Chapter 49

49

June

I glance across the front seat of the Jaguar and take in my husband's thick fingers on the wheel of the car. He's dressed in a black T-shirt that stretches across his broad chest. The short sleeves mean his arms are bare, and when he turns off the highway, the veins in his forearms flex. My thighs clench. My clit begins to throb. Damn, this man is a walking, talking sex-on-legs. Just looking at him sends my hormones into high drive.

When I woke up this morning, it was to find him already dressed and waiting by my bedside with a cup of coffee. The heady scent of caffeine and the headier sight of my man watching me with love in his eyes made me want to throw my arms around him and pull him back under the covers. Only, he offered me the coffee, then told me to get dressed so we could resume our honeymoon. Then he'd kissed me, informing me that he'd already packed my bag and all I had to do was wake up and get dressed in the clothes he'd set out for me .

In that moment, he switched from doting husband to demanding master. Both sides of which, I like. I love it when he looks into my eyes and tells me he loves me. I adore it when he bends me over and spanks me, then uses my mouth and my pussy any which way he wants. I polished off my coffee, then got dressed in the pink lacy underwear, jeans, and plaid shirt he chose for me. Finally, I pulled on socks and low-heeled boots.

Now, I run my hand down the soft fabric of the jeans. It's one of those brands that, even though the jeans are brand new, the material feels like it was washed enough times to stretch easily when I pulled it on. He touched these clothes when he picked them out for me. He was thinking of me when he did it. He imagined how I'd looked. He planned for the trip ahead when he chose the shearling aviator jacket to go with it.

And when I look at myself in the mirror, I feel like I'm seeing a different side of me. A confident woman who's smartly dressed yet, who seems relaxed enough to indicate she's going on holiday. I turn from the mirror in our closet to find him waiting for me by the door. He holds out his hand, and I take it. He slings my bag over his shoulder, grabs his own, then leads me to the car.

The sun's rays slant through the windows, and I can't bring myself to tear my gaze away from his strong features. I'll never get over how gorgeous he is. With his scarred visage and his thick eyelashes, and the concentration with which he focuses ahead, I feel that tingling start all over again in my belly.

"You're staring," he drawls.

I flush, then begin to look away, when he reaches over and weaves his fingers through mine. "I like it. I like it a lot when my wife looks at me like she wants me to fuck her."

"You do?" I begin to smile.

"However"—he lowers his voice to a hush—"I get to decide when that happens."

"You mean, I need to earn it?" My scalp tingles. A rush of heat erupts between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together.

"Lower your zipper and pull down your jeans and panties," he commands.

His bossy voice shoots a thrill of anticipation up my spine. I hasten to obey him. When I've pulled down my jeans and underwear to mid-thigh, I flick him a sideways glance to find he's looking straight ahead as if he hasn't just ordered me to undress myself in a moving vehicle. The car's windows are tinted, and we're moving fast enough that passing vehicles can't see what I'm doing, but it does add to the illicit feel of the scene.

"Slide your legs apart."

I do.

"Stuff you fingers inside your cunt," he growls.

Oh god. Hearing him talk filthy in that dark voice makes my pulse race. Excitement buzzes through my body like electricity. I slip my trembling fingers under the waistband of my panties. My fingertips brush my throbbing clit, and a moan bleeds from my lips. I'm not surprised to find I'm already wet. So very wet. God. I slide two fingers inside myself with no resistance, then add a third. I lean my head back against my seat and groan.

"Pretend they're my fingers," he orders. "Pretend I'm fucking you with my thick fingers. Weave them in and out of you like you're riding them."

I oblige and begin to skewer my fingers in and out of my slit. Each time I pull my fingers out, the sucking sound my pussy makes when it releases its hold feels so loud in the silence. It sounds so obscene, my cheeks flush. I begin to slow down my movements, but he notices right away.

"Don't stop. Keep going," he says in his hard voice.

I swallow; my nerve-endings tighten. I speed up, spread my thighs wider, and tilt my hips up to give myself better access.

"That's it, baby. Just like that." His encouragement is like a lit match to gasoline. Arousal crowds my mind. Desire thickens my blood. A craving presses down on my chest and sweat beads my forehead. "Oh, Knox," I gasp.

"I'm here, baby. You're doing so well," he croons.

His approval spurts liquid heat through my veins. A familiar trembling twists up my legs, my thighs, coils in my belly, and grows tighter and tighter. I grit my teeth to stop myself from coming. I can't—not until he lets me. I can't. I can't. My skin feels like it's on the verge of catching fire. My toes curl. I shudder and gasp knowing my orgasm is not far, then plunge my fingers in and out of myself, in and out.

"Squeeze your clit," he orders .

With just enough brain power left to follow his directions, I slide my free hand under my panties and pinch the swollen nub. Sensations zip out to meet the coming orgasm, intensifying it, turning it into a wave that grows bigger, and higher, and fills the horizon and?—

"Come," he snaps.

With a cry, I allow the wave to crash over me. I arch my back, push my head into the seat, and continue to fuck myself as lightning sweeps over me. And when it finally recedes, I slump. My eyelids flutter down. I sense him wrapping his fingers around my wrist and bringing my hand to his mouth. He licks at my fingertips. "So sweet."

He sucks on them, and unbelievably, my clit throbs in response. Desire squeezes my lower belly, and a pressure begins to build all over again behind my pussy. I manage to crack my eyes open and look sideways to take in the way the skin stretches across his knuckles where he's squeezing the wheel. He locks the fingers of his other hand with mine and, turning my palm over, kisses it.

"Put yourself to rights," he releases my hand long enough for me to pull up my jeans and zip them.

Then he takes my palm and places it on his thigh. Contentment is a syrupy thickness that infiltrates my veins and relaxes my muscles. All too soon, he turns down a smaller country road and keeps driving until we reach a pair of tall gates. There must be a camera somewhere tracking us, for the gates open and we drive through, up a driveway lined with trees on both sides which opens into a circular courtyard with a fountain in the center. He parks in front of the doors to the house, in front of which stands a couple.

"We're here." He puts the car in park and turns to me. "Ready to see the place that's the second most important thing in the world to me?"

I nod slowly, and before I can ask who or what is the first, his features grow tender. He tugs me close and leans in until his breath fans my lips. "You're the first. You're the most important thing in the world to me, baby."

Then he kisses me gently, tenderly, in a way he's never kissed me before. It's the kiss of a husband. The kiss of a man reaffirming his commitment. The kiss of someone who's in love. He's in love with me. My master loves me. My husband adores me. He communicates all of that with the meeting of our lips. And when he pulls away, my head spins with the sensations that crowd my mind. He pushes his door open, comes around, and gets mine. Then he bends and hauls me up in his arms.

"Knox," I protest.

He laughs. "Welcome to Cumbria, baby."