These things add together, build into an intense experience I never would have expected and yet don’t want him to stop. We’ve been disconnected this week, so stressed about the video and the repercussions, that we haven’t even paused to pay much attention to each other besides the verbal, Are you all right? And How are you doing?

He runs the pad of his finger back down the length of me. In reflex, I push my hips forward some, a nonverbal beg for him to dip his fingers between the lips of my sex so he can discover just how much I want and need him right now. I groan out in frustration when his fingers leave my skin, prompting him to chuckle.

“Is something funny?” I ask him between gritted teeth.

He just shakes his head. “Nope. Just making sure I made that little landing strip you like nice and straight,” he says, tongue between his teeth as he concentrates, oblivious to the sexual torment he is putting me through. But then again, maybe that’s his goal. He can’t be this clueless. He knows my body all too well to know his touch is going to stoke my fires from embers to a wildfire.

“There.” He hmpfs in triumph as he leans back and looks at his handiwork, a smug smirk on his face as he looks up at me. That smug smirk soon turns into a cocky grin once he recognizes the look of libidinous desperation on my face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

He’s definitely toying with me. And hell, I’m all for being played by him. What better way to forget the world outside than lose myself to the skilled hands of my husband?

“Nothing,” I murmur, right before he pulls the hand-held showerhead from its base and stretches the necking so the sprayer faces the delta of my thighs. He turns it on, the pressure of the water creating its own pleasurable friction that causes me to suppress a hiss of desire.

“I think I missed some shaving cream right here,” he says with a concerned look before his fingers touch me again. But this time, they slip between the seam of my pussy and slide up and down the length of it, spreading me apart so the pulse of the water hits my clit. I groan from the sensation as I selfishly offer myself to him by widening my knees and trying to tilt my hips up.

“Good. Got it,” he says as his finger takes a pass over my clit before all touch and water leaves me.

“What?” I yelp, catching that lightning-fast grin of his as he starts to stand up.

“All done,” he says causally, picking up the extra towel on the tub’s edge to pat me dry.

“No, you’re not.”

His amused laugh falls into the silence around us. “Your toes are painted, your pussy is trimmed,” he says, ticking off the tasks on his fingers. “Whatever else could there be to do?” Our eyes lock and then mine slowly drag down the length of his torso as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it outside of the bathtub. He nonchalantly undoes his belt and pulls it through the loops, making a show of throwing it aside as well. When he slides his pants and underwear down his hips his dick stands at attention when he straightens up.

“I don’t know,” I say with a lift of my eyebrows and suggestion lacing my tone.

“Okay. I’m going to take a shower then,” he says with a smirk as he starts to step out of the bathtub, making me laugh.

“No, you’re not.” His eyes are back on mine, hungry with desire, and for a split second I wonder why he’s not taking what’s laid out before him when his want is so blatantly plastered on his face—and his body for that matter.

“I’m not?”

“No.”

For a few moments, we stare silently at each other with words unspoken but so much emotion exchanged. And finally I ask what keeps crossing my mind. “I miss you. I want you.” Something flickers in his eyes I can’t read, but I can tell he’s struggling with. “What’s wrong, Colton?”

And I figure there is no better time than right now to ask since we are both literally and figuratively stripped down. There will be nothing left but the truth between us.

“I started all of this by taking you on the hood that night. I asked you to step outside of that perfectly square box you lived in and look what happened. Fuck yes, I want you, Ry. Every second of every damn day. But with everything that happened . . . I don’t know . . . I’m not touching you until you tell me you want me to,” he admits. While I want to tell him he just was in fact touching me, quite easily turning me on, I also understand how hard this has been for my always “hands-on” husband to not touch and take when he wants to.

I angle my head and stare at him, a smile spreading on my lips as my chest constricts with love for him. “I believe the motto is anytime, any place . . . right, sweetheart?” I ask, imitating perfectly the way he says it.

His grin lights up his face, his posture changing instantly from cautious to predatory. Shoulders broaden, fingers rub together as if he’s itching to touch, and the tip of his tongue wets his bottom lip. His eyes trail up and over every inch of my body; the look in them alone setting my nerve endings ablaze.

