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Her moan was the only response. I grinned, leaning in to whisper in her ear, "Beg me."
"Atticus," she whimpered, writhing beneath my touch. "I need you. Please."
"You're going to be the death of me," I murmured in her ear before sliding a finger into her, delighted by the slickness that welcomed me. She gasped and squirmed, pressing into my hand.
I took the warm slick wetness, and stroked her clit.
Her body jerked, her breath hitching in a sharp intake. She grabbed my wrist, pressing it harder against her.
"Yes! Please...," she groaned, her body shuddering under my touch. The air was heavy with lust and our mixed scents of sex.
"Good girl," I whispered into her ear, giving her clit another firm stroke before slipping two fingers inside her. She gasped at the sudden intrusion but didn't pull away. Instead, she pushed herself further onto my hand, moaning loudly as I began to move my fingers in a steady rhythm.
"Oh God...Atticus," she finally managed to pull herself together. Her voice was shaky, filled with desire and need. I watched as she bit her lower lip, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath us.
"That's it, baby," I murmured into her ear, my voice husky.
Her eyes rolled back and she let out a strangled gasp. “Atticus!” She cried out my name as an orgasm ripped through her body. She shook violently under me, clenching my fingers inside her while waves of pleasure washed over her.
I continued to stroke her through her orgasm until finally, she stopped shuddering and collapsed onto the bed, breathless and sated.
Slowly, I pulled my fingers out of her, watching as she shivered from the aftershocks.
I leaned down over her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "My greedy little wife. Now, let me get you a towel."
I slipped out of bed, striding naked to the en-suite bathroom. I picked up a fluffy, white washcloth from the rack and wet it with warm water.
Back in the bed, I found her curled up on her side, her eyes closed but a satisfied smile lingering on her parted lips. Her hair was messy, tangled with perspiration and the exertion of our lovemaking. A thin sheet barely covered her, the outline of her naked form visible beneath it. Beautiful.
After cleaning her up quickly and tossing the towel in the basket, I climbed back into bed with her, pulling her to me.
“I love you, Atticus.”
“I know. And I love you, Mrs. Price.”
22
Atticus
La Table Ronde was crowded as usual, but our normal spot had been reserved.
In front of me, Gwen sashayed through the restaurant, and my gaze slid down to focus on her ass. Goddamn, it was a thing of beauty.
“I can feel you watching me, Mr. Price,” she said cheekily over one shoulder.
“Yeah, well, if you don’t like it, stop sashaying for me, Mrs. Price.”
We were led into one of the back rooms for a private dinner and found the guys were already there.
Morgan was in the corner sulking because it seemed Lance wouldn't let her have a drink. She nodded as we walked in and immediately began complaining to her sister. “Gwen, your idiot best friend won't let me have a drink."
Gwen didn't miss a beat. "Morgan, sweetheart, you're not twenty-one yet."
There was a chorus of “oooohs“ and “aaaahs” when the food was brought in, and everyone grabbed the small plates and settled in as we started to look over the files.
Pierce sat back and wiped his mouth as he grabbed the remote, using a large monitor mounted on the wall to show us where we were.
“Looks like the Mangles kid came through. Because thanks to Gwen's algorithm, I got a good look from the camera right here at the bank”—he indicated a spot on-screen—"and we have a visual of the shooter.”
