planning a wedding with clayton and he gives you his card and is like “whatever makes you happy baby”
some suggestive stuff below, clay being a horny spaz
planning a wedding with clayton is insane mostly because he genuinely does not care about a single detail except the parts where you get to sit on his lap during appointments. he gives you his card on day one — literally hands it over while he’s tying his shoes, casual as hell — and goes, “whatever makes you happy, baby.” then he kisses your cheek, grabs his keys, and heads to practice like he didn’t just unleash financial chaos on the world.
you try to ask him questions later — colors, venues, food — and he just leans back on the couch, legs spread, rubbing your thigh while you scroll through pinterest like you’re presenting him with state secrets. “that one’s pretty,” he says at random intervals. “oh, that one too.” he’s not even looking. his hand is in your pants by the fifth photo. you smack him and he just laughs, “what? i’m supporting you.”
the jeweler loves you because every time you walk in he’s already called ahead and told them to “just show her the good shit.” he sits in the fancy little chair beside you, one arm around your waist, chin on your shoulder while you look at settings. his only comments are things like “yeah, get that one,” or “baby, if you like it, we’re getting it. don’t overthink it.” you try on one that makes you gasp, and he goes, “you’re getting that. next question.” he signs the bill without blinking.
when you tour venues, he’s unbelievably agreeable. the coordinator asks if he has preferences and he shrugs, hand resting on the small of your back, thumb rubbing a slow circle. “nah,” he says. “she knows what she wants.” he looks at you, totally deadpan. “tell them what we’re doing, baby.” you swear he’s doing it on purpose — making you say every decision out loud, making you feel bold, making you claim it. he doesn’t even look around the room most of the time; he just watches you, nods, and says, “perfect, book it.”
by week three, everyone involved in the wedding has realized clayton’s only real priority is that you’re not stressed. and maybe that he gets to fuck you after every meeting because he’s weirdly turned on by how competent you are. you’ll be going over table linens at home and then suddenly he’s pulling you onto his lap, murmuring against your jaw, “you’re so cute when you boss people around… use my card for whatever you want.” he says it like he likes watching you spend his money. like it’s hot to him.
cake tasting ends with him feeding you bites and ignoring half the flavors because he keeps kissing the frosting off your lips. “get whichever one you want,” he keeps mumbling against your mouth. “as long as i get to eat it off you later.” the poor woman running the tasting pretends not to hear.
dress shopping is the only thing he actually focuses for. not because he cares about the dress — he cares about your face when you walk out wearing it. he sits there in the plush chair, legs open, hands resting between his knees, jaw slack for the first time ever. you ask him if he likes it and all he says is, “yeah.” and then, softer, “yeah, baby, get that one.” he tries to play it cool, but his ears go pink.
when the planner emails you seventeen spreadsheets, you show them to clayton and he tosses his phone aside, pulls you onto his lap, kisses your neck, and says, “you pick. i trust you.” he says it every single time. he means it every single time. he’ll sign every check, attend every tasting, nod at every proposal — but the decisions? those are yours. he tells everyone that. “ask her,” is his default answer. “she’s the boss.”
and he loves it. he loves watching you run the show, loves watching you talk numbers and colors and seating charts. he loves handing you his wallet like it’s an offering. he loves how easily you take control of all of it.
he loves you spoiled, organized, stressed, calm — whatever version the wedding planning pulls out — because he knows, end of the day, you’re planning something for him too, even if you’re the one making all the calls.
and every night he wraps his arms around you from behind, kisses your shoulder, and mumbles, “tell me what we picked today, baby,” like it’s his favourite bedtime story.
clayton gets hit in the face with the puck but insists he’s fine.
I gasped, shutting my eyes tightly as I watched the mammoth game unfold on the screen. Clayton had just taken a hit—a puck straight to the face. Of course, the one time I decided not to go with him, something terrible would happen.
I picked up my phone, my heart hammering against my ribs, as I watched him skate off the ice with blood dripping from his eyebrow. I shot him a text immediately; I knew he wouldn’t respond yet, but I needed him to know I had seen it and that I was terrified for him.
I sat there biting at my nails for a few minutes before finally turning the TV off. I couldn't even bring myself to care about the outcome anymore. I retreated to our bedroom, hoping a hot shower would calm my nerves. After changing into my pajamas, I paced back out to the living room to sit and wait in the silence.
Finally, my phone rang. The game was over.
"Hello!" I answered frantically, not even waiting for a greeting.
"Hi, baby. Whatchu doing?" he asked, his voice incredibly calm.
"You’re calm? How are you so calm? Are you okay?" I spoke so fast the words nearly tripped over each other.
"I'm okay, really. All stitched up," he said, and I heard the click of a turning signal in the background. "I should be home in about five minutes."
"Did you see me score the OT winner?" I could practically hear the grin in his voice despite the injury.
"No," I admitted, feeling a pang of guilt. "I turned it off. I didn't want to watch anymore once I saw the blood."
"Okay, well, I’m fine. Stop worrying, I'll be okay," he laughed softly. "I'm here. Open the door."
The line went dead. I unlocked the door but retreated to the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion. He pushed the door open, locking it behind him before making his way over to me.
"Hi, my love. I’m okay," he said, tilting his head to let me examine the damage.
My breath hitched. He had twelve stitches cinching his eyebrow together, his eye was swollen almost completely shut, and a deep purple bruise was already blooming across his cheekbone.
"You are *not* okay," I pouted, my eyes welling up. "Look at you. They hurt you."
"Baby, it was an accident," Clayton said, smiling softly as he reached out for me. "It was one of my own teammates; he didn't mean to do that. It's just part of the game."
"But why do you have to lie and say you're fine?" I asked, reaching up to tentatively touch his uninjured cheek.
"Well, I'm not lying. When it happened, yeah, it stung. But they gave me some good painkillers while they were stitching me up, so I’m not in any pain right now," he explained, pulling me into a hug and swaying us side to side. "Now, in the morning? In the morning, I’ll really feel it," he added with a dry laugh.
He leaned his forehead against mine for a moment. "Let’s go to bed. I'm absolutely exhausted."
He led me back to our room, moving a bit slower than usual. While he changed out of his clothes, I climbed into the covers, watching him carefully.
"Clay, I love you. I just... I hate seeing you hurt," I told him as he finally climbed in next to me.
"I know. I love you too," he whispered, leaning over to press a careful kiss to my lips.
"How are we even supposed to sleep?" I asked, worried about bumping his face in the middle of the night.
"Like we always do," he settled in, "but face the other way. I can't lay on my left side tonight."
