Limits (18 page)

“Genevieve,” I groan, ripping my mouth away from hers. “I want you. I want you now. Come to bed.”

She nods, and I stand, lifting under her ass. She circles her legs around my waist, and I walk, blinded by her kisses and deaf from her moans, my free hand in front of me to take the impact of every wall I bang into on the way to our room. I’ve never been happier to have no idea what the hell is going on beyond the moment I’m drowning in.

I stumble through the doorway and drop her on our huge bed, which takes up most of the tiny room.
Our
bedroom. Her hair spills deep midnight against the pure white bedspread. I kiss her neck, pressing her hair back so I don’t miss a single inch of skin. She kneads her fingers into my shoulders, then pulls back with a start.

“I’ve never...I’ve never seen you naked,” she says, her brow furrowed.

I can’t help laughing. “It’s not usually part of the tutoring experience, but for you, I’ll make an exception.” I strip off my t-shirt, undo my pants and let them drop, and stand in front of her in just my boxers.

“Oh.” Her gray eyes are wide, darting up and down my body so quickly, they’re like silver fish in a bowl. “You’re...wow.”

I hold my arms out and chuckle. “I know. Pretty damn amazing, right?”

“Yeah. Yes. I think so.” She sits up on her elbows and cocks an eyebrow my way. “So, how does a scientist get such an awesome body?”

“Microscopes,” I say, walking close to the bed. I like the way her mouth closes tight and her eyes pop wide. “They’re heavy. Good for lifting.”

“Really?” she whispers, her eyes on my abs.

“No.” I kneel on either side of her hips and drop my hands next her shoulders, bridging my body over hers. I lean down to nuzzle her neck, kissing and sucking softly. “I lift weights. Boring, I know. Guys aren’t the big mystery girls always assume we are.”

“Weights? That’s hard for me to picture. I guess I always think of you with...well, with microscopes or your binders. Or petri dishes...” Her voice trails off as she touches my face gently, then lets her fingers explore down my body.

I make sure I hold every muscle tight, glad I started lifting more regularly again when the stress of my impending deportation got real. It’s an old trick leftover from my time in the military: lifting is the most mind-numbing thing I can do. It’s what I did to help adjust to life in the barracks and to give myself a shot at catching up with the guys who’d been building muscles all the years I was buried in books.

Now I’m glad I needed to zone out so much recently, since my hot-as-hell wife is obviously appreciating the efforts.

“That’s very stereotypical,” I say, letting my mouth roam as low as the scooped neckline of her shirt. I kiss where the little bit of lace meets her skin. “I
was
in the army, you know. I’m not just a science nerd.”

“You were?” Her eyes widen, and I think about the day in the barracks when my best friend, Uziel, told me that agreeing to conscription was my only chance of ever getting laid.

He wound up being right.

I drag my thumbs over the straps of her tank and pull them down her shoulders, letting my mouth follow the trail my fingers take. “Three years. Very hard, very lonely labor.”

“Was it awful?” she asks, her breath hitching as I kiss down past the curve of her shoulder, my stubble scratching at the delicate skin.

“Not so bad.” It wasn’t. I liked the discipline. I liked getting away from my father for a few years. I liked the respect in his eyes when I came home after my service was done.

I didn’t like the surprise. He’d figured I was going to dodge my conscription because I’d been so immersed in studies. Or give military life a try, but then prove to myself and everyone else I wasn’t tough enough, and ask for an exemption.

I actually contemplated doing exactly that, but proving my father wrong meant more to me than even my science studies or my reluctance to give three years of my life to the military. Shallow, but true.

“Girls serve too, right?” Genevieve asks, her fingers running up the back of my arms and drawing down over my back.

“Not as long as men, but, yes. A lot of them do.” My first girlfriend was a girl I met in the army. She was as heartless as she was gorgeous, and her constant emotional torture and wild temper cooled me off dating for a long time after we broke up. “I don’t really want to think about them, though.”

“Why not?” She arches under me, her body bucked up off the mattress and pressed hard against mine. I suck air hard through my teeth and blow it back out.

“Because the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen is in my bed, and she just happens to be my wife. Being with you is the only thing I want to think about, Genevieve. Holy hell, you’re beautiful.” I press up on my arms and look down her body. Her shorts are pushed low on her slim hips, and her tank is riding up under the swell of her tits. “If you’re making me this crazy with your clothes on, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to control myself when I strip you naked.”

She blushes at my words. “Adam...” She bites her bottom lip and looks away.

“What is it?” I struggle to keep my voice even.

“If we do this...it’s real. Isn’t it?” Her eyes have gone a dark gray, plagued with a thousand worries. About me, about us.

The words come out of my mouth, and they’re not just to get a vehicle to get her out of her clothes. I mean what I say.

“This has
always
been real. Even if I’d never been lucky enough to marry you, what I feel for you would always have been real, Genevieve.” I take her hand and rub over her rings, the ones I put on her finger when I asked her to marry me and when I vowed to take care of her. Forever.

“What if you hadn’t needed to get married so quickly? Do you think there’s any chance this all would have happened anyway? Later on?” Her hands glide up to my neck and hold tight at the base, pulling my mouth close.

We’re inches apart, and I close my eyes and press my body down over hers to close the space, collecting her in my arms and crushing her against me. “I hate even thinking about that.”

“Why?” Her voice is ribboned with panic. “Why do you hate it?”

“Because I’m afraid...” I kiss her mouth, release my hold on her and run my hands over her arms, tug up, and pin her wrists over her head. “I’m afraid that if I didn’t have my deportation to push me, I would have always admired you. I would have wanted you so badly it was hard to be in the same room with you. But I probably never would have gotten up the courage asked you to be with me.”

