For him, right now, I’d do anything.
“Stop,” he says. I’m facing the bed, away from him. His arm encircles my waist, pulling me against him, and he nuzzles my neck. Gently he cups my breasts, toying with them, while his thumbs circle over my nipples so that they strain against the fabric of my corset.
“Mine,” he whispers.
“Yours,” I breathe.
Leaving my breasts bereft he runs his hands down my stomach, over my belly, and down to my thighs, his thumbs skimming my sex. I stifle a moan. His fingers skate down each garter, and with his usual dexterity, he simultaneously unhooks each one from my stockings. His hands travel around to my behind.
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“Mine,” he breathes as his hands spread across my backside, the tips of his fingers brushing my sex.
“Ah.”
“Hush.” His hands travel down the backs of my thighs, and once more he unclips my garters.
Leaning down, he pulls back the cover on the bed. “Sit down.” I do as I’m told in his thrall, and he kneels at my feet and gently tugs off each of my white bridal Jimmy Choos. He grasps the top of my left stocking and slowly peels it off, running his thumbs down my leg . . . Oh my. He repeats the process with my other stocking.
“This is like unwrapping my Christmas presents.” He smiles up at me through his long dark lashes.
“A present you’ve had already . . .”
He frowns in admonishment. “Oh no, baby. This time it’s really mine.”
“Christian, I’ve been yours since I said yes.” I scoot forward, cupping his beloved face in my hands. “I’m yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine.
Now, I think you’re wearing too many clothes.” I bend to kiss him, and suddenly he leans up, kisses my lips, and grasps my head with his hands, his fingers thread-ing into my hair.