I nodded, letting him pull me against him and position us so he was comfortable. As the room fell dark, Clayton began recounting the rest of the game I had missed—the roar of the crowd, the feel of the puck hitting the net for the win—his voice trailing off into a sleepy murmur until we both finally drifted off.
definitely more of clay he has to be a regular on here now.
Love Sometimes Means Fulfilling Fantasies - Clayton Keller
Title: Love Sometimes Means Fulfilling Fantasies
Author: Tory / @tkwrites
Relationship: Pre-established: Clayton Keller x unnamed ofc
Summary: After Clayton admits he wants to be bossed around by his girlfriend, she surprises him after a long stint away from home.
Warnings: lots of teasing, swearing, slightly sub!Clay, use of the pet name “Angel,” Smut (please click away if you are under 18); Oral (m and f receiving), face sitting, unprotected p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!), mentions of a past, bad, very unfulfilling relationship.
Word count: 10,100
Comments: Some of you may recognize this title from an old fic I wrote for Matthew Tkachuk. I recently scrubbed him from my blog, and some folks requested I rewrite his works with another player. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to write for one of my Utah Mammoth boys. I originally wanted it to be about Sean Durzi, but that didn't really work, so I ran with Clayton Keller instead. I've rewritten some of the details to make it more Clayton specific (and to make the writing better), but the plot is very much the same as it was before.
This is the first time I've tried to write an unnamed character. I'm not sure it really works as a "reader insert" story since she has so much backstory, but let me know if you like this style, or you prefer I stick to original characters.
The shoes our main character wears can be seen here. The lingerie is made up, but her robe can be seen here.
I hope you enjoy. If you did, please don't be a silent reader. Reblogs, comments, and asks really do mean the world to me as a writer.
Love Sometimes Means Fulfilling Fantasies
The moment he walked in the house, Clayton’s eyes were drawn to the bedroom light filtering down the hallway and puddling in the dining room. She tried to stay up for him. She did this occasionally, and every time, he would find her in bed, asleep with her glasses still on and a book open on her chest. It was sweet and genuine and a prime example of why she was his girl. The first girl he'd liked well enough to keep dating when things got hard. The first girl he really fell in love with. The first girl to share his home. Coming home to her was always the best ending to a road trip, even if she was asleep by the time he actually made it there.
Smiling at the prospect of joining her in bed, he nudged his suitcase aside, set down his backpack, and shed the coat he hadn't removed on the drive. Landing from their Midwest road trip after the first big snowstorm of the year meant his car had been in the freezing airport garage for more than a week. It had just started to warm up when he pulled onto their street.
“Bedroom. Now.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin when her voice came from somewhere behind him.
He turned to find her, but she rebuked him before he saw anything. “I didn't say you could look, Clayton.”
A surprised, breathy laugh escaped his mouth before he could stop it, “what?”
“I said, ‘bedroom.’”
Something tapped on the outside of his left thigh. Glancing down, he saw the tip of a black riding crop before it slipped away.
Electricity zinged down his spine.
More than a month before, she had asked if he had any fantasies he wanted to explore. He admitted that he wanted to be… not dominated — he didn't want to be tied down or anything — but he wanted to be ordered around. The image of his sweet girl, bold and demanding, taking pleasure from his body, taking away all the guesswork for him, was the subject of many of his dreams.
It had been so long since that conversation, he'd nearly forgotten about his hushed, “I think about you bossing me around all the time.”
The riding crop was an addition he hadn’t expected. But the mental image of her weilding it, not neccissarily to use on him (that wasn’t really her style), but to complete the persona she was putting on for the night, was incredibly hot.
Now that he was thinking about it, he was pretty sure he wouldn't mind if she used it on him.
“Bedroom. Now,” she repeated, hitting him a little harder, this time on the hip.
He rushed to get there, not even bothering to pick up his coat, which had fallen to the mudroom floor.
This was totally different than what he'd been expecting from tonight. Upon arriving home, he had leaned into his fatigue, prepared to fall into bed, ready to tuck himself in next to her for the rest of the night. This sudden change of plans had adrenaline coursing into his veins, banishing the fatigue altogether.
The click of heels followed him through the house, a kind of suspenseful music that ticked along with the beat of his heart.
She was even wearing heels? She never wore heels at home.
They fell silent when he got to the short hall that led to their bedroom.
85 percent of him wanted to turn around to see why she had stopped, but that hesitant fifteen percent kept him moving forward. If he turned, she might call this whole thing off, and he wasn’t about to risk that.
“I hope you're getting undressed,” she said in a sing-songy voice when he stepped onto the plush rug at the end of their bed.
He jumped to obey.
“Leave your pants on, though.”
Having to redo the zipper with his erection testing the limits of his boxers was not an easy task. He told himself it would be worth it as he re-did his belt.
The buttons on his shirt nearly popped off in his desperation to get out of it as he toed off his shoes. He didn't like to be barefoot nearly ever, but it was an ick of hers for him to be in bed with only socks on, so he removed them before tossing everything into the closet.
His ears strained to hear the click of her heels start up again. When they finally did, he also heard something (he guessed the crop) brushing over the textured wallpaper in the hallway. The seductive sound crawled up his spine and made his cock throb with desire. Anticipation shivered over his skin.
When she finally appeared in the doorway, casually leaning against the casing, he drank her in. She looked incredible. From the blue silk robe tied around her waist, to her strong, curvy legs, down to black, strappy stiletto heels.
He’d impulsively bought them for her the last time they played in Seattle. He saw them in the window of a vintage shop they happened to pass on the way to dinner, and when he paused and found they were the right size, he bought them without a second thought, thinking they'd look outrageously sexy wrapped around her ankles.
He'd been right. And they were worth every teasing remark he'd endured from his teammates.
The riding crop, he could see now, was made of black leather. Braided at the handle, and all the way down the shaft, the flat tip tapped gently against her calf as her eyes traveled down his body before taking a leisurely stroll back up to his face.
“Very good,” she said, pushing away from the door jam.
Rooted to the spot and unable to look away, he devoured each deliberate, slow movement as she stalked closer to him. Dark lace winked at him from between the lapels of her robe, cutting delicate shapes against her skin.
He started to salivate as his mind caught on the reality that he would only need to pull the sash at her waist, and she would be nearly naked. It made him ravenous to see what exactly was under all that silk. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her.
“Tell me, Clayton, did you expect this?”
He shook his head. He could hardly believe it was even happening. She even had her hair down and curled.
“Do you like it?”
His voice was a breathy whisper when he answered, “yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She wrinkled her nose, and a relieved smile spread over his face. He knew this was a character she was putting on for the night, but having it confirmed that his sweet, funny girl was still in there put him more at ease.
