Eager Housewife: a smutty free-use romance (Filthy Scottish Kingpins Book 2)

4. Duncan

The wedding takes fucking forever. The eejit clerk at Blackstone Town Hall tries to say at first he won’t marry us today because of something about banns. He backs down with a gulp when faced with a curl of my lip and a peek at the gun holstered beneath my suit jacket.

I hold myself together. I’m well behaved through the whole buying a dress and getting married thing, but all I can think about is Blythe being my free use wife.

For the wedding, to add to the sheer temptation of her white dress, she has her hair down for the first time since I’ve known her. She normally has it wound together in strands—a braid? A plait? Whatever it’s called. Instead, her hair falls in soft waves to her shoulders. She takes my breath away with how unconsciously beautiful she is.

I’m obsessed. I need her. Now some lizard part of my brain has decided she’ll be mine, it requires every spec of self-control to keep to the plan and do this properly. To be the husband she—well. If not the husband she deserves, then at least the husband she bargained for, and no worse.

Blythe’s nerves emit from her in shaky waves. She’s aiming for calm and poised, I can see that. The dress she chose from the exclusive boutique I took her to is floor length and silky, without swamping her. I long to comfort her. Everything in me clamours to pull her into my arms and tell her I’ll ensure she loves me. I’d burn continents to see her smile. I gave those bastards who conned her with the house share what they deserved. What I won’t do though, is overstep on the deal we made.

But despite her resolve, her movements are uneven. When the clerk draws her aside—still within my sight, and he doesn’t touch her since I guess he doesn’t have a death wish—her nod is firm. He wants to know if she’s here of her own free will, and whatever she says makes him stiffen and frown, but he accepts her choice.

During the ceremony, she doesn’t look away from me. Not for a moment. I didn’t appreciate that soft, innocent blue eyes could burn with desire and nerves simultaneously, or that a mere slip of a girl could reduce me to pure desire. But Blythe does both.

Every time her gaze sweeps down to my waist, then pauses, like she’s too shy to go further, my cock gets harder underneath my kilt. How wrong I am to do this echoes down my spine as she says that she’ll take me as her husband, her eyebrows pinched together.

“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.” She repeats the vows.

“And free use.”

The clerk’s gaze snaps to me, horrified, and the whites of Blythe’s eyes are vivid in the little cream-painted room, morning sun from the window highlighting the far side of her face. He insisted “obey” was antiquated before we began the ceremony, but apparently that’s not what I want, and I don’t need his fucking permission to have my wife vow what she promised.

There’s a second of tense silence, then the clerk begins, “With respect?—”

“And I promise you free use,” Blythe states, her voice shaking. But her chin has come up and her cheeks are pink.

The words are a bolt of electricity between us and right into my heart. A single nod is all the outward sign I allow myself. But inside I’m a battleground of love and lust and possessive, vicious need.

She did it. This sweet girl who’s the same age as my daughter, just vowed that I can take her whenever and wherever I want. That I can slam my cock into her with no warning and fill her up with my come.

Mrs Blackstonewill take everything her husband gives.

A hasty wedding is supposed to cleanse and sanctify my filthy desires, but with every gentle word I’m getting more turned on. My dirty needs are emphasised as the clerk speaks words about love and faithfulness and it’s definitely wrong that when I slide her ring on as pre-come leaks from my cock. I want her now. And while her hand shakes as she pushes the thick gold band onto my finger, she licks her lips. That one movement from her is sexier than full nudity and humping from any other woman in the world.

The filthy age gap between us punches me in the gut as she signs her name next to her date of birth—the same year as my daughter—on the marriage certificate.

When the ceremony is over, I kiss her delicately, while thinking of what I’m going to do to her as soon as we’re alone. She tastes of cherry lip balm and innocence.

The urge to take her right here in the soft yellow light is almost overwhelming.

She’s my wife. The simple thought turns my cock from its always turgid state that’s my response to her presence, to solid granite. I’m throbbing with need.

The only way I keep a grip on my lust is by not looking at Blythe as we walk out of the Town Hall. The drive is a blur. I lift her from the car and carry her into the house. My brain is static and images of me and her, together, as I kick the front door shut behind us.

And that’s it.

We’re married. It’s just me and my housewife, alone in our home, and she promised free use.

I lose it.

I cannot wait another minute. Not one more second. I’ve restrained myself, and now I’ve got nawt left. Zero cool.

I fall to my knees, and lower Blythe to the floor, her sweet arse bumping lightly on the marble.

“What?”

There’s no sane answer I can give, so I say nothing.

She clings to my shoulders as I kick out her thighs and she gasps. I didn’t realise I was going to transform into a slathering beast, but she’s mine and I have to claim her now.

With greedy hands I drag her white skirt up and seize her cunt like it belongs to me. Because it does. Blythe promised me complete access.

But there’s fabric barring my way.

I let out a furious, frustrated growl as I clutch the waistband and yank, uncompromisingly. The thin cotton rips and I shove it into my pocket without removing my gaze from her face.

“I never, ever want to see anything between your legs again that stops me having you.” I sound crazed and animalistic even to my own ears as I grip her pussy to make my point. “Do you understand?”

“Mr Blackwell,” she breathes, and I feel it. I was eager to go down on her first, get her ready with my tongue, but it’s not needed. Her soft little folds are already slick with arousal. My heart crashes against my ribcage and I’m even more desperate than before. I look into her face and shove my kilt up, freeing my erection. I brace myself on my forearms over her.

“I…” She doesn’t finish that thought.

The tip of my cock is at her entrance instinctively, like we’re natural together. No fumbling. I’m notched into the right place and then I’m staring into her gentle blue eyes, and pushing into her.

I’m helpless and I’m the aggressor. I’m utterly in her thrall.