Page 46 of Easy On Me

This was my husband.

“Gorgeous.” With one fingertip, he traced the lace pattern at my shoulder, then followed the lace to brush against the first button at the base of my neck. “Been thinking about these buttons all day. Is there a zipper or are they the real thing?”

“The real thing.” My voice emerged as a breathy murmur. “It’s vintage.”

“Real, like you.” He brushed my hair to the side and pressed a kiss to where my shoulder met my neck. I shivered, and his lips moved in a smile. He slipped one button free. “Those heels are pretty lethal, too. Want to leave them on in bed?”

“You have a shoe fantasy?”

“I have a you fantasy.” Nimble fingers, used to turning bolts, popped another button open. His mouth teased my ear, sensation shooting over my nerves. “My wife, laid out on that bed, ready for me.”

Forget breathy. Now I honestly couldn’t breathe, achy desire radiating all the way through my body.

He fiddled with the next fastening. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

His low chuckle vibrated over me. “I like this. You, me, slow and easy.”

“It’s always easy with you.” I fanned my fingers over his chest, smoothing starched cotton over warm skin. I wanted that skin under my hands. I started on his buttons, faster than he was unbuttoning me. Parting his shirt, I shaped his pecs and traced his ribs before brushing my fingertips over his belly. He groaned, hands pausing halfway down my back.

I smirked against his skin and leaned in to lick the tendon at the side of his neck, tasting a hint of salt and the tang of his aftershave, the subtle spice filling my nose.

He feathered a finger over my wedding rings and nipped at my ear, then took a step back and spun me. Hot palms slid down to grasp my wrists, bringing my hands up to shape my fingers around the bedpost.

My stomach clenched, desire pulsing between my thighs.

With a kiss at the base of my neck, warm breath rushing over my skin, he worked through each button – all focus. All mine.

The buttons finished, he trailed a knuckle up my spine, the dry warmth of his finger a contrast to the smooth cool metal of his wedding band.

He traced the edge of my bra before he flipped the clasp free. With my arms stretched up to hold the bedpost, the dress didn’t gap, its fitted silhouette clinging to me, outlining the curve of our baby. I knew from experience, we’d have to peel it off.

Nuzzling at my ear so a shiver worked down my neck, he eased the fabric forward, clearing the way for his hands to slip under the silk lining and my satin bra. With those long fingers, he cupped the underside of my breasts, a butterfly touch because I was swollen, nipples almost painfully sensitive.

His shoes scraped on the hardwood, and his bare chest pressed to my spine, belt buckle a chilly kiss on my skin. He dragged his teeth along the side of my neck. “You’re mine.”

Was it possible to orgasm from his voice alone? At his deep rasp, the flesh between my legs spasmed, a sweet ache, and I knew I was wet.

And he chuckled, dark and rich, like he knew. When he kissed the side of my neck, I tilted my head to give him access. I didn’t have to protect myself, didn’t have to consider every movement or choice. Simply being with him was so easy.

Now I could breathe, could let us be more than hot and fast.

We could be slow and easy.

Intimate.

Somehow, with this new shining commitment between us, I could make love with him.

Changing course, he slid his hands down to cover my belly below my navel, the dress pressing his palms to the barely-there curve where our baby was growing. My chest lifted with a shaky inhale.

Emotion hovered, shimmering around us like a precious bubble, something too fragile yet to be named. I closed my eyes, concentrating on his hands cradling my stomach, breathing him in.

But this was true.

He was mine now.

And I was his.