“Not ma'am,” she said, “that makes me sound old. Miss?” she mused, “that's not much better.”
“Mistress,” he supplied.
She cut her eyes at him, “is that what you call me when you dream about this?”
“N-no,” he stammered.
“What do you call me then?” she asked, trailing the square tip of the crop across his stomach as she walked a slow half circle in front of him.
Gulping, he barely bit back a moan.
“What do you call me when you dream about being bossed around, Clayton?” she repeated, voice quiet and seductive as she moved even closer. The silk of her robe brushed against his arm.
“Angel.” This time, his voice was a moan. He couldn’t keep it in.
His confession hit her full force. He wasn't just dreaming about being bossed around — he was dreaming about being bossed around by her. She had expected this fantasy to be farther from reality. Angel was the only pet name he used for her.
Clayton knew all of her was showing up to fulfill this fantasy for him, but when he dreamed about her like this, he always called her Angel. It was something about her going outside of her wheelhouse for him. She was an angel, and he felt incredibly lucky to have her. Especially knowing she’d be back to her usual sweet, quiet self when it was done.
“Let’s try this again,” she said, mostly for herself. “Clay, do you like what I'm wearing?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Angel.”
“Good,” she praised, pressing her hand to his chest and trailing it around his rib cage. His eyelashes fluttered at the contact. “Kiss me.”
He pounced like a starved man, catching her mouth in a kiss that was all at once passionate and consuming.
When his hand ran up the smooth fabric covering her back, he felt it through his whole body.
This was a side of her he'd never seen in their bedroom.
It often came out in other places when decisions needed to be made. She always had a quiet confidence about her, but when a crisis happened, or no one was stepping up to make a decision, she “put on her boss pants and got shit done,” despite usually being the quietest one in any given group of people.
The first time she'd done it, they'd been on vacation with some friends and missed the ferry back to the hotel. He already liked her and had been trying to date her, but he'd been embarrassingly turned on by the way she had taken control, calming everyone down and ordering him to call the hotel concierge so they could get some directions. After that moment, he really got to work, trying to convince her to give him a chance as more than a friend.
Now that the bossy side of her was finally directed at him in their bedroom, he couldn't get enough.
Taking control of the pace, she licked into his mouth in a steady, deep rhythm.
Pleasure shot down his legs. Her kiss instantly transported him back to the first time she'd done this same thing the night they’d first slept together. Back then, the depth and rhythm of her tongue had been an erotic promise he couldn't wait for her to fulfill. It was even more so now. She tugged on his hair, and he made a noise he'd never made with anyone else.
She broke away and kissed her way up to his ear. “Am I doing okay?” she asked softly.
Okay? She practically had him on his knees. “Yes,” he panted.
She took a step back from him. “Do you want to see what I have on underneath?”
He nodded, seconds away from actually dropping to his knees to beg for her. It had been seven long days since he'd seen her, and this situation had him ready to do whatever he needed to please her. It was so unfair for this to come right after a road trip. He was already starving for her, and now she was teasing.
“Go ahead,” she said, dropping her arms open to give him free access.
His hands leaped to the tie, which loosened easily. His eyes widened as he pushed the silk off her shoulders, and it pooled around her elbows.
She wore a black lace bra that made her boobs look incredible with, it looked like, matching cheeky panties, just like she knew he liked. As his eyes roved over her again, he noticed the little gold D&G charm hanging from the center of her bra, resting against the panel of sheer black lace between her breasts.
“Do you like it?” she asked, letting the silk flutter onto the floor.
Saliva pooled under his tongue. Oh God. He was fucked.
“Clayton, do you like it?” she asked again, throwing in a twirl for good measure.
Catching his first glimpse of her ass, the lace riding halfway up her cheeks and perfectly accentuating the shape, his knees nearly buckled. She was so damn sexy. A matching gold charm glinted from where it was sewn to the back of her panties.
It meant even more that she was wearing designer lingerie. He knew she didn't particularly like designer labels, preferring to buy vintage. But she knew he liked them. The only reason she was wearing this was for him, and his brain wouldn't let him forget it.
His over eager nod had him feeling like some kind of cartoon character, too fast and exaggerated.
The whole time she had been devising this plan, she had imagined his reaction to this lingerie, knowing he would like it. Looking at him now, with his blown pupils and fingers flexing at his sides, she found she wanted to tease him just a little bit more.
Turning her back to him, she bent down to unlatch her right shoe.
The rough way he swore and groaned her name was the stuff dreams were made of.
His hand caressed over her hip, and she swatted it away.
“I didn't give you permission to touch,” she said, snatching the crop from where she set it on the ground. Only one of the six straps on her right shoe was undone. There was a zipper on the back, but that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. She stood straight and turned around.
A desperate sound escaped his throat, and he forced himself to ask, “can I please touch you?”
Tapping the shaft of the crop in her opposite palm, she pretended to think. “I'm not sure you've earned that yet.”
The shock that flashed in his eyes was almost instantly replaced by competitive determination. “What do I need to do?” he asked, his voice sounding like it'd been raked over hot coals.
“Let's see if you can keep your hands to yourself for at least one shoe, yeah?” she asked, playfully tapping the leather whip against his shoulder.
Clayton hated and loved this idea with every fiber of his being. She didn't usually tease, but now that she was, he only wanted more.
Once he agreed, she turned around again — because of course she did — and bent over, showcasing the natural flexibility every woman in his family was envious of.
She was going to kill him. Or slowly drive him insane. Maybe both.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he fisted them to keep them from developing a mind of their own.
With the fiddly straps on one shoe undone, she decided it was enough. His breathing was getting more and more ragged, which had her so turned on, she could feel her desire soaking her little lace panties.
Raising herself to a flat back position and tossing her hair over one shoulder, she glanced back at him. “Are you going to ask again?”
He swallowed visibly.
God. She was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. “Can I please touch you?”
“Yes.”
He pulled his hands from his pockets, and she watched his fingers flex and contract as if they'd been fisted so tightly, he needed to bring blood back into them.
He reached for her.
“But —” he stopped immediately, letting out a little whine as his shoulders dropped in defeat. “You can't take anything off.”
Nodding quickly, he agreed. He just needed his hands on her.
She bent over again, and he caressed her soft hips.
“Fuck, Angel,” he groaned. After all that, touching her felt like it's own reward.
Undoing the 7th strap of the night with his big, rough hands on her, kneading and stroking, she decided to leave the crop where she'd set it on the floor. It had served its purpose. Plus, she didn’t want anything to come between her and getting her hands on him for the rest of the night.
With the other buckles undone, she stood, making sure to toss her hair back into his face as she did.
