Rare and Precious Things (The Blackstone Affair #4)(36)
Author: Raine Miller

The tight squeeze of her grip around my c**k as I slid in deep sucked the breath right out of me. From base to tip, she took me in, accepting the invasion I couldn’t curb. I’d never curb my driving need to be inside her. Impossible. My only truly safe place in the world.

As the frenzy built, I felt her clamping down with each penetration of my c**k into her slick quim. She started to wheeze and circle her hips to get the friction where she needed it to be. I pushed deeper with every downward stroke, and saw the look she gets when it’s about to happen. Triumph. She got off on making me come just as much as I did with her.

My c**k swelled in preparation for the blast.

Her eyes blazing up at me, I clasped her neck and held her in place, rotating my thumb around and down into her mouth. She wrapped her tongue around my thumb and sucked. My balls tightened and let go, a flood of sheer blinding pleasure washing over me as I emptied into her.

I did manage to move off to the side before I collapsed, coherent of the baby, and not wanting to crush. Brynne breathed heavily against me, silently coming down from the peak, along with my c**k still pulsing inside her. I drew my hand away from her neck, down to a breast, and filled my palm. I clearly felt her heart beating beneath the super-soft barrier of flesh. My heart.

“What was that?” she asked after a moment, her expression difficult to read as her eyes burned rather green in the lamp light.

“That was you being well and truly f**ked by your man, my beauty,” I teased, plumping the breast I was holding in my hand and giving her a slow grind of my hips.

“Not the f**king, Ethan. That, I understood perfectly when you ripped my nightgown off. I want to know why you abandoned me all night to get drunk at your best friend’s wedding.”

My c**k withered, as I gained some clarity about what she might be feeling. There was hurt and sadness in her sorrowful eyes, and even the watery glistening of tears.

The feeling of euphoria vanished as I became aware of what I had just done to her.

I don’t deserve her, and I never will.

I watched his smug grin fall away to be replaced with remorse. “Did something happen, Ethan? Did you decide that you made a mistake in marrying me? Are you—unhappy…with me and the baby…because my body is ch-changing?”

I had to ask him. He knew how I operated, and it was by truth. The thing was, I’d always felt that about Ethan. He’d always been so blunt and truthful to me from day one. I loved that about him. He told me what was on his mind, sharing his desires, helping me to understand what he wanted and needed. But this awkward detached behavior really confused and hurt me.

“Oh, baby…no! Fuck no!” He shook his head vehemently. “Marrying you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Brynne. You think I am unhappy about you and the baby? Why?!”

He tightened his hand at my breast and loomed over me, his face very close, his dark blue eyes searching, flicking over me as if staring intently would reveal some mystery to him.

“You hurt my feelings. You left me there at the table and went off and started drinking. You never do that, Ethan. Why did you dance with Gwen and not with me?” The pitiful questions tumbled out of my mouth, humiliating me, but I couldn’t help it. Blame the hormones.

“Who?”

“Gwen, the skinny blonde.”

He didn’t look any less confused.

“Dillon’s date,” I said with emphasis, wondering if he was still drunk.

“Ahh… Yeah, her,” he grunted dismissively, “she pulled me out there, and I was too smashed, and too distracted to say no.”

“This does not make any of what you did tonight okay with me.” He needed to hear my unfiltered thoughts and know this sort of behavior would never fly.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said earnestly, before dropping his mouth to mine. He kissed me softly; very gentle and very loving, settling into his pattern of our after-sex make-out session. Long drawn out sweeps of tongue and lips, with no other purpose other than showing me he did indeed love me. I did feel considerably better, I’ll admit, but I was still confused about what had transpired tonight at the reception.

When he finally pulled back and gave me his eyes again, I sensed something big was going to be revealed.

“I love you so much, Brynne, and I can’t make it in this life without you. I’ll never regret our baby, and I’ll never stop loving you, or our children. You’re my life, and you’re stuck with me. And you are the most beautiful woman in the world. In the f**king world! Do you understand me, Brynne?” He sounded harsh, but the look on his face was pleading.

“Y-yes.” I sucked in a sob, feeling over-emotional and relieved, but still needing some answers from him. “S-so what happened t-tonight? Something happened, right?”

He settled on his side and faced me with his hand on my hip, as if he had to have physical contact with my body in order to tell me whatever he needed to say. “Yeah, baby, something happened.” He pulled me against him and pressed his lips to my hair and breathed in deeply. “Remember the woman who wanted to meet you at dinner? Sarah?”

“Yes. She seemed very nice, and friendly. How do you know her, Ethan?” Sarah was a beautiful woman, and charming in conversation. I recalled her seemingly genuine interest in how Ethan and I had met. She’d asked about my due date, but it had all felt socially normal to me, nothing weird.

“She came to the wedding today to pay her respects I suppose, but she had to leave because it was too hard for her to see Neil and Elaina, and you and me, living our happy lives with people we love.” His hand at my hip began to rub in a slow motion. “Sarah Hastings was married to someone who served in the SF with Neil and me. He didn’t…m-make it out of Afghanistan.”

“Oh…that’s horrible. I imagine you and Neil were close to him…”

“Yeah. He was under my command—in my squad.”

Ethan appeared calm as he talked, but I felt that he was harboring some deeply held grief or guilt about this man’s death in the war. I could only imagine whatever the experience had been for him, was horrific.

“You cared about him,” I said gently, not wanting to ask questions that would hurt him further. It was better for me to make statements of fact, rather than ask for more than he felt comfortable sharing.

“Mike Hastings was the very best of soldiers. Strong, loyal—a fighter to the bitter end. The kind of soldier you want at your back when the shit goes FUBAR,” Ethan said, in a faraway voice, weighted with respect and honor for his fallen comrade.