Billie Rose
The house was quiet.
Bellies were full, wine and beer had been consumed to abandon—minus Bailey—and the celebration had gone on long enough that eventually Alex had passed out on the couch, iPad playing YouTube videos on repeat as he slept, the rest of us moving to the back deck.
Shooting the shit and playing a couple of games.
Eventually, though, Bailey had driven herself, Axel, Veronica, and Alex home.
Joel’s mom—who clearly had more self-control than the rest of us—had taken Dessie, Fox, and Ryan (though he hadn’t looked happy about letting a tipsy Veronica go in the other car) home before driving her and Joel’s dad back to their hotel.
Because they didn’t want to “cramp our style.”
They would come and stay the weekend at the house, Joel’s sisters joining us, but tonight, it was just us in the empty house, alcohol sending the room slightly spinning and my libido in hyperdrive.
So, when Joel came out of the bathroom, I took one moment to appreciate my sexy-as-shit man.
Then I launched myself at him.
Naked.
He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and I didn’t miss that he wasn’t wearing his typical boxer briefs beneath them—not just because the waistband wasn’t peeking out above where the material was hanging very, temptingly low on his hips, but also because he—his cock—was lovingly cradled by that silky, slinky fabric.
“Fuck, I love your penis,” I muttered, sliding my hand along the bare skin of his chest, dipping it beneath the waistband of his shorts, groaning when I wrapped my fingers around him.
He chuckled, knocked my hand away. “Yeah, no, Rosie baby. I don’t have my house to myself and my woman buzzed and horny to just rush our way to an orgasm.”
“Orgasms,” I said, trying to sneak my hand down again.
He grinned, took two strides and tossed me on the bed. “Yeah, sweetheart. Orgasms,” he agreed.
But he didn’t immediately pounce on me, didn’t immediately shove those shorts down and fuck me into oblivion.
Nope.
He left me on the bed.
“I—”
A warm hand on the center of my chest, pressing me back down. “Stay there, Rosie baby.”
I didn’t have a chance to disobey.
Because that hand was sliding up, those fingers encircling my wrist—
And a handcuff—fur-lined—was snapping in place.
Around my wrist, around the bed frame.
“Okay?” he murmured, reaching for my other arm, snagging my wrist, but not snapping on the other set in place until I nodded.
And, swear to God, his smile when I did, when he secured my other arm, almost had me orgasming on the spot.
His mouth hit mine, hand drifting down between us, skating over my breasts, roughened fingertips teasing my nipples, but only for a second, only long enough to drive me crazy, to send moisture flooding between my legs, to send heat blossoming through my middle.
I spread my legs, giving the man a hint.
Not one he took.
He just smiled that sexy smile again, drifted his hand back up.
Only this time his mouth joined the party, brushing gentle kisses over my abdomen, closing in on my breasts, getting close to where I was desperate for him—my nipple—but not sucking it deep like I wanted him to, not drawing on it hard enough to give me that mix of pleasure and pain I craved. He just…kissed up to it, kissed the tip of it, then kept on kissing right by it.
Up over my chest.
To my throat.
Stopping at my jaw and paying it homage.
Then to my ear, drawing the lobe between his lips, making my breath catch, goose bumps prickle on my skin. “I love you.”
I inhaled, but before I could give him the words back, he was kissing me, plunging his tongue into my mouth, tangling it with mine, shutting down my brain, making my pussy go slick, my hips undulating, trying to find purchase against him.
But he just shifted, moving his body away from mine, not giving me that friction I so desperately craved.
“No, Rosie baby,” he murmured. “Let me love you.”
How could I resist that—and not just because my hands were restrained.
Because of him.
Because of the way he looked at me.
Because of the slow, teasing strokes of his tongue against mine, the gentle brushes of his mouth over my skin after he’d broken the kiss, the tiny stings of his teeth into my flesh.
All of them coalescing together, a gathering storm of need that threatened to level me even before his lips reached my nipple.
He sucked.
I moaned, head dropping back onto the pillow, arms flexing, wanting to reach for him, for his hair, to hold him against me. But the cuffs kept me in place.
The cuffs.
I shivered.
But not because they were a bad memory, not because they were hurting me. Not this time. I shivered because I fucking loved how my man was playing my body with them in place. I fucking loved how my man was taking a bad memory and turning it into something beautiful.
He released my nipple, took his time worshiping my other breast, winding my need higher and higher, until I felt like I might come apart with just that touch of his mouth.
Only then did he move down my body.
Only then did I get his tongue on my clit.
But just another tease, just another here-and-gone touch.
Before he was kissing his way down my leg, pausing at the back of my knee, flicking out his tongue. Then moving to my ankle, my foot, pressing a kiss to the sole.
“I thought it was Fox with the foot fetish,” I murmured.
He glanced up, held my eyes, his twinkling with humor. “Maybe I’ve developed one with my sexy woman’s feet.”
I snorted, but I felt the sweat gathering at the small of my back, felt the cool brush of air between my thighs as he pulled my leg wider.
He sucked my toe into his mouth.
Without warning.
It was a little rough and slick and hot, and there and gone in a flash.
Because then he was moving up between my legs and his mouth was on me and—
Fingers slipping inside, tongue circling my clit.
And…
Gone, exploding as pleasure rocketed through me.
“Fuck,” he growled. “I love making you come.”
I was slowly swirling down to earth, but those words had me climbing again. “I—”
He lifted my hips to his mouth. “Let’s do it again.”
“I—”
But then his tongue and lips and teeth were working me again, and I was flying toward another orgasm, and—
“Fuck!” I hissed, head spinning from the pleasure, from the wine, from the love I felt for this man.
“One more,” he rasped, nipping at the inside of my thigh.
“I want to come with you inside me.”
He stilled, and I knew he was close to the edge.
“Fuck me, honey,” I managed through heaving lungs. “Fuck me hard and deep and—”
He filled me with a single stroke.
I gasped.
He grinned.
And then he didn’t show me a lick of mercy, a moment of hesitation.
He just…fucked me senseless.
My tits jiggled. My pussy protested and crooned in equal measure, clenching his cock as he thrust deep and fast and hard, convulsing with pleasure when he fucked me over the edge, milking him again and again and again when he lost control and followed me into blissful oblivion.
“Christ, Rosie baby,” he murmured, reaching up and undoing the cuffs, drawing me against him. “I love practicing making babies with you.”
I’d been ready to slide off to sleep, ready to let this man hold me as I all but passed out.
But his words had my eyes flashing open.
My body going stiff.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, rolling me to my back, gazing down at me in concern.
“Nothing,” I lied.
Just…making babies. Again.
“Bullshit,” he said, cupping my jaw. “After everything, Rosie baby. After everything we’ve been through, don’t fucking lie to me.”
I wanted to run.
I wanted to lie.
I wanted to pretend that I hadn’t just heard what I heard, hadn’t just realized earlier in the evening that we’d talked about almost everything…but we hadn’t talked about this.
And now my heart was Joel’s.
His ring was on my finger.
And I worried that what I was going to tell him was going to destroy us.
But he was right.
I couldn’t lie to him, couldn’t keep him out—not now, not after all we’ve been through.
“Honey,” I whispered, tears already stinging the backs of my eyes.
“I don’t want kids.”