He grunted, pulling her against him so she could feel what she was doing to him.
“What do you want?” she asked, one hand slipping around the back of his neck as she kicked off her shoes.
With the heels gone, Clayton reveled in having his normal sized girlfriend back. “I want whatever you want to give me.”
Turning in his embrace, one of her eyebrows rose. “Whatever I want to give you?” she repeated, trailing her fingers from his waistband to his nipple, which she circled delicately.
Nodding, he made a sort of muffled, whining, affermatory noise.
“What if I want to give you what you want?”
A jumble of gibberish fell out of his mouth, “I don't…uh, I —” He was having a hard time focusing enough to form coherent words. He was still trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he'd expected to find. Meanwhile, her finger was still circling the sensitive nub of his nipple, sending so much electricity shooting between his legs, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this hard in his life.
Her mouth brushed against his ear before she asked again, “what do you want, Clayton?” Gently taking the lobe between her teeth, she nibbled
The way she kept saying his name, coupled with how she was touching him, made his brain short circuit into primitive, caveman thinking. “I want to make you come.”
“How?”
This wasn't how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to be telling him what to do, not the other way around.
Taking a deep breath, he paused to force his thoughts into something more coherent. “You tell me. You're supposed to be the one ordering me around.”
She blushed. She knew he wanted her assertive and bossy, but neither of those were things she could just pull out at the drop of a hat — especially in the bedroom. It was one thing to dress up and tease him by dangling what she knew he wanted just out of reach. It was something totally different to order him around like he was some kind of pet. She'd been trying to circumnavigate around her discomfort by ordering him to tell her what he wanted. It was a cop out, and she knew it.
“You promise this is okay?” she asked, letting nerves break through in her voice for the first time.
This was a fantasy brought to life in ways he’d only dreamed of. Looking into her eyes, he brought her hand to the front of his trousers so she could feel how he strained against the zipper. “More than okay. Tell me what to do.”
Standing straight, she steeled herself and tried not to let her voice warble. “I want your mouth.”
There was no shock in his face, only a deepening desire as his eyes grew darker, and he licked his lips.
Oh.
This wasn't just for her.
He wanted it.
He liked it.
A force she'd never felt before flowed down her spine, filling her with conviction. Leaning into that newfound power, she added, “and I want to be on top.”
She'd fantasized about it for so long but had never been brave enough to tell him.
“Gladly,” he rasped, mind already racing with images and ideas.
For his part, Clayton wanted to give her any and every experience she wanted, but knew she wouldn't ask for the things she felt were more risqué as part of their normal, everyday life.
Hopefully, this fantasy of his could kill two birds with one stone.
Unable to look away, his breath locked in his chest as she hooked her thumbs in her panties, easing the sides down.
“Do you want to —” she stopped herself before swallowing and starting again. “Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“Take off my lingerie.”
He gulped. Getting orders from her was even hotter than he dreamed it would be. He was going to start drooling here if he wasn't careful.
Back to her in a flash, he slid his fingers to the clasp of her bra. Palms skimming over her breasts, he eased the fabric off. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he said, letting the lace drop to the ground. Glancing into her face, voice gruff, he asked, “can I use my mouth on you here?”
She nodded, letting out a breathy, “yes.”
As his mouth went to her breasts, licking and kissing, his hands slid over her hips so he could take large handfuls of her ass in those damn underwear.
Her mind began to spin. Not only from his talented tongue, now laving at one of her nipples, but because of her plan. If she wanted him in her mouth before they made love, she needed to rethink her strategy to make sure he had enough time to recover.
His hands slowly slid up to her waistband.
“Stop,” she ordered before he could push her underwear off.
He pulled his mouth away but didn't take his hands off of her. Several of his fingers were tucked under the waistband, and he ran them back and forth, drinking in the contrast of the nubby lace against the silky feel of her skin.
When she went to his neck, leaving open mouthed, wet kisses, his head fell back to give her more access. His fingers curled into the flesh of her hips.
“You smell so good,” she purred, skipping over his chains and continuing her exploration onto his collar bone. She could never spend enough time tasting and touching him.
The feeling of her mouth on him while her hands slowly slid down his back had him too entranced to respond with more than a grunt.
She licked the divot between his clavicle and the round swell of his shoulder before grabbing his ass to pull his body flush to her own.
Fireworks popped and flashed between them as Clayton rocked his hips into her, desperate to soothe his aching lust. He wanted her so much. He’d wanted her when he parked the car, resigned to the fact that he would have to wait until the next morning. Now, she was against him with her beautiful body, wearing the sexiest pair of underwear he’d ever seen, knowing she'd bought them just for him. While one hand traced the lace trim, he fingered the little gold charm with the other, smiling when she shuddered.
Her mouth continued its exploration, winding down his chest, pausing to flick her tongue over the nipple she had neglected.
He moaned, eyes flaring wide when she lowered to her knees in front of him.
“I changed my mind,” she said, keeping her voice sweet and innocent. Looking up, she traced a feather light touch from his belly button to the buckle of his belt and smiled when his muscles flexed and jumped. “I’m going to blow you before you use that pretty mouth on me.”
He swore. This was a kind of torturous heaven where she was slowly driving him mad before giving him what he needed. He never wanted her to stop.
She made quick work of his belt and flicked open the button of his trousers. Lowering the zipper, torturously slow, she purred, “you’re going to come in my mouth. Okay, Clayton?”
His breathing hitched, his voice nearly cracking as he agreed.
He rarely let her finish him that way. He loved her mouth, but given the choice, he would rather come inside her. He never would have guessed she missed it.
Peeling his boxer briefs down, she leaned into the alter ego she kept caged within her own thoughts. “Good boy,” she praised.
God, hearing that should not make him shiver with pleasure as much as it did. He flushed at having pleased her.
As he stepped out of his pants, he wondered if she might let him sit down. It had been so long since he'd come in her mouth, he wasn't totally sure he'd stay upright, especially tonight.
Before he could ask, she was tisking and running her hands over his legs. “These thighs,” she moaned reverently.
Obligingly, the muscles in question flexed under her palms.
Apparently, she was letting everything she'd ever fantasized about bubble up to the surface, as if her propriety had sloughed off along with her lingerie.
The next thing he knew, she was licking his leg from the knee all the way up to the v line, which she kissed and tongued liberally.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed. She'd never worshiped his body like this. He knew she found him attractive, but this was something totally different. It made his stomach clench in anticipation and his head feel light.
Every brush of her tongue, every kiss from her lips made him twitch and throb. She was so close to where he wanted her, and knowing she wanted him to come in her mouth made it worse until he was simmering and heady with impatience.
