Until the End of Time by Nikki Winter Page A

stuffed with
every inch of that carnal thing she couldn’t recreate with the thrust of her
own fingers. She moved to take him deeper and he blocked her.
    “Sunny…”
    “Hush,” he told her in a sotto voice, his breath
warming her chin. “Just…feel me.”
    Nyssa swallowed, trying and failing to calm the beat
of her heart.
    “Right there, hovering inside of you,” her husband
went on. “I know what you want—to move, to slide over me until your spine
dips and your mouth goes dry.” She nodded rapidly. Clear words eluded her. “But
for just one moment. I want you to appreciate the sensation.” He pushed in a
fraction more and stopped as a groan left him. “The clamp of your cunt around
me… cara , there is absolutely nothing else that
will ever be as good as this.”
    Her breath hitched.
    Sansone raked his teeth
over her collarbone, her throat. “That this belongs to me and me alone, that I
can have it whenever I want, makes me want to beat my fucking chest.” He
hummed. “And it does belong to me and
me alone, doesn’t it, Nyssa?”
    Pride. Be. Damned. “Every corner,” she panted in
answer.
    Could laughter be depraved? If so, her spouse had it
down to an art form. “I don’t need to tell you that you own me, do I?” he
queried, haltingly working her over the portion of his length that he’d speared
her with.
    Her head swayed at the same pace of her hips; jarring
in its movements.
    “Good.”
    The croon of his voice ceased and he slammed her down
completely. She gasped and he caught the surprised sound with the stroke of his
tongue, smoothly guiding her waist into a wind that sent their moans echoing
around the moderately sized room. Jesus Christ had it always felt this good? Was she out of her mind to deny herself
something so intoxicating?
    He’d told her to appreciate the sensation and she
couldn’t pick one to focus on. The tunneling of his member digging away at what
little logical thinking she had left, the feathering of her walls over every
vein and ridge, the band of his arms, the rasp of his pecs against her nipples or the potent drag of his mouth. All of these served to
make her babble.
    His hold tightened and the jolt of her motions became
disjointed and out of rhythm. “ Sansone …”
    “Want me to come inside you?” he grated in her ear.
“Give you every ounce of what I have?”
    She buried her face in his shoulder, whimpering.  
    “Ask me,” he commanded. “Ask me to come inside you.”
    Nyssa dug her knees into his sides and lifted her
head. She petted his jaw, kissed him wherever her lips could find room and
pleaded as her climax crept up with a blinding speed, “Come inside me.”
    He took her mouth again. His tongue punished her, his
dick rewarded her and the moment she felt him swelling inside, she clenched
down and exploded.
     

Eight
     
    Tiring of
this wasn’t even a possibility. The welcoming lull of his wife’s thighs as he
languidly rocked into her, gulping air when his lungs allowed it. Otherworldly
may have been an excessive description to others, but he couldn’t be bothered
to care. They didn’t—and would never—know what it felt like to have
Nyssa’s complete supplication beneath them. There was something about having
your partner leave themself in the palm of your hands with no questions asked
that was heady. Intimacy had been confused with a good fuck on one too many
occasions. However, marriage had taught him that the affection between them lay
in their ability to read what one another wanted before it was voiced.
    Sansone didn’t have to ask
her to tighten the nestle of her legs or tease the
space between his shoulder blades. She’d watched his reaction to the caress
enough times to know that was what he needed, that was what heightened his
enjoyment. She didn’t have to tell him that she wanted her nipple bitten and
his hand putting pressure on either side of her throat. There was a road map
already drawn; one that he could follow blindly.