“You know, you can touch it if you want to.”

“I will.” I ease the waistband back to his skin, even though part of me is annoyed at depriving myself of the view. “Later, though.”

His incredulous noise, strangled and sputtering, makes me laugh. Again, he tenses beneath me, but this time it isn’t arousal or anticipation. It’s the tight, thrumming tension of a predator poised to strike.

Uh—

Shane rolls us before I get to the oh, pinning me under him.

“No. No later—you started this, you’re going to finish it.” Dark and intense, his gaze is hungry. “Now.”

“Can I pee first?” I blink up at him, trying not to look like I’m planning something.

“I suppose.” He rolls onto his side, freeing me.

“Thank you,” I say primly. Slipping off the bed, I move like I’m heading to the bathroom. Once I’m out of easy grabbing distance, I turn to look at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you fuck me.”

Amusement crosses his face. “Thank you, I think?”

I whirl and bolt for the bedroom door.

“Damnit, Claire,” Shane barks from the bed. The sound of his feet hitting the hardwood floor sends a rush of delight skittering through my bones.

“If you can catch me,” I shriek over my shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time. Racing through the foyer and out the front door, I’m focused on the tree line on the far side of the lawn. Damp grass clings to the soles of my feet, the night air cool on my face. Behind me, I hear Shane closing in. Ahead, the forest waits, darkness stretching between the trees. Shane’s breath is at my back. I cross the tree line as he lunges for me. Predators wait in the void, occupying the spaces moonlight can’t reach. In the heartbeat before the hunt turns into the fight, one thought fills my mind:

There better be room for two more.

EPILOGUE

Three Years Later Shane

I wake to lips on my neck. Our room is dark. I can’t see my wife, but I feel her breasts pressed to my chest. Smell her shampoo.

“Are you awake?” she whispers.

“I am now.” My voice is a grumble, sounding far more irritated than I feel.

“Don’t get mad at me.” Claire trails her fingertips down my stomach. “This woke me up. You’re poking me in the back.”

She grasps the “this” in question, and I bite back a groan. Sleep clings to the edge of my mind, dulling everything but how good her touch feels. I reach for her, clumsy.

“I’m not sure you’re actually awake,” she teases, her grip loosening.

“I’m sure I’m awake enough to fuck you.”

“You’re so sleepy, though. Maybe I should fuck you.” She nibbles along my neck before capturing my mouth with hers. It’s a dominating kiss, one that makes me want more.

I pull away long enough to answer, “You should.”

Claire retakes control of the kiss, one hand cupping my jaw as the other grips my cock. Her lips are soft, but she’s kissing me hard, her tongue stroking into my mouth. I’m high off her taste, the way she’s shifting her body against me. I want my hands and mouth everywhere, all at once, but she keeps me together, redirecting my hands where she wants them, controlling the speed of the kiss, and how much she lets me grind on her stomach. I’m relieved when she pushes my hip, guiding me onto my back.

“Hands on the bed. Grab the sheets.” The order rolls off her tongue like she was born to give it.

I fist the fabric beneath me without hesitation. My wife is breathtaking when she submits. But when she takes control, using me for her pleasure and deciding when I’m allowed mine? Magnificent.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. I can see her silhouette in the moonlight as she straddles my hips. She rises, positioning my cock at her entrance. I ready myself for a rush of pleasure, but Claire sinks so slowly it almost hurts. It’s a tease, having her on me but not riding. I want it to happen now. Unlike her, I don’t switch roles effortlessly. Being the fuckee instead of the fucker makes me impatient and needy, something she enjoys immensely.

I push up into her, releasing the bedding to grab her hips and move her body where I want it. I don’t think about her instructions. I don’t think about anything in my sleep-drunk, desperate state. It’s instinct driving me, a primal, feral craving that demands her.

It’s the wrong move. Claire dismounts, the loss of her warmth more agonizing than her slow descent. Kneeling beside my thigh as I whimper, she grabs my cock but doesn’t stroke it.

“Let’s get this straight.” Her voice is even, and she grips me tighter when my cock jerks in her hand. “Right now, I’m fucking you. So be a good boy and grab the sheets, okay?”

The voice that answers, “Okay,” doesn’t sound like me. It’s strangled, needy, and even after three years, I struggle to believe it’s mine. In my head, it’s Claire who should sound like this. She often does, but not when she takes control.

Right now, I’m the one gasping a ragged breath when she finally, mercifully, begins to stroke my cock. I’m the one letting out a choked groan when she eases back onto me, a tortured “Fuck” when she begins to ride me. I come as undone for her as she does for me. I’m the one saying, “Don’t stop, for the love of god, don’t stop.”

“That’s my good boy.” Her hips glide in a lazy circle. It’s good, but it isn’t enough. I want to drive into her. Or flip her onto her back. I can’t see her fingers, but I know when she starts touching her clit. She tightens around me, her movements growing more urgent.

There’s nothing but the sound of our bodies, slick and sliding in the dark. Exhales growing more uneven as Claire takes us closer to the edge. The buildup is intoxicating torture. I used to think of myself as self-controlled, but now I know I’m not, not when it comes to her. I’m struggling to keep from grabbing her hips and moving her body in the way I know would set me off.

I grip the sheets tighter as every breath brings me toward release. Claire’s shuddering on me now, thighs spreading farther apart as she takes everything she needs. Her arousal runs down my shaft, dripping onto my balls. She’s quivering, so close.

“I’m going to come.” Her voice is breathy, making me harder. “And you aren’t.”

That clears some of the pleasure fog from my brain. “What?”

“Not until I say you can.” Her fingers dig into my chest the way mine are digging into the sheets. There’s a hard inhale, a gasp that sounds almost pained. Her pussy clamps on my cock, her orgasm sending wave after wave of pleasure through me.

I’m going to come; don’t think I can stop it. My balls tighten up, and my stomach tenses. There’s nothing in my mind except how fucking incredible she feels.

Oh fuck, this is i—

My cock smacks against my stomach, rock hard and straining. Claire’s silhouette writhes over my thighs, and I hear her gasping through the end of her orgasm. She got off me. I was about to come, and she got off me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frustrated in my life.

“What the hell, Claire?” I groan.

“I said no,” she hisses, a wildcat in the night. “Not until you beg for it.”

This is new.

“I don’t beg,” I tell her. My voice doesn’t sound as sure as I’d like it to.

“Okay. I guess you’ll be taking care of this yourself, then.” She leans forward, and her breath hits my tip a second before she presses a sloppy kiss on it. I can’t keep myself from thrusting up, trying to slip my cock between her lips. Pussy, mouth, ass, I don’t care. I need to be inside her. There’s no using my hand after having her. Looks like I’m about to learn how to beg.