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But he worshiped it now more than ever. The changes fascinated him. He ran his fingers and tongue over the scars, he pressed kisses on the line of loose skin on my lower belly. And, despite us having four sons together, he wanted more. He reminded me of that frequently when he saw me taking my pill every morning.
He’d come up behind me and gently rub his groin into my ass to get himself hard. His big, lean hand would slide up over my breasts and grip my neck to hold me still. He’d press kisses over my shoulder where the skin was sensitive and down my arm to where he held my wrist with his other hand.
“You can throw those fucking pills away,” he’d murmur, his voice still husky from sleep. “Come back to bed, let me put another baby in you.”
He knew all the buttons to push to make my knees weak. I had to remind myself that I was finally feeling like myself again after having been pregnant for almost a decade. After my last pregnancy with the twins, I was adamant that I was done.
He was less sure, but he respected my choice.
Downstairs, the front door opened and warmth stole down my thighs to the soles of my feet. I flexed my bare toes, knowing his eyes would drop to them first. Perhaps he would bend and kiss the arch. That never failed to make me squirm.
I glanced up again at my reflection. My hair was tied up, feathery bangs and loose waves just kissing my neck. Around my throat sat a simple strip of black leather with a golden plate in the center. A collar, engraved with a single word:
Fucktoy.
His footsteps echoed in the front hall and up the stairs. I dipped my head, my palms curled on my thighs, and lowered my eyes to the floor. The doorknob turned and I caught a glimpse of his shoes entering the room. The lock turned.
Click.
His shoes moved closer until they were directly by the bed. I heard the rustle of his clothes and I knew he was taking his jacket and vest off and setting them aside. From the corner of my eye, I saw him do that thing where he flicked his wrist before unfastening his cuff, and rolled it to his elbow. My core clenched and my lids closed.
“Eyes open,” he said coolly. “But keep them lowered.”
I obeyed, fixing my gaze to the satin sheets.
His hard palm grazed my lower back and nudged between my thighs. Obediently, I shifted to allow him access and he pushed aside my panties. The tip of his middle finger grazed over my pussy. My nipples ached.
“That’s a good girl,” he said. “Wet for me.”
He pushed two fingers into my pussy, letting me adjust before he worked them over my G-spot. Circling them with the perfect amount of pressure. Until I couldn’t stay quiet. A moan worked its way up and slipped from my lips.
“Hmm,” he said.
His fingers withdrew and his other hand gently gripped my hair, holding me in place with my gaze lowered. I knew what he was doing, but I waited until he put his wet fingers to my mouth before opening for him.
The taste of my arousal spread over my tongue. He always told me I tasted like sweet, expensive champagne. I couldn’t taste it, but I believed him.
“You’re in the mood to be degraded tonight, Liv,” he murmured. “So fucking soaked.”
I couldn’t answer if I wanted to. His fingers filled my mouth, pumping hard as he stroked across my tongue and pushed into my cheek. He hooked the corner of my mouth and turned my face up and I met his eyes. They were half shadowed, and as empty as they’d been the day he’d walked into my father’s house. But they were mine and that flooded me with desire.
Mine, this ice cold king was mine.
“Open your mouth, baby,” he said softly. “Put that lovely tongue out.”
I obeyed, pushing my tongue out and tilting back. He cupped the back of my head in one hand and my chin in the other and bent. My eyes fluttered shut and I heard him spit into my mouth, bypassing my tongue. Without being told, I swallowed.
“Fuck,” he purred. “That’s my girl.”
He spat again and bent to lick it off my tongue.
“I can taste your cunt,” he said, releasing me.
He was good at dirty talk, but he wasn’t necessarily romantic or tactful. It didn’t matter to me, I loved the way he spoke in bed. The harshness of his words had brought me to orgasm many times.
Sometimes I needed his cruelty to come.
He went to the other side of the room, out of my vision. I let my chin tilt down and returned my hands to my thighs, palm up. I heard his pocket rustle and the window opened, letting in the warm night air. His lighter clicked and he inhaled.