“That’s a good motto,” he quips. “Time to put it to use.”

“Yes, please,” I murmur. He bends at the waist and places both hands on the edge of the tub beside my hips. At an achingly slow pace, he leans in and brushes his lips unhurriedly against mine. The kiss is equal parts torment and tantalizing, liquefying the desire already mounting within me. A delicious ache pools in my lower belly.

“Ride me.” Two words are all it takes. He says them with his lips pressed against mine, and it’s all I need to hear. I place my hands on his shoulders so he can help me stand and make it to the bed.

He lies down, propping a pillow beneath his hips, as I crawl beside him. I pull my shirt over my head and take one more taste of his kiss before I do just exactly what he’s asked. Asked? Who am I kidding? More like demanded, but this is one demand I have no problem complying with since I’m on the receiving end of its delirious outcome.

Our lips meet, and I can feel his desire for me in the way his hands run down my arms and over to my torso. His fingers dig into my hips as he helps me settle atop him, our bodies expressing what we need from each other without a single word uttered.

Eye contact is way more intimate than words can ever be.

Rising up on my knees astride his hips, I scoot back so the crest of his dick is just at my entrance. His hand grabs the base of his shaft and runs it back and forth to spread my arousal onto him. And when we’re both slick with my desire, I sink down slowly, inch by perfect inch upon the length of his cock until he’s completely sheathed root to tip. My head lolls back and a moan of appreciation falls from my lips the same time he groans out my name. It may have only been a week since we last connected like this, but in our relationship where we both use physical touch to help say the words we’ve left unspoken, that’s a long time.

I wait a moment—revel in the feeling of him filling me. And there is something about his reaction that is even sexier than the sensation of his dick awakening every erogenous nerve within me. It’s the arch of his head back into the pillow so all I can see from my viewpoint is the underside of his jaw and Adam’s apple—that place I love to nuzzle into. It’s watching the tendons in his neck go taut from the desire I’ve created. It’s seeing the darkened stubble in such contrast to the bronzed skin around it. It’s the feel of his hands still gripping my hips, so his biceps are flexed, and the darkened disks of his nipples are tight with arousal.

All of it—the whole package—is like a visual aphrodisiac that makes the sensation of me rocking my hips over his all that more intense. Then of course the guttural groan of, “Fuck, Ry,” only adds to it.

So I begin to slide up and down on his cock, changing the angle every couple strokes to make sure his crest hits where I need it to so I can get off with him. My God, how I needed this with him. From him.

It’s amazing how we can feel so very far apart, how I can feel at the end of my rope after so much pandemonium this past week, yet when we are like this I feel complete again within minutes. Connected. United. Indestructible.

One.

I rise up, let the crest of his dick hit right were I need it to, and pop my hips forward to add some intensity to my pleasure. The girth of his shaft causes my thighs to tense and tighten over his hips. My body slowly begins to swell with warmth as desire surges within me. Letting my head fall back, I reach behind me and scratch my fingers over the tops of his thighs causing his hips to jut up and fill me more deeply when I thought it impossible.

“Oh God,” I moan, head lolling back, hands falling to my sides. My words spur Colton on, encourage him to grind his hips up to work his dick between the confines of my thighs. And I pull back as he thrusts causing the root of his shaft to slide up and against my clit. My eyes roll back. I moan incoherently as I ride the high of sensation from him rubbing over one hub of nerves before moving right back in to tantalize the other in a two-for-one knockout punch.

“Come on, baby. Your pussy feels so damn incredible. Fuck, I love when you ride me.” His words end on a groan as I begin rocking over him again, filling me with a sense of power, knowing I can knock him breathless.

And we began to move in unison. A slow slide followed by a quick grind by both of us as we take our time moving up the ever-beckoning ascent to climax. Explicit words muttered into the comfortable quiet. Tense fingers press into the flesh of my hips. The veins in his neck taut with strain as he holds on to the control I can slowly sense is slipping from his grip. Eyes locked on each other’s as we tell each other our feelings with actions. Then a quickening of pace. Our breaths begin to labor and our bodies become slick with sweat.