When she pulled away, she did it so slowly, he swore he could feel every millimeter of her lips lifting from his skin.
His breathed sigh of relief melted into a whine when she passed over to begin the same torture on the other leg. He was so close to the pleasure she was promising, but she was holding off.
“Angel, please” he begged. He would do anything to feel her.
“Since you asked so nicely,” she said, smiling up at him through hooded lashes as she guided him past her lips.
He had to close his eyes to stop himself from exploding at the sight alone.
She pulled off nearly as soon as she'd started, “do you like it, Clayton?”
He almost said something snarky, like, I would if I could feel it, but thought better of that. The woman in front of him was a different creature than usual, and he didn't want to upset her. He had no doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to punish him for his sass, and he couldn’t take that on top of everything else.
Instead, he leaned into the shy, genuine part of himself that felt so comfortable around her. “Yes.”
Finally, she took him in her mouth, swallowing all she could comfortably fit and using her hand on the rest.
Sinking his fingers into her hair, he tried to steady himself without leaning too much weight on her.
Voice shaking, he told her, “you feel so fucking good.”
With seven days away and twenty minutes of blissful torture built up in his system, he knew it wouldn’t take much to tip him over the edge. Still, when she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, the tell tale signs rushed in so fast, even he was surprised. He needed to tell her in case she’d changed her mind.
“’m gonna come,” he said urgently.
Instead of sucking him to climax, her mouth lifted off of him completely. He didn’t even try to stop the whine that crawled up his throat.
“You’re such a good boy, Clayton,” she purred, slowly skimming her fingertips down his throbbing cock, “giving me what I want.”
Eyes rolling back, he practically growled. He’d always wanted her to order him around but never imagined her praising him like this. Now that she was, he wanted more and more, again and again.
As she wrapped her lips around him again, she looked into his face, trying to memorize the heavy pace of his breathing and the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks.
His orgasm reared anew fast enough to give him whiplash. He moaned, thrusting softly into her mouth. She felt so, so incredible.
Pleasure curled in the pit of his stomach and loosened his joints. She hummed as she pulled him over the edge, and the vibrations rippled through his body.
When she slid her mouth off of him, she made sure he was looking her in the face when she swallowed.
“Holy shit.” He stumbled back and sank onto the bed, legs losing the battle to stay upright. He'd hoped she would be a little more liberated, but this was beyond any of his expectations. “That was so fucking hot.”
A feeling of immense self satisfaction filled her. Bringing him nearly to his knees with her mouth alone made her feel like she could do anything. It was just the confidence boost she needed.
Crawling over to him, she used his knees for balance as she stood.
Clayton wrapped his arms around her and rested his face against her stomach, needing to feel her close as he came down.
“I love you,” he said, mouth against her skin. It felt important to tell her that. Not just because of the blow job — which, God, did he love her for — but because he loved all of her. He loved her for her willingness to fulfill this fantasy. It was so much better than anything he'd imagined.
"I love you, too."
She threaded her fingers into his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut.
Soaking in the tender moment, he let himself catch his breath. Once he came back to himself, he started pressing kisses to her stomach.
“I swear, I thought about eating you out every night I was gone.”
“Really?" She sounded more surprised than he would like.
He nodded, tongue darting over his lips as he looked up at her. “I love getting you off, and I know you like oral best.”
“I mean…you don't mind the smell?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“I love the way you taste,” he said. “I crave it when I've been away too long.”
The way her cheeks flushed made him want to please her even more.
“Do you really think I would put myself through it so often if I didn't like it?” he asked, the right side of his mouth tipping up enough to make his dimple pop.
“I don't know,” she said, a matching smile blooming over her own face. “I thought maybe it was something you just put up with to get to the good part.”
“It's all the good part with you, Angel.”
She chuffed a little laugh, amazed.
“Are you ready to sit on my face?” he teased, assuming she found the phrase crass.
Even while rolling her eyes, she nodded.
The uncertain feelings that were nearly always stewing in her finally broke to the surface for the first time that night. “We don't have to do it that way.”
“No,” he reprimanded gently, flexing his grip so she couldn't pull away. “If this is something you want, you deserve to get it. I'm fine with it.”
Her teeth worried at her lower lip, “you're sure?”
“Yes,” he said fervently. “I want to make you feel good, and if this is how you want it, I want to do it for you.”
“I just,” she paused to sigh a breath through her nose. “I don't want to suffocate you or something.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious, Clay.”
“It'll be fine.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve done it before, and it was fine.”
She looked unconvinced, and like she was about to argue another point he knew wouldn’t make any difference. He cut in before she could bring it up. “If it'll make you feel better, I can let you know if I can't breathe.”
She pursed her lips, barely keeping in her worry about being bigger than any of the women he'd dated before. That would bring on a whole lecture about how it wasn't true, and her weight didn't matter to him — he just wanted her to be happy and healthy.
Most of the time, she was able to put off the comparison and agree with him, but this felt like a case where that factor should be taken into consideration.
In the end, the thing that kept her quiet were memories of the sad, wounded, puppy look he got in his eyes when she talked disparagingly about her body.
“It would make me feel better,” she said instead.
“Done.”
Hooking his fingers into her panties, he started easing them down.
Goosebumps rippled over her skin, and her nipples tightened.
Letting the lace fall the rest of the way down, he licked one of the tender buds into his mouth. He lay back, pulling her with him. Her core was hot and wet against his thigh as she draped over him.
In an attempt to pacify her lust, she rutted against him. The feel of his hands and mouth on her, along with his care and willingness to fulfill her fantasies, had her outrageously turned on.
He moaned, flexing the muscle on instinct, and lifted his leg to press it tighter against her. She gasped, deciding instantly that getting herself off on his thigh was definitely going onto her fantasy wish list.
For now, though, she couldn't be deterred from the opportunity at hand. She moved onto the bed, and he scrambled up to lay his head on the pillows.
He got comfortable before motioning her over. “Here,” he said, voice husky but gentle, “you can hold onto the headboard here.”
Heat raced into her cheeks.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for her. “It’s been too long. I can't wait to taste you.”
Her heart was already pounding against her ribs as if it might try to break out of her chest as she let him pull her into position.
Clayton had dreamed of this before: his girl, all lovely and lush above him, while he worshiped her with his mouth. The fact that it was coming true right before his eyes because she wanted it made it even better.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, running his hands up and down her thighs.
She blushed but accepted the compliment, “thank you.”
He continued to admire her, waiting until she was ready.
“You promise you'll tell me if you can't breathe?”
“Yes, I promise,” he assured. “I’ll tap your hip like this.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she nodded. “Okay.”
“Come here,” he said with a playful growl.
