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Not tonight.

Tonight he gave me something priceless. Something no one has ever given me and something no one will ever be able to replicate. He gave me back a dream. He gave me back inspiration.

Tonight I want to give it back.

His hands tighten on my waist when I roll my hips against him. Even through his suit pants I can feel how hard he is already—thick and straining against the fabric. Knowledge that I do that, that this is for me, sends a hot pulse of want straight through my center.

I reach between us and work his belt open. Then the button. Then the zipper. He unbuttons his dress shirt and under shirt and discards it all. His boxers go next as he lifts up with me still in his lap as he pulls them down. I squeal at the sudden movement and he chuckles.

He lifts his hips just enough for me to pull him free, and when my fingers wrap around him he makes a sound that sounds like a relief and pleasure.

I stroke him once. Twice. Watching his face—the way his jaw goes tight, the way his eyes struggle to stay open, the way his fingers dig into my hips hard enough to bruise when I tighten my grip and twist at the head.

"Aria." His voice is wrecked. "I didn't work out the museum so that you'd do this. You're not obligated to return anything."

"I'm not doing this out of obligation." I say, shifting over him. "I want you."

"I didn't bring condoms. I didn't think we'd get… here."

"You didn't think your wife would drop her panties after you took her on a romantic closed-museum tour? What were you thinking?"

He smiles and God help me, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"I guess I came underprepared."

"That doesn't have to stop us. I'm on birth control."

His hands slide higher up my hips. "Does my pretty little wife want me bare inside her?"

I nod and line his thick head at my entrance, and I sink down onto him.

The feeling of him bare inside me makes us both let out a groan, his teeth grind and his hands squeeze my hips unbearably tight as if willing himself to keep steady.

He's thick and hot and stretching me in a way that makes my breath catch every time like my body can't quite believe it's allowed to have this. The intimacy of skin on skin. Nothing between us anymore.

His forehead drops against my collarbone.

"Fuck," he breathes, and the word sounds like prayer.

I start to move.

Slow at first. Rising and falling in his lap, finding the rhythm, feeling him fill me completely every time I press down. His hands grip my hips but he doesn't guide me. He doesn't take over. He lets me set the pace while his breath comes ragged against my chest and his presses into my skin like a brand.

I take my time.

Because I want him to feel this. Not just physically. I want him to know what it's like to have someone give him something without expecting a return. Without it being an obligation or a transaction or a milestone someone else profits from.

Just me.

Wanting him.

Giving him pleasure because he deserves it and won't ask for it himself. And because no matter how much I want to pretend that my feelings for my husband aren't growing... that would be a lie.

My pace builds. The angle shifts and suddenly he's hitting something inside me that makes my thighs shake. His mouth finds my breast, his tongue swirling around my nipple. The heat, the pressure, his teeth against sensitive skin. I gasp loud enough that the sound fills the cabin.

"There," I manage. "Please—right there."

He grips my hips tighter and starts meeting me—thrusting up into me every time I come down, the force of it making my whole body jolt. The wet sound of us fills the quiet cabin. His mouth moves from my breast to my throat to the hinge of my jaw, and when he bites down gently on the sensitive skin below my ear I feel myself clench hard around him.