abandoned.
Trailing my tongue further down her stomach, I dip it into her bellybutton as I pass, then comfortably position myself between her legs. I smile victoriously as I take in the sight before me, seeing just how turned-on she is—the proof is in the pussy.
Her entrance glistens with aroused moisture, the view parching my mouth. I swallow heavily and drag my finger along her clit, circulating my motion. “How ‘bout now?”
Her back bows, affording me a stunning view of her chest, but she still refuses to give in.
Having had enough of this game, I go in for the kill, hungrily devouring between her legs. I lash at her clit with my tongue while sliding two fingers into pussy, moving them in a ‘come hither’ motion.
“Oh Bryce,” she moans, her sultry sound eliciting a reverberating groan from within me.
“Do you love me now?” I growl, still pressing my lips to her wet clit.
“Yes...yes I always love you, every second of the day,” she admits, her voice rising along with her pending climax.
Satisfied pleasure rushes through me when hearing her say those words. They never get old; I never tire of hearing her say them. Now feeling overly fucking thrilled with her with surrender, I suck her clit into my mouth, knowing this will tip her over the edge, and then wait for her body to relax as she comes back down to earth.
I sit up on my knees, my cock heavy with desire, desire I want nothing more than to release into my wife. “Come here,” I say, taking her hand and lifting her to her knees.
She looks down at my erection, and a pleased appreciation washes over her face. It’s the best fucking expression imaginable. Nothing tops the look she gives me when she admires my cock.
Scooting forward on her knees, she takes me in her hand, squeezing my base and dragging her hand to the tip. Her milking action is rewarded when a bead forms on my crown. “Taste it,” I suggest, knowing that she wants to.
She smiles and sticks out her tongue then leans forward and slides it along my sensitive head. I jerk with pleasure. She pumps once more in the hope for another bead and is rewarded when yet again one appears.
“Fuck, Hunny. Come here.” I pull her close and lift her up, impaling her on my shaft, both of us moaning in succession. I seize her arse with my hands and lift her up and down, thrusting with passionate dedication over and over.
She cries out with exertion as she reaches another climax, the sheer carnality of her scream a fucking pleasure to watch. The way her head falls back under the weight of physical pleasure and mental emotion, rewards me for my efforts. I release one hand from her hip and clasp the back of her head, bringing it back to mine. Then, delving my tongue deep into her mouth, I expel my own orgasm.
We both collapse on the bed, thoroughly sated and fucked, and that wonderful feeling of attainment gratifyingly washes through me. After seconds of catching our breath, I tug her to my side, and she comfortably rests her head on my chest.
Gently, I kiss her on the head. “So, how does it feel to be Mrs. Clark?”
“Perfect,” she replies then hugs me tight.
Hours later, we are departing the plane and stepping onto the tarmac at Charles de Gaulle Airport. It’s fucking freezing, the icy chill in the air piercing my skin like a thousand tiny needles.
“Paris?” she asks, spinning to face me and seemingly not fazed by the near zero degree temperature.
The look of sheer excitement that is radiating from her pores fills me with so much joy. “The one and only,” I reply intertwining my fingers with hers, wanting to keep us both warm.
“Oh my God! Can we go see the Eiffel Tower, now?”
Personally, I want nothing more than to cuddle up to her naked body, the flames of an open fire dancing before our eyes. Except, seeing her exhilaration—one that resembles a kid at Disneyland—I’m now more inclined to freeze my arse off just to continue witnessing her expression.
“If you want, but it’s bloody cold,” I shiver, cursing myself for not having our coats accessible.
“Screw the cold. Paris blanketed in snow is so romantic. It is the only place in the world I would be happy to freeze to death.”
Shaking my head, I lead her toward the waiting Limousine, hell bent on not allowing any freezing of her body to occur. “We can go, see, and do whatever you want. Our honeymoon is your oyster.”
She stops once again and I all but refrain from rolling my eyes, changing my mind when I see her smile widen beyond normal proportions.
“Anywhere?”
“Yes, Hunny, anywhere but here. Come on, let’s go see the La Tour Eiffel,” I entice, my French rolling from my tongue.
“Oui s’il vous plait, Monsieur Clark,” she responds, her French spoken just as perfectly.
I groan at the sound of her words which are like verbal sex to my ears. “Limousine. Now!”
Reaching Champ de Mars without burying myself inside Alexis was an impossibility. Her French spoken words as I bucked my hips while she rode me were fucking sensational. ‘Oh Dieu, oh Dieu,’ she’d chanted at my request. Followed by ‘Oui, oui’, and finishing off with ‘Baiser’. Needless to say, it was the best 45 minute drive I have ever experienced.
Standing at the base of the monumental structure that is the Eiffel Tower, I watch with joy as Alexis arches her head back to get maximum perspective. Her obvious excitement feels me delight, and I can’t help but take a moment to absorb what my life now encompasses. The exquisite creature before me; my wife, is the woman who breathed life back in to me, giving me purpose for wanting to not only exist but to enjoy the life I have. She tempts me, satisfies me, fulfills me in every possible way. She is my greatest achievement.
Reaching into my coat pocket, I pull out a rose I had our chauffeur obtain for me, then take a hold of Alexis’ hand, tugging her to my chest. Her eyes spark when I place the flower on her forehead and drag it down the bridge of her nose, her sight never leaving mine, not even for a second. Once I have trailed the rose across her lips, I lean forward and replace it with my mouth, sealing us with a passionate kiss. She is mine, and she always will be.
I have attained my ultimate perfection.
EPILOGUE
“Mum! Dad! Come on,” Brayden calls from the lounge room. “Whatever it is you are both doing up there, stop. We’re waiting for you.”
Nate, Charlotte, and Brayden all roll their eyes with a knowing smile, their mother and father’s frequent disappearance a common occurrence in their household.
“Listen to this riff I’ve been practising,” Brayden says to his nineteen-year-old brother before diving right in to some guitar chords.
Nate looks up from tuning his base, impressed with Brayden’s ability to compose so simply, this natural talent obviously passed down from his father. “Not bad, little bro.”
“I like it, Bray. Are you gonna show Mum and Dad?” Charlotte asks before returning to warm up her vocal chords by humming her scales.
“Not yet, it’s not finished.”
All three of them continue to prepare their instruments as Bryce and Alexis watch adoringly from the upper level. Bryce, having just listened to Brayden’s roughly composed riff, couldn’t be more proud of his eight year-old son. In fact, he couldn’t be more proud of all his kids. He never saw Nate and Charlotte as his stepchildren, having always loved them as a father should.
“He’s so much like you,” Alexis says to her husband of seven years while dropping her head to his shoulder. Every time she is faced with her youngest child she is reminded that he is the epitome of his Dad, this is both a good and bad thing where she is concerned.
“Yeah...well...he has to get his talent from someone,” Bryce playfully boasts, knowing Alexis will fight him back. He adores when his wife puts up a fight, he always has and he always will. Baiting her is one trick he has
