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My Mouth Your Lips, Your Hands My Hips

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“I really like fucking you.”

Henry smiles at the words, opening his eyes to look down at Lizzie. She’s got her hands stacked on his chest, chin resting atop them, and her face is still flushed, eyes still a little hazy.

“Good thing, too,” he says, reaching out to push her hair behind her ear, “seeing as how we got up in front of our family and friends and promised to fuck each other for the rest of our lives.”

She tilts her head slightly, lips pursing. “Hmmm, is that what we promised? I don’t seem to remember that part of the vows.”

Grinning, Henry tucks an arm behind his head, settling deeper into the pillows. He never talked all that much after sex before Lizzie, but he likes it, these bantery moments they have as they lie in their bed, sated and lazy. As though sex is always the natural endpoint of their verbal sparring, and as soon as it’s over, they start the journey again.

“Well, they use euphemisms,” he tells her now. “All that ‘love, honor, and cherish’ stuff. So they don’t scandalize the grandparents.”

“Ahhh, I see now. That’s sensible.”

“Very.”

She’s tracing a fingernail through his chest hair now, scratching lightly, and Henry watches her, wanting to kiss her again, wanting to stroke her hair where it drapes tangled over her shoulders. How he can still be this bloody mad for her after a year of marriage he doesn’t know, but it’s a madness that shows no signs of letting up.

She looks up at him now, her lips curving, and then she’s sliding down his body, her hair trailing over him, and Henry is already tensing up, the hand not currently curling itself around the back of her neck clutching the duvet cover.

“Was there anything about this in our vows?” she asks, all faux-innocence even as she wraps a hand around his cock, her breath warm against him as she dips her head.

“I’m sure it’s in there somewhere,” he manages to say, the words only slightly strangled when her tongue touches him. “Probably in the Latin bits.”

That makes her laugh. Usually he wouldn’t be much of a fan of a woman laughing in this particular position, but it’s another thing he’s learned he likes with Lizzie. He likes surprising her, likes the way her shoulders curl in when she laughs, the way she dips her chin, her eyes bright.

She lays her cheek there on his hip, her hand still stroking him, her lips pink and slightly parted, but it’s the look on her face, that soft, fond expression he never thought to get from her that makes his chest feel tight, his breath coming a little faster.

“I really fucking like you,” she says quietly, and  Henry gets the sense that those words were harder for her to say than her earlier statement. Fucking is one thing, but liking? That’s still new territory for them, and his hand slides up to cup the back of her head, gently tugging her back up because how can he not kiss her now?

Their mouths meet, her tongue sliding against his in a way that has him tightening his grip on her, her own hands braced on his chest.

“I really fucking like you, too,” he breathes when they part, and her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile before she’s maneuvering herself back down the bed, and this time he doesn’t even think about trying to banter when her mouth closes around him, sucking and licking, her hand moving even as her lips undo him completely.

She’s so fucking good at this it should be illegal, and he almost feels sorry for every man who’s never had the experience.

Almost.

The first time she’d done this has been in the front seat of his car after their rehearsal dinner, and then, he’d suspected it was more about proving something- to him or to herself, he hadn’t been sure- but it had still been good.

This is better, though, and even though he’d thought himself totally satisfied earlier, he can feel his orgasm build after just a few minutes.

And when she lifts her head, her mouth coming off him with a nearly obscene wet sound, and says, “I can taste myself on you,” he’s gone.

She strokes him through it, her gaze bright and avid which just makes it better, and Henry sags back against the sheets, his heart pounding, and he swears there are spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Lizzie twists to reach down beside the bed, the move doing amazing things for her body that he’d probably notice were he not so wiped out, and comes back up with the silk camisole she was wearing earlier.

She swipes it across his belly, the material cold and soft, making him wince slightly, and when she tosses it back to the floor, he knows he’ll never be able to see her wear it again without thinking of this night.

Settling back into his arms, Lizzie sighs and nuzzles his jaw, pressing a kiss there. “So what else did we promise to do to each other in front of our Nans?” she asks, and even as he closes his eyes, Henry huffs out a laugh.

And so it starts again.