Wrapping his large hands over her hips, he guided her to his mouth. The pleasured sound she let out when he made contact was music to his ears.
It was so much better than she'd anticipated. Perhaps it was just the thrill of a fantasy becoming reality that had her nervous system in overdrive, but something about the position, the way his mouth worked on her clit as he huffed against her, had her synapses snapping.
As it turned out, she may have been right to worry. Not because of her imagined fear that she was bigger than other women he'd dated, but because Clayton was so competitively intense and wanted to make her come so badly, he would put off breathing until his body demanded oxygen. The reality that he couldn’t just tilt his head to pull in a quick breath hit him full force after a few minutes.
Although he'd had no intention of using the signal, he tapped her hip twice when his lungs started to burn.
She lifted up, but he stopped her before she got more than an inch away. His tongue kept working, circling her sensitive bud, even as she felt him drag in heavy, deep breaths. The cool air pulling across her heated skin made her shiver.
Pulling her back down, he latched his mouth back onto her, sucking and stroking.
“Clayton,” she moaned. “Clay, put your tongue inside me.”
With the reality that was Clay working his magic and her newfound ability to call the shots, she found she needed his mouth in every way possible.
He groaned and felt her shudder above him. He was never getting over this. Never getting over experiencing her like this. Never getting over her going after what she wanted.
A new wave of pleasure ripped through her when he shifted to accommodate her request. She didn’t think this could get any better.
She clung to the headboard. “Oh, God, that feels so good.”
He kept thrusting his tongue into her, hands gripping her hips to keep her steady. She filled his senses completely, leaving no room for anything else, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
“Oh!” she moaned loudly when he adjusted his angle slightly, bringing the straight bridge of his nose against her clit.
Fire whipped up her spine. “Right there! Don't stop, don't stop. Please don't stop.”
He was never stopping. Not until she was satisfied a million times over.
Head thrown back, she panted in rhythm with his ministrations. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.
Her thighs trembled around him, and he knew she was close. Putting off breathing for a bit longer, he continued, urging her up the peak he knew she was so close to cresting.
Mouth open, she tried to let him know she was coming. Instead, her body took over, letting out a keening noise she'd never heard herself make before.
Her core fluttered around him, and Clayton moaned. He loved this part: the point when he knew he'd won over her body and pushed her over the edge into bliss.
Forcing her hips up just enough, he sucked in a few deep breaths before wrapping his lips around her clit, flicking it with his tongue.
Time tilted, and her body felt weightless as her high rolled into another.
“Oh my God.”
He kept going, and she kept coming. One of her hands abandoned its post, balancing on the headboard to fist into his hair. He groaned, just like she knew he would.
The first time he went down on her, he told her she could pull his hair if she wanted. She'd been so surprised at the way he had moaned into her, intensifying his efforts when she had.
Easing off when pleasure started to bleed into pain, she lifted herself up. He licked his lips and pulled in some heavy, deep breaths.
Chest heaving, she tried to swing her leg over so she could sit next to him.
“One more,” he begged, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs to keep her over him. “Let me give you one more.”
He hadn't prepared himself for that to be the last one. There was no way he could be done with this scenario, with her pleasure engulfing every one of his senses. He just couldn't be done. It was too intoxicating.
“Please,” he said as if he might die without it.
Twist her arm, she couldn't resist. Clayton was the only man she had ever been with who put so much emphasis on her pleasure, let alone enjoyed getting her off.
As soon as she started lowering her hips back down, he leaned up and licked a thick stripe through her.
Her legs quivered. “I’m —” she had to pause and take a deep breath, “Clay, I’m sensitive,” she said, looking down at him.
He winked and coaxed her with long, languid strokes of his tongue. Watching her face intently, he made sure he was using just the right amount of pressure to not cause pain.
Her hips began to move of their own volition, seeking.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, “Clayton.”
If he died right then, he thought, he would die a happy man.
Come on, he urged silently, come for me.
As if she were reading his mind, she let out a long, low moan and stilled above him, core pulsing against his mouth.
He feasted on her, drinking in every movement, every sensation. He would never get enough of her pleasure.
This time, when she went to move off of him, he helped her.
She sat heavily against the headboard, gulping in air. “Oh my God.” Reaching for him without looking, her hand landed on his chest with a gentle smack. “That was amazing.”
Covering her hand with his own, he entwined their fingers before wiping his face with his other hand.
After catching her breath, she moved to lay beside him. “Seriously,” she said, settling on her side, one arm bent under her head as a pillow, “that was…I don't even have words for how good that was.”
He blushed. Her praise, bereft of any teasing, had him feeling shy. “I'm glad you liked it.”
“Liked it?” she repeated, giggling. “That was the most intense high I’ve ever felt. I don't think I’ve ever come that many times in a row.”
Pride swelled in his chest. He reached for her, and when she came into his arms willingly, he pulled her on top of him. Threading his fingers into her hair, he guided her down to a kiss.
She could taste herself on his mouth, which was arousing in a way she always felt shouldn't be.
His big hands explored, leaving fiery trails on her skin. He cupped her breasts, and she arched against him with a groan.
His mouth and hands ignited her desire again. How was it possible to want someone this much? She wanted him in ways she didn’t know she’d ever want a man again.
“I want you to take me from behind,” she said, lips whispering against his.
Clayton pulled back into the pillow to look at her face. “Are you sure?”
When they started sleeping together, he asked her what she liked. “Any position we can be face to face,” she'd said. “Smith only wanted it from behind for the last few months. Every time I would initiate, he'd end up flipping me over, and it made me feel so, like… unpretty, you know? Like he couldn’t even stand to look at me.”
It had broken his heart. How could anyone not want to look at her? He wanted to look at her all the time.
So, he’d always made sure to initiate cowgirl, missionary, or any other position where they could be face to face. He never wanted her to feel that way again, never wanted her to feel like he didn’t want her.
“Yes,” she said, sitting up. “I know you wouldn’t turn me around just to fantasize about someone else.”
“Never,” he agreed, emphatically.
Lowering her mouth to capture his in a passionate kiss felt like the only natural response. He answered readily, licking into her mouth with such passion and tenderness, she knew he was telling the truth. She felt full to the brim with love and trust. She'd never felt like this with a man before.
Breaking apart a few minutes later, chests and stomachs pressing together as they fought to catch their breath, she knew she needed to make it crystal clear for him. “Tonight, I want you to fuck me from behind.”
This was another thing she never said, opting instead for sex or making love. She always said fucking was too vulgar of a word for what they were doing.
Hearing it from her mouth now woke a primal side of himself he hadn't felt in a while.
