Rush and Restraint

Chapter Four

It would sound utterly ridiculous but it truly felt like the stars lined up and something in the gears of fate clicked and everything was as it should be.

Seized by an odd moment of what almost seemed like suspended belief, I reached out and traced the firm curve of Oliver's sculpted shoulder, my fingertips fleetingly grazing his warm, smooth skin as they made their way down his back, dipping by his narrow waist and lifting at the upward slope of his magnificently muscular butt.

Feeling reckless, I let my hand slip past the hard ridge of muscle along his pelvis and coast down to one side of the deep V that dipped right between his legs. My hand slightly trembling, I wrapped my fingers around the large, hot rod that pulsed hard and stiffened even more at my touch. A low, husky moan fell off Oliver's parted lips as I gave it a bold tug, my thumb resting on the moist tip of the rounded crown.

His eyes fluttered open for a brief second before they squeezed close again as I moved my tight fist up and down his length, fascinated by the play of pained pleasure on his face as my hand quickened its pace.

Thrill shot through me at the reminder that Oliver's pleasure was all mine to give.

Seizing the dark, exciting power that fired my blood, I push him on his back with my other hand, barely giving him a second before I straddled his hips, pushing him into the tight, hot space inside of me where I ached to be filled.

Grunting in approval, his hands gripped each side of my hips, lifting me with ease as he pulled back, drawing his length all the way out until only the tip of him remained, and slamming me back down against him just as he arched up, thrusting deep all the way into me. The rhythm grew fierce and erratic, our breathless murmurs and moans muffled by our raw, hungry kisses, building into an explosive release that shattered through our souls until we felt nothing and everything all at once.

Holding myself up above him, I paused to gasp some oxygen back into my system, letting it cool the molten heat in my veins.

"Good morning."

Grinning at his begrudgingly amused tone, I swept my messy, copper-colored hair off my face with an arm and tossed it over my shoulders, treated to the sight of Oliver smiling crookedly up at me, probably looking just as disheveled and worn out as I did.

"Good morning," I greeted back as I sat up straight which had the unintended effect of thrusting my breasts out at him.

He wasted no time in reaching out to cup them, his fingers strumming the tips that hardened back at his touch.

I groaned. "Did I sign up to be your sexual slave last night? I can hardly remember my name."

Chuckling, he lifted himself up to a sitting position with me still straddling his hips, his arms encircling my waist and drawing me close enough to him that he was able to brush a light kiss on my lips. "No. You signed up to be my wife and your name after last night is Mrs. Vivienne Yates."

I couldn't resist beaming like an idiot at that declaration. I shoved some pillows under him so he could lean back at a low enough height to allow me to drape over him and lean my face close to his. "Ah, yes. Silly me. I can't possibly forget a name I've been secretly signing in my diaries."

"You don't have a diary," he said with a smirk.

"I'll start one if only to get a chance to sign each entry as Vivienne Yates."

I would normally scoff at any man who thought I would just die to be theirs because the thought made me gag in its absurdity. It was absurd not because I thought I belonged to no man but because I belonged to one man that none of those lovesick fools could ever measure up to. I belonged to Oliver and if he was feeling damn pleased about it, I wouldn't stop him.