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“A part of me wishes you had,” I admit, not able to pretend the thought doesn’t make me ache for more.

“Play with your breasts for me,” he groans.

I obediently move my hands to my breasts, squeezing and rolling the nipples. “Mmm,” I moan.

“Fuck!” he grunts.

It only takes two more strokes, then he’s coming. Thick pulses of cum shoot across my breasts in hot, heavy ropes that land with a warmth that makes me gasp.

Domenico’s gaze drops to my chest, then back to my face. His breathing is ragged, his jaw clenched. “Rub it into your skin,” he says. “Like lotion.”

I hold his eyes, smirking as I do what he says. My palms press against my breasts, spreading his cum across my skin in slow circles. The sensation is warm and slick, his release coating my fingers, my palms, and the swell of my breasts.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

His hands join mine, his larger palms overlapping my smaller ones, helping me work the cum into my skin until it’s absorbed, until there’s nothing left but the faint sheen of moisture and the smell of him on me.

I notice a small drop on my hand, but instead of rubbing it into my skin, I lick it away without looking away from his hypnotizing blue eyes.

“Fucking hell, Kira,” he rasps. “What are you doing to me?”

He kisses me before I can come up with a reply.

His tongue pushes past my lips with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl. I can taste myself on him, just like he can taste himself on me. The combination of flavors is overwhelming in the best possible way.

His forehead rests against mine when we break apart. We’re both breathing hard, and his hand is still on my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple in slow, absent circles that make me shiver.

“Next time,” he says, his voice low and rough with promise, “I’m going to give you more.”

19

Domenico

Kira lifts her head from where she’s sprawled on the bed. “Did you ask me to lie down just so you can watch me?” she quips, pursing her lips.

Reaching for her, I remove a few damp tendrils that she didn’t manage to keep dry during our shower. “Do you really think I’d make up an excuse if all I wanted was to admire my handiwork?”

Unable to help myself, I admire her ass that’s still the prettiest shade of red. The ridges of my handprints overlap across both cheeks, darker in the spots where I landed harder.

While she grumbles slightly and buries her head in the pillow again, I get the ointment from the bedside drawer. I squeeze a dollop onto my palm and rub my hands together to warm it.

The first touch makes her flinch. “Jesus!” She lifts her head from the pillow and glares at me over her shoulder. “That stings, Domenico.”

I don’t apologize. “It’s supposed to. The ointment burns before it numbs.”

“Could you at least try not to look so pleased with yourself?” Her eyes narrow. “Your mouth’s doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The corner-twitch thing. The thing you do when you’re trying not to smile but you’re secretly enjoying every second of my suffering.”

I can’t argue with that because I am enjoying this. Not the stinging part—I don’t want her in pain—but the aftermath. The sight of my marks on her skin. The fact that she’s lying here, letting me touch her like this.

“I won’t deny that I enjoyed spanking you, baby.” I work my thumb into a particularly dark patch on her right cheek, and she hisses through her teeth. I ease up immediately. “But I’m not going to let you sit here sore for the rest of the day either.”

“Could’ve thought of that before you turned my ass into a sunset,” she mutters into the pillow.

I bite back a laugh. Apparently, my wife has a mouth on her when she’s in pain.