The truth squeezes the air out of my lungs, and I kiss her, hard and fast, to keep that alternate reality from playing through my head.

I don’t want to picture a continuum where Genevieve and I flirt, and I help her pass calculus but never quite work up the nerve to tell her how I feel, then she passes her class, negating the need for a tutor, the need for
me
, and moves on. And me? I rot in some lonely lab while she ends up with an idiot who could never appreciate her.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Her legs twine with mine, her teeth nip at my bottom lip. “Why wouldn’t you have asked me?” Her question is nothing but a ragged pant.

I run my hands over her body, coasting over the flat, warm plane of her stomach, spreading my fingers along her underwire and up over the cups, desperate to rip her clothes off.

“Because I wanted you so much, it scared the crap out of me. To be totally honest, it still does.” I press her shirt up, and she nods to let me know—
yes
— she wants it off. She moans as I tug it up and over her head, letting her hair fall back in a wide circle on the mattress as I drop the scrap of cloth onto the floor. I rub my hands over the lacy fabric of her bra, then reach a hand around her back and undo the snap. I pull it away, and her tits fall out, soft and tempting.

Too tempting.

I drop my head and suck in a nipple, loving the way her entire body jerks. She curls up toward me, her fingers raking through my hair and pulling my head closer. I suck and kiss, burying my face in the impossibly sweet smell of her, holding her tight to me with one hand at her back. I use the other hand to undo the button and tug down the fly of her tiny shorts. I push them off her hips and reach back up for the waistband of her panties.

There’s nothing there.

I pull my mouth back from her nipple and look up at her, the need for her so extreme it’s a physical ache. “You didn’t—?”

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head from side to side, her cheekbones a deep pink. “I’d packed them all. I kept out a set I got from Maren and Whit, but I didn’t want to work in it. It’s, um, really...it’s sexy. Do you want to see?”

I sit up on my knees and drag my hands down her body, just hard enough so the imprints of my fingers leave trails on her skin for a few seconds. “I want to. You have no idea how badly I want to. But I need you now. Right now. I can’t even think about being any more turned on than I already am.”

She leans up and tugs at the waistband of my boxers. The fabric is stretched out like a ridiculous tent, and I shake my head when she giggles.

“What’s so funny, wife?” I ask.

She stops giggling at the possessive way the last words comes out, and her eyes meet mine, the pupils pitch black. She tugs hard, and my boxers are on the floor.

“Nothing’s funny.” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy.”

I press her shoulders back so she falls onto the mattress.

“You’re happy?”

I smile down at her, my fingers trailing down her stomach, stopping just inside of her thigh.

She nods. “Mmm. So happy. My husband is an incredibly kind, handsome genius. Like that’s not enough, he has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.”

The sexy words slip out of her mouth so sweetly, it’s jarring.

My hand presses her legs apart, and I’m ready to find her clit and rub her until she’s slick and ready for me. But there’s no need.

“Your pussy is soaked,” I say, my mouth close to her ear. I slide my fingers deep into her, screwing my eyes shut and swallowing hard when a long, hungry groan breaks out of her mouth.

“I want you, Adam. So bad. So damn bad.” Her whimpers shake her body, and I press my fingers deeper, my eyes on her face. I’ve wanted her for so long, and now I can have her.

She’s spread in front of me, wet and ready, begging for me.

She’s my wife. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m about to do.

So why do I feel like I shouldn’t be doing it?

“What’s wrong?” Her hands grasp tightly on my jaw. She pulls up so I’m looking right at her, right at the lush mouth that I want on every part of my body. Everywhere. “Is something wrong?”

“I want you.” Even as I’m debating in my head, my fingers are moving faster in her, sucked into the tight, wet core of her. She winds a hand down between our bodies and closes her fingers around my dick, rubbing and pressing until my breath goes ragged.

“If you want me, take me,” she murmurs, her tongue darting out to lick my ear. She blows softly and that one tiny action spirals everything out of control.

“Damnit, Genevieve. Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She opens her legs wide, and pulls me to her, fitting the head of my dick just where she’s slickest. “Now, Adam. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

I kiss her and press long and slow. She’s so tight, I’m afraid to go any faster, but so wet, I know she’s ready for more. “Genevieve? Is this—?”

“No.” She shakes her head and grabs at my hips.

For a second I think the
’no’
means she doesn’t want this after all, but then her hands grab around to the back of my ass, and she slams me deep into her. My vision goes dark and only comes back in silver pinpricks of bursting light.

“Like this?” I draw out of her and press back in, then do it again and again, faster.

“Like this.” She locks her legs around my hips and rolls on top of me, then pulls me up by the shoulders so our bodies are locked close, She grabs my hands and puts them on her tits. I squeeze them, rolling her nipples under the pads of my thumbs. She says something rapid and sexy in Spanish, and I don’t know what it is, but I want to do whatever makes her keep speaking the language that spills out of her mouth like music.

“You like it like that?” I jerk my hips up hard and fill her completely. She spreads her legs wider and drives deeper on me.

“More,” she begs, her silky black hair over her shoulders and my arms, her mouth twisted like she’s almost where she needs to be.

I pull out and tip her back on the bed, grab one of the throw pillows she just bought, and prop it under her. Her hips are tilted up, and I kneel in front of her. “More?”

She covers her face with her hands and arches her back. “Mmm. Yes!”

I slide deep into her, my thumb rubbing around her clit. “Look at me.”

She separates her fingers and smiles from behind the bars they make. “I am.”

I pull back, almost out, and say, “Let me see your face.”

One eyebrow arches high. “Why?”

I lean forward, grabbing her wrists and pulling her arms to the side as she laughs. “Because I want to see your face when I make you come.”