They rarely fucked; they made love. He didn't miss it, but the prospect of trying something new with her excited him beyond belief.
“Where do you want me?”
The power humming beneath her skin revved into a higher gear, giving her the jump start to move off of him.
“On your knees,” she said.
He obeyed, then watched, entranced, as she got into the position she wanted. On hands and knees, and then lowered to her forearms so her back sloped down.
Turning her back to him felt so different than it had with Smith. There was nothing compromising about this with Clayton. She wasn’t embarrassed or worried her face wasn’t pretty enough or feeling like she was giving something up just to keep him close.
He moved behind her, skimming both hands up her legs and over the curvature of her sides like a priceless piece of art.
The trust she felt for and from Clayton allowed her to be in her body. She could feel the bed dip as he moved, feel the sheets brush against her pebbled nipples. Her skin buzzed with the anticipation of his touch. She felt safe and giddy. When was the last time she’d ever felt giddy while on her knees?
“Okay,” she said.
“Can you lift your hips a little more?” he asked, voice gentle.
She did, and he bit his lip. He wanted to remember every second of this. He rarely fantasized about fucking her this way. He preferred to see her face when they were together too, but seeing her like this? Knowing her perfect ass was soon going to be bouncing off of him, meeting each of his thrusts? This was a teenage wet dream come to life. Only it was made better with love, devotion and trust.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, stopping himself from running his fingers through her just so he could taste her sweet nectar again.
Her thoughts raced with possibilities — all the times she’d read about this — knowing Clayton would try anything she wanted at least once.
“Slide over my clit.”
A moan slipped up his throat as he glided through her. He never would have done this on his own. Now, he never wanted to stop.
“How does it feel?” she asked. If she couldn’t see him, she needed him to tell her.
“So good,” he grunted. “You’re so soft and smooth.”
She shifted her angle so the head of his cock brushed over her clit with each stroke. The fire in her belly raged into an inferno.
“I need you inside me.”
Hearing her say these things, hearing how much she wanted him, like she just couldn’t wait — he’d never wanted to please someone more in his entire life.
Easing into her, he exhaled deeply, noting the way her back arched to change the angle of penetration.
“Okay,” she said, gently pushing her hips back to give him permission to move.
He started slow and soft, which was not at all what she wanted.
Before she could tell him, she felt him fold over her, sweaty chest pressing against her back, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered her name, “I love you.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, “I love you, too, Clay.”
“Tell me what you want,” he urged.
Feeling his lips trace along her neck while he rocked into her from behind was what she always wanted sex to feel like — connected, loving, fulfilling for both of them. Trust Clayton to learn all he could and take any direction she gave him seriously. Every day, it seemed, he made her wonder why she’d ever thought things with Smith were worth crying over.
“Harder.”
He straightened back up for more leverage and picked up the pace.
It wasn't enough. “Harder.”
Biting his lip, he braced one foot on the bed for more leverage and increased again.
She still wanted more.
“Fuck me harder.” It came out more of a demand than a request. She was too caught up in the moment to feel bad about it.
Shit.
Fuck.
Goddamn.
How was he supposed to just take this and not explode the second those orders came out of her mouth?
“Clay, please.”
Her begging shattered the controlled softness he usually restrained himself with. She wanted harder? He'd give her harder.
He snapped his hips to hers.
Back arching, she cried out.
The sound of his skin meeting hers, the feeling of the sheets brushing her nipples as she was pitched forward, then pushed herself back, and his panting and grunting behind her made her feel feral in the best way, like she just wanted to swallow him whole.
She pushed back to meet every thrust, and he had to tip his head back. He wanted to wait. He had to.
Her entire body trembled with the need for release.
“Touch me,” she begged. She needed it so much, she felt like she might just set the whole house on fire.
His left hand slid around her hip to stroke her.
She moaned. It had never felt like this with Smith. She'd always known he was selfish, but she never realized just how selfish he had been until she and Clay first slept together. She didn't know sex could be comfortable and tender until Clay asked her, “can I touch you here?” followed by, “how do you like it?” And always checking in when he did something new, “is this okay? The contrast had been astounding. The communication he opened between them made everything in their relationship better. She never felt guilty for asking for what she needed.
His steady rhythm sustained her for a time before she was begging again, “more. Please give me more.” She was so, so close.
Tenderly, he drummed two fingers on her clit, desperate to send her over the edge.
Back bowing as pleasure streaked through her body, she found herself shouting, “Fuck, Clay! Yes!”
There were a few delicious moments where she was floating between being stretched to her limit and falling apart completely.
The pressure finally exploded, and her muscles locked around him.
Clay gasped her name, right hand squeezing her hip to keep the tenuous grasp he had on his control. The idea he was clinging to helped him wait as he worked her through her orgasm.
Joints blissfully liquefied, she collapsed onto her stomach.
Thankful for the break, he sat back on his haunches and took some time to steady himself as she came down.
“Can you turn over?” he asked once her breathing slowed a bit. “I want to see your face when I come.”
Although she'd asked him to fuck her from behind, he knew she'd want to see him — to know she was the one making him feel this way. She was and he needed her to know.
She nearly choked out a sob. Clayton, her sweet Clayton. He could be too serious, even with her, and especially when competition was involved, whether it be playing some silly game or the incessant need he had to be the best at everything, be it cleaning or chopping or the morning race to the bathroom.
When it really counted, though, he was unfailingly polite and courteous and always looking out for her.
The sheets briefly clung to her damp skin as she rolled over and looked up at him. His chest expanded and contracted rapidly with every panted breath, cross glinting in the dim light with each movement. His skin was flushed, his hair wild from her hands, and he was the most handsome thing she'd ever seen.
“What did I ever do to deserve you?” she asked, reaching up to cup his face.
“Everything,” he said, nuzzling his stubbled jaw into her palm. Had he known this was coming, he would have shaved. “You're perfect for me.”
She blinked a few times to make the tears she could feel behind her eyes stay there.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He grinned. “I love you, too.”
When he entered her again, slowly, he didn't close his eyes, though his lids grew heavy. They only fluttered shut when she leaned up to kiss him.
His longer chain pooled on her sternum as he lay over her. It was warm from his body, but the metallic weight and intimate feel of it shared between them made her shiver.
Getting lost in the tenderness of the kiss, he felt love, adoration, and contentment pour through him. He loved this gentle kind of love, but there was one more thing he wanted from tonight.
She let out a little yelp of surprise when he flipped them over.
“I want to watch you come on my cock,” he said, holding her hips.
While she was supposed to be giving the orders, she was happy to comply with this request, even though her clit was sore and exhaustion was hovering in her peripheral vision.
