“I always want you. Every second...” Javier takes my mouth in a quick and harsh kiss before trailing his lips down the column of my throat, stopping at my collarbone “...of every fucking day, my queen. This man breathes for you. Lives only to make you happy.”
“And I love you, Javier Lucas. My husband.” His shiver at my words is all the reward I need. Those words are simple but my honest truth. He’s my best friend and every other title one could give the other half of their soul. “Even past death, it’ll always be you.”
Those warm eyes close for a few seconds before he turns and grips a doorknob in each hand. The pause is small as he takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, yanking each door open with enough force that they slam against the plaster and ruin it. Javier steps inside and doesn’t close us off; instead, his destination is the en-suite bathroom where a large sunken tub awaits us with a rain shower fixture right above.
It’s deep, easily fits six people, and was the one change I made to this place after our first trip here as a couple—a decision he’s agreed with and reaped its benefit on each visit.
With a quick turn of his wrist, the water comes down, splashing the travertine floor and tub while Javier sets me down on my feet. No words are exchanged while he kneels and removes my sandals and then jeans, only kisses and nips and the occasional soft word of praise to God above for making me his.
Standing to his full height, my husband strips what’s left of his own clothing and then walks me the two steps down into the sunken tub. There are a few inches of water lapping at our feet and the warm water falling down our backs as we stand chest to chest.
The moment is full of softness and a breathless sigh that escapes me. Javier tips my face toward him, meeting my lips halfway in the kind of kiss that women write about in romance novels. It holds every emotion. Every ounce of our love. With a gentle caress on my cheek, he guides my head for a better angle, and I follow him—seek out his lips because any amount of separation is unwelcomed.
Tongues twine and teeth nibble, but it’s the hum of pleasure that escapes his chest and vibrates against mine that makes me wet. I moan, and his large hands traverse my short frame until grabbing an asscheek in each hand. He’s kneading, manipulating my body while trapping that glorious cock I worship against my heated skin.
His pre-come lathers me. His mouth dominates mine before pulling back, hooded eyes locked on mine while his cock flexes. “Let me take care of you, Muñeca.”
“We take care of each other, Javi.”
“No. Not tonight.” Turning me around, my back to his chest, his arm crosses my line of sight as he picks up a bottle of shampoo. I feel him pour some on top of my head, the rain shower above spreading it over the crown a bit before his fingers begin to work through my long tresses. “Tonight is about you.”
God, his fingers feel amazing and they lull me into this calm state, my body leaning against his chest. He’s bathing me, rinsing the suds out with gentle runs of his fingers, and then he copies the same actions with the conditioner. Javi knows me and my routine, and I love how he gathers my hair and twists it into a makeshift bun before focusing on my body.
Then I vow to make a shrine to his hands as the body wash is spread across my chest where he spends his time torturing my breasts with squeezes and tweaks of my sensitive nipples. I’m left panting, reaching back to grab onto any part of him to stabilize myself because with each caress it feels as though I’m free-falling.
Down the center of my chest and abdomen, strong fingers dig in on their descent and then stop just above my mound. He keeps his fingers there while my body thrums with burning need, and I grind myself without shame and his cock responds with harsh strokes across the dip in my lower back.
These are the moments when I both love and hate our size difference.
I feel petite and delicate and overpowered by this male.
I want to be just tall enough that his thickness can take its rightful place between my cheeks and rub through the crack.
“Papi, I need—”
“Me.” His middle finger skims over the hood of my clit—a barely there touch that leaves fire in its wake. I’m already close; my skin prickles with the pleasure overtaking my senses, and my husband knows this. Cupping me with his full hand, he presses the palm down over my clit and squeezes. “It’ll always be me.”
That one squeeze. Those four words.
“Oh, fuck,” I whimper as my orgasm slams into me so fast and hard that my knees wobble and all I can do is grip his hand as my hips work to prolong the bliss I’m under. And through it all, Javier continues to grind and encourage, to press harder on the trembling bundle of nerves that throbs in his hold. “So good. I’m—”
“You’re mine, Mrs. Lucas.” His breathing is heavy and his cock swelling, dripping onto my skin as the first rope of come leaves him. I feel each pulse. I can almost taste him on my tongue, and I’m ready for tomorrow and the surprise it will bring. For him. For me. “Not even death can tear us apart.”
With a few soft strokes, Javier pulls his hand away, much to my protest, and finishes washing me. No words are spoken and I’m barely able to keep my eyes open, exhaustion from the traveling and his
