not just about the pay," Marty says, hitching his guitar over his shoulder. "I mean, it's bad for our rep if we leave a place with a bunch of upset kids."