She adjusted to get the right angle and let out a stuttered little moan when his hard length caressed her g spot. Apparently, the best way to find it was to orgasm four times in a row.
It wasn’t long before she began to fatigue. They’d been going for so long already, and she wasn’t used to using her muscles in short bursts of energy over and over again like he was.
Leaning forward, trying to find a more comfortable position, she winced as her clit brushed his pelvis. Pain flared, and she backed off, thighs and hips protesting the movement.
“I know,” he said gently. He didn’t really, but he knew how sensitive he got after an orgasm. If she was feeling anything like that, he definitely needed to make a change.
Leaning back would probably be the most comfortable position for her. He straightened his knees a little more and guided her to recline against his legs.
She sighed contentedly, feeling the pain ebb off and pleasure start to thrum through her again. She swayed her hips from side to side, “so good, Clay.”
A small thrill zinged through him. He let out a relieved sigh and began rocking into her.
She moaned and threw her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. It was exactly what he’d wanted.
This was a more gentle high than any that had come before it that night. It built up slowly, making her whole body feel warm and sated.
By the time her orgasm did come, she was relaxed with the pleasure of it, glad her pelvic muscles did their work on their own. She was too blissed to direct any traffic.
Clayton moaned when she constricted around him. It was such a stark contrast to the soft feel of them rocking together that the sudden shift sent him over the edge, spilling into her with his hands on her hips and her name on his tongue.
Too exhausted to move, she debated the merits of getting up. She should use the bathroom but couldn't muster the energy.
Finally, it became more uncomfortable to keep the position she was in than it would be to get out of it.
Clayton's eyes flew open when she lifted up. A wince flashed across her face, and his hands flew to help her.
“Thanks,” she said, sliding off the edge of the bed with wobbly legs.
Her hips may as well have been made of jello as she stumbled to the bathroom. She felt stretched in ways she hadn't in a long time. It wasn’t totally unpleasant, but it took some getting used to.
When she opened the door, she found Clayton on the other side, watching her, concern in his blue eyes. He’d run his hands through his hair, taming it down, and put on a fresh pair of boxers while she’d been taking care of things. One of the wipes they kept in the nightstand was crumpled in his fist.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, I'm just a bit sore.” She gave him a cheeky smile and a wink, “we haven’t gone that many rounds in a night since Tahiti.”
He laughed but felt it was a shame they hadn’t done that for more than six months. The season was taking too much of a toll.
“Do you want to take a bath? It’ll help with some of the soreness.”
“I'd like that.”
He handed her the robe she'd been wearing and started the tap on the large tub before pouring some Epsom salt in the water to ease her sore muscles.
As it filled, he lifted her onto the counter. “I’m sorry we haven't done that more,” he said, taking up the space between her knees. “I’ve been gone too much.”
“You don't need to apologize, Clay,” she said, grasping his waist. “You're present when you're home, and I haven't felt neglected.”
“How are you so understanding?” he asked.
“I'm in this relationship, too. I see how hard you work, and I know you see how hard I work. Plus, I don’t need five orgasms a night to feel loved. You know that.” She paused before thoughtfully adding, “I don’t think I'd survive.”
He laughed, feeling, not for the first time, that this was his favorite thing about her. She was beautiful and funny and sweet, but her willingness to understand his life and meet him halfway meant more than all that.
“I saw you had the day off tomorrow, so I moved my meetings so we could spend the day together. And I just kept thinking I had enough time that I could fulfill your fantasy tonight.”
“I still can't believe you did that,” he said, bending down to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “That lingerie was so fucking hot. And those shoes,” he groaned, pulling back to look into her face, eyelids heavy with remembered lust. “When you bent over to take them off, I swear I almost came in my pants.”
She giggled, “that sound you made was straight out of a porno.”
One bushy eyebrow raised, “how would you know?”
“I don't live under a rock,” she teased, shoving his shoulder.
He laughed, and a moment passed where she admired him.
“So it was okay?” she asked.
Clayton had to bite his cheek to keep from teasing her about possibly being deaf and blind. “You couldn’t tell?”
“I mean, I could, but I just want to be sure you got everything you wanted.”
Reading through the subtext of her comment, he tipped her chin up, waiting until her eyes found his to tell her, “you know our sex life wasn’t lacking before, right? This was just icing on the cake.”
The unsure smile she gave him twisted his heart. “Have you been walking around for the past month thinking that I haven’t been satisfied?”
“No, not really. I know you like what we have, I just kind of worried. Like, do you want me to be more aggressive in the bedroom all the time?”
“Aggressive?” he repeated, shaking his head. “No. But I wouldn’t mind you telling me what you want more often.” He paused to think of an example. “Like sliding over your clit? I never would have done that on my own, and we both really liked it.”
She nodded, “I’m just so…” she took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. “With Smith, it always seemed I was lacking…something, you know?”
If Clayton ever met Smith, he was going to punch him in the face for hurting her the way he did. She hadn’t even been able to end it on her terms. When she’d tried, he announced he was seeing someone else before she could get all the words out.
After they broke up, it took Clay four months to convince her he was a good enough guy for her to even consider the idea they could be more than friends.
He shut off the water before turning back. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain, but also, this couldn’t keep going on. “I’m really sorry Smith hurt you, Angel, but I’m not him.”
“I know that,” she sniffed and slid off the counter, shuffling to him.
Gathering her against him, kissing her hair, he murmured, “I love you, and I love what we have. You know I’ll tell you if I need something. Can you trust that if I don’t things are good?”
Clayton couldn’t be farther from Smith. Sometimes, she wondered how exactly she’d ended up in this relationship with a man who was so perfect for her.
“Yeah,” she said into his neck.
“Good. You ready for that bath?”
She nodded.
Pulling back, he gently pushed the robe off her shoulders.
The silk puddled around her waist. She pulled at the tie, and it fluttered the rest of the way to the ground. “You’re not coming?” she asked.
His heart still beat a little faster at her exposed skin, despite what they had just been doing. “Do you want me to?”
She nodded.
He scrambled out of his boxers and climbed into the tub before reaching for her so she could sit between his legs.
Leaning back on him, she sighed contentedly.
Letting the tips of his fingers trace memories on her skin, he recalled and relived all the times he’d touched her.
“I love you, Clay,” she said, one hand raising to thread her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “I’m so glad we found each other.”
“I love you too, Angel” he said, wrapping his arms around her to bring her even closer — to shut out the world and everything that had or could hurt her. “I love the life we have, and I don't want to do any part of it without you.”
Deciding to trust his words, she relaxed into him, letting the warm water and the safe cocoon of his embrace soak away her pain until nothing more than a pleasant ache between her thighs remained.
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