He moved down her body, mapping the curve of her rib cage with tiny kisses, murmuring sweet, sexy words of praise and appreciation. She drank them in, letting them fill her up. He didn’t know their relationship had already sprung a slow leak. And though she should, Millie couldn’t quite bring herself to tell him the pale skin he seemed to like so much was a hint as to who she really was—a ghost of a woman. Translucent on the outside, hollow within.
As if following the trail of her thoughts, he kissed his way down to the scar that traced the curve of her lower belly. His tongue highlighted the long-healed wound. He looked up. Questioningly. She could feel the heat of his stare on her face, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she gave the briefest, bluntest explanation she could. The kind designed to stop any further questions cold.
“I had cervical cancer in my thirties and had a hysterectomy.” She nodded to the condom box. “We don’t have to worry about any late-in-life babies, but safety first, right?”
He gave her a puzzled look, then nodded. “I’m sorry—”
Millie pressed her finger to his lips and fixed him with an unwavering stare. “It was a long time ago. I’m fine.”
In an effort to obliterate any other notions of sympathy—or worse, pity—he might be harboring, she removed her finger and slid her hand around to cup the back of his head. Ty hummed his approval when she exerted the barest bit of pressure. Nuzzling and kissing his way, he slipped down farther and pressed his full, wet lips to the apex of her pussy.
“Here? Is this where you want me?”
His breath was hot and damp. The words spoken in a feverish hush made her toes curl. “Exactly.”
He ran the tip of his nose teasingly along her sex, then gave her clit a nudge that nearly made her sit bolt upright. She felt the curve of his smile against her heated flesh. Heard his pleasure in the sultry timbre of his voice. “And what did you want me to do while I’m hanging out down here?”
“Lick,” she answered at once. He complied but with only a solitary swipe of his hot tongue. One that didn’t go nearly far enough, or deep enough, to do anything but add fuel to the fire. “Suck.”
She barely uttered the command out before his mouth closed on her clit. The first pull yanked a gasp right out of her. The second stole her breath entirely. They had no need for words, which was a good thing, because Millie wasn’t certain she could form them. His mouth was hot, his appetite for her voracious. If the delicious sensations of his slick, wet flesh sliding over hers weren’t enough to send her sailing, the enthusiasm with which he applied himself might have been.
The storm gathered inside of her once more, her climax building with shocking speed. She was a one-and-done kind of girl. Usually, she found second orgasms overrated when one weighed effort exerted in the balance. This seemed to be barreling down on her like a bullet train.
“Oh!” Her cheeks burned, and her muscles coiled. She lifted her hips higher. All the better to meet the thrusts of the fingers he’d slipped into her.
And then she broke.
Waves of heat pulsed through her. Yes, they were gentler than the minor explosions he evoked before but no less intense. Each fresh wash of pleasure rippled through her whole body. This wasn’t a tsunami or even the kind of arcing crests people in 1950s beach movies boast of riding. Every stroke of his tongue unleashed another round of shudders. At the last, she lay quaking beneath him, her skin so tight she felt like she might burst straight out of her own birthday suit. If only she had the energy for bursting.
Before she could draw a deep breath, he was looming over her. Crowding her. Giving her the thrilling weight of his body pressing her into the cushion. Staring deep into her eyes, he hooked his arm under her knee, settled himself into the cradle of her hips, and thrust home in one stroke.
She gasped again. This time, the pleasure was tinged with shock—and a healthy dose of feminine rawr. She raked her nails up his back, signaling her approval of his actions and hoping to spur him to greater heights. Then she drew back enough to watch the show. After all, who didn’t like a man who knew when to take charge?
“Did you think about this?” She tried to make her voice low and taunting, but to her own ears, she sounded more like an oxygen-impaired bullfrog. Determined to goad him a little, she cleared her throat and tried again. “Fucking me here…on this pretty red couch?” She raised one arm above her head and stroked the fine nap of the fabric. “Did Mari pick this out?”
He grunted, and his jaw tightened. The question seemed to throw him off for a beat, but he quickly recovered. “Yeah, she did.”
Moving with the languid laziness of a bumblebee drunk on nectar, Millie lifted her hand and cupped his face. She ran her thumb over the high arcing crest of his cheekbone, down to the rough of his incoming beard. “Funny how a woman can have such questionable taste in men and such good taste in decorating.” Ty’s only response was a sharp increase in tempo. “What? You don’t wanna talk about your ex-wife while you’re fucking me on her sofa?”
“Filthy mouth.” He ground the words out from between clenched teeth, but his lips were curved up at the corners.
Her answering smile stretched wide as she slipped into the groove. Literally and figuratively. The angle of Ty’s thrusts set her body tingling again, but she dismissed the notion of going for the three-peat. Twice was very nice, and she wasn’t feeling overly greedy. Just smug. “Like that, don’t you? You like my dirty mouth.”
“Keep going.”
Running her thumb
