Page 143 of The Temporary Bride

“Tristan.” I press the word against his mouth, because if he keeps talking like this, I’m going to cry again, and that’s not what I want right now.

“I missed you. Every day. Every single day.”

“I missed you too.” It comes choked with emotion, because it’s been sitting in my chest for weeks and it’s a relief to just say it. “So much.”

He makes a rough sound and pulls me closer. Then we’re kissing again, his hands are everywhere, and I stop thinking in sentences. The car moves through the city, but I’m barely aware of it, too focused on the feel of him, the press of his mouth against mine, and the fact that the weeks of distance and hurt are finally, finally fading.

His hands slide up the outsides of my thighs, pushing my dress up, and when his fingers find the waistband of my panties, I whimper into his mouth.

“I need to be closer to you.” Even I can hear how desperate I sound.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He hooks his fingers in the delicate fabric and pulls. There’s a tearing sound as my panties give way, and the noise of it in the quiet car sends heat rushing through me. He drops what’s left of them somewhere on the seat, his eyes on mine.

“Ride me,” he says, one hand sliding up my thigh.

I reach between us and work around the fabric of my dress to get to his belt, and we fumble with it together, both of us clumsy with urgency, until he’s free. His cock is hot and hard in my hand for just a second, long enough for me to feel him pulse against my palm, and then I line up and start to sink down.

The sound that comes out of me is raw and involuntary, and his groan mixes with it, his hands flying to my hips. It’s been long enough that my body needs a moment to adjust. The stretch of him is more overwhelming than I remembered. I hold still with him buried inside me, my forehead dropping to his shoulder, just breathing.

“Okay?” he asks against my temple.

“Yes,” I manage. “Just give me a second.”

His hands trace a path up and down my back while I adjust, waiting patiently even though every muscle of his body is tight from the effort of staying still. Then the car moves over a bump in the road, and the shift makes us both hiss.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his grip on me tightening.

I lift up slowly, feeling every inch of him as I rise, then sink back down. Heat floods my body from a spot low in my belly all the way up my spine, coming out as a husky moan. I rise up and drop down again, finding a rhythm, and his head falls back against the seat.

“Just like that,” he says. “Keep going. You feel so fucking good. God, you have no idea.”

I keep riding him as the car occasionally shifts us on the seat, both of us still mostly clothed, my dress bunched at my hips and his pants shoved down to his thighs. It’s messy and urgent and somehow so fucking perfect. His hands grip my hips and help guide me when I start to lose the rhythm, pulling me down to meet his upward thrusts. The sound of it fills the small space of the car, and I stop caring about the driver on the other side of the partition.

He talks to me between strokes, telling me how good I feel, how much he’s missed being inside me, how he barely survived the time apart. His mouth finds my neck, my jaw, the corner of my mouth, never staying anywhere for long, like he can’t decide where he wants to be and wants to be everywhere at once.

“I’ve thought about this every day,” he says against my neck. “Every single day you were gone, this is what I thought about. You. Just you.”

I move faster, chasing the pleasure that’s building, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He matches my pace, his thrusts growing harder and deeper, the car absorbing the movement around us.

“I’m close,” he grunts, his jaw tight, his grip on my hips almost bruising now. “I can’t hold back. You feel too good. Come with me. Please.”

The desperation in his voice pushes me over the edge.

I come just as he does, my pussy clenching hard around him, and I feel him fill me as I shudder through it, wave after wave, both of us shaking through it together until our bodies start to go slack in the aftermath.

For a moment, we just stay like that, me slumped on top of him as he holds me steady with his arms banded around me. His heart is going as fast as mine, his chest heaving against me.

When I finally pull back and lift my head, the look on his face hits me hard enough that I can’t speak. He grips my chin and kisses me again, and even though it’s soft, it’s so fucking possessive.

Once I can breathe regularly, I start to climb off his lap. His cock is still slick with our combined release, and when he catches me looking down at it, his hand closes around my wrist.

“We made a mess, wife,” he says, a sinful smile curving his lips. “Clean me up?”

His words go right to my clit, sending a shock of arousal through me. Biting my lip, I kneel on the seat beside him. I wrap my fingers around him and drag my tongue slowly up his thick cock, tasting both of us. He makes a strangled sound, his hand finding the back of my head as I work my tongue over him thoroughly, lapping up every last drop. His grip in my hair tightens, and he exhales hard through his nose, his hips shifting on the seat.

The car slows and rolls to a stop.

“Thank fuck,” he groans.