Just as I step inside the doorway to reach for the switch, I notice movement on the other side of the room.
It’s my wife with her back to me.
She’s on her tiptoes with that black dress she’s been wearing all night swinging on her hips.
I could watch this for hours.
I should walk over and offer to help her retrieve the book she’s reaching for, but I don’t.
I stare.
Suddenly, and without any fucking warning, she spins around to face me.
Jesus. My cock can’t take much more of this.
Her glorious tits are straining against the fabric of the dress since it shifted, likely from her trying to grab a book that’s well out of her reach.
“Graham.” My name comes out of her wrapped in an almost moan.
It’s probably a goddamn groan of exasperation, but in my mind, it’s being filed away for eternity as a fucking moan.
“Trina,” I shoot her name at her with a smile. “What are you doing?”
It’s rhetorical and meant to keep her standing there looking like the dream she is.
It works.
She heaves a heavy sigh. “I wanted a book, but I’m not tall enough to reach it.”
I’ve never swooped in to be the hero for any woman, but then again, I’ve never been married before.
I take wide steps until I’m right in front of her.
That sends her back a touch on her bare feet. “It’s that novel up there.”
There are thousands of books lining the wooden shelves in this room. The former owner had a thing for books and no will to speak of, so I inherited them when I bought the apartment.
One day I’ll get around to donating them all to a worthy cause. That can’t happen until Lloyd is gone. He loves this library.
I inch closer to her. “Which novel?”
“That one,” she says without movement.
“I can’t read… minds, Trina.”
The slight hesitation between my words sends a small grin to her lips. “I’ll say you can’t.”
She tries to turn to face the bookshelf, but I stop her by grabbing hold of her forearm. “What does that mean?”
I feel a shiver race through her, but it’s warm, way too fucking warm in here for her body to react that way. It’s because of my touch. It has to be.
“You know what it means,” she whispers.
I don’t bother whispering back because Lloyd had so much wine that he’s likely passed out by now. Besides, the guestroom is too far from here for voices to carry. “I don’t. Tell me.”
She shifts on her feet, tugging against my touch, but there’s no fight in her. She’s not putting any effort into trying to break free of my grasp. “You’re not the most perceptive man in the world.”
I toss my head back and let out a deep laugh. “What the fuck?”
She digs in. I feel it in the way her arm flexes. “You aren’t good at reading between the lines. You miss signals all the time.”
“What signals?” I bite the words out because my cock, once again, is waging war with me.
I want this woman more than I’ve wanted anyone in my life.
“I can’t list them all,” she says with a hint of fake exasperation edging her tone.
“List one,” I demand with a smirk.
She laughs that off with a nervous uneven giggle.
I glance down to catch sight of the top of her full breasts. I drag my gaze back up just in time to see the tremor of my wife’s bottom lip as she slicks her tongue over it.
“You want me to kiss you, Trina.”
Her chin rises slightly. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m perceptive,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on her face. “Don’t deny it, Mrs. Locke. You want to kiss me just as badly as I want to kiss you.”
“You want to kiss…”
I swallow her last word when I press my lips to my wife’s for a kiss that I know will leave me a different man. I hope it leaves my wife with an aching need for more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trina
I give in to my body’s need and tangle my hands in my husband’s hair.
That lures a soft groan from him as he deepens the kiss.
I fight to keep in a moan, but I’m lost to it as soon as I feel his hand on my back.
It trails down until it’s on the top of my ass.
His lips leave mine just long enough for him to bite my name out in a strangled whisper. “Trina.”
I don’t need him to say anything else. I feel it. I sense what he wants because it’s what I’m craving too.
I want him to touch me.
“Graham, please.” It’s a plea that I can’t contain.
I have never wanted a man more than I want him.
My breath hitches when his hand slides under the skirt of my dress.
“Lace,” he grits out as soon as his fingertips find my panties. “What color?”
“Red.” I somehow manage to get the word out before his lips are on mine again.
Our tongues dance against each other. The exploration is much more tentative than his hand. I can feel it gliding across my ass. Two fingers dip under the thin strip of lace covering my hip.
“I’m going to ruin these,” he warns before he rips the panties apart with a yank of his hand.
I hold in another moan and instead let two words out. “Not here.”
“Here,” he insists just as his fingers burn a hot path over my skin.
I kiss him deeper, wanting to taste him. He’s a heady mix of the wine we had at dinner and something minty. It’s intoxicating. My mind clouds with images of him fucking me here on the floor like two people too desperate to have the will to walk down a hallway and hide their desire behind a door.
As his fingertips trace a path over my pussy, a scream charges through me.
He catches it with a kiss so decadent that I drop one of my hands to the front of his pants.
I curve a palm around his erection. He’s thick and so hard that I want to drop to my knees and circle my lips around his shaft.
“Want to fuck you,” he grits out with my bottom lip between his teeth.
I fumble with one hand to undo his belt.
Common sense doesn’t have a part in this. Pure need is driving every motion of my body and every sound falling from me.
I tense when his finger finds my clit.
The hum that falls from his lips onto mine is enough to send my hips forward.
I ache for his touch and the promise of the pleasure, even though I fear the aftermath.
If he fucks me it changes everything.
I chase that thought away as I push closer, tempting him to take more. I want more. I want both of his hands on me. I want that mouth on my pussy, and I need that cock that’s still pressing against my palm.
A sharp noise stops us both.
Our lips part in slow motion, with an ache settling over mine almost immediately.
I lock eyes with my husband.
He doesn’t break our gaze even when the sound fills the silence again.
It’s a chime. A lure that is meant to take his attention away from me, but he ignores it.
I almost fall back into assistant mode and remind him to check his phone, but I want to be more important than whoever is trying to reach him.