He lay down.

I climbed on top of him.

His large hands spanned my hips where they straddled his belly, and he whispered, “My Silence.”

I was again not listening.

All that skin available to me?

A feast.

I dipped in and went right for a nipple, like he’d done.

I lost a hand on my hip and got fingers clenched in my hair as he grunted, “Silence.”

Oh no.

My head shot up.

“Was that wrong?” I asked.

He lifted his head from the pillow and ordered roughly, “Do not stop.”

I stared at the expression on his face, the heat in his eyes, and something swept through me.

Something beautiful.

Something powerful.

No.

Something invincible.

I mewed my triumph and moved up, taking his mouth.

He kept his fingers in my hair and wrapped an arm around me, giving it.

That studded tongue.

His taste.

I drank. I explored. I ravaged.

And then I got greedy, wanting more.

I took that too, tugging at his beard with my teeth, licking his neck, nipping his collarbone, drawing deep at his nipples, tracing the boxes at his belly with my fingertips.

I had made it to the waistband of his leather trousers with my lips before he hauled me up, guided my mouth to his and it was he who ravaged my mouth as he took possession of my hand.

And without delay, he pressed it into the waistband of his trousers and wrapped my fingers around his rigid shaft.

He grunted.

I gasped and broke our kiss, resting my forehead against his and gazing hazily in his flaming eyes as he steered my hand in stroking.

“It feels like steel,” I whispered in wonder.

And it did, solid and hefty.

He made a low, animal noise and took control of my thumb, rolling it over the tip.

“And silk,” I breathed.

I felt his other hand shift, and suddenly we had room to move for he’d unbuttoned and freed himself.

As well as our hands.

I peered down and watched us stroking his magnificent shaft.

“And beautiful,” I finished in marvel.

Done with his errand, Mars snaked his hand around the back of my thigh and in, gliding his fingers through my wet folds and tweaking my nub.

I gasped and pressed into his touch, even as I protested, “I’m supposed to—”

“Quiet, wife,” he grunted, his hand over mine at his shaft tightening.

I felt every ridge and vein, I felt his powerful body tighten and strain under me, I watched from close as his expression darkened gorgeously.

And I wanted more.

I also realized that he’d shown me the way.

So I took it.

I slithered down his body, losing his touch, to his annoyed, “Silence.”

I ignored that too.

Also, when he’d realized my destination, I ignored his soft, “Wife.”

And on a downward glide of our hands, I drew him into my mouth.