Chapter Thirty-Three Tiernan #2
Her face was now inches from my cock, and I’d never been this turned on in my entire bleeding existence. God, look at her. Something was very wrong with society, that it was legal for this scene to happen.
Her. Virginal, innocent, sweet to the point of toothache.
Me. Murderer. Psychopath. Pervert.
Lila tilted her head, studying my cock like it was a medieval painting.
“Are they all the same size?” Her head snapped up, her pale blues meeting my eye.
“No.” I was glad she couldn’t hear the strain in my voice. “Size, length, and width vary.”
She frowned, tapping her lips pensively. “Makes sense.”
“Why?”
“Because if…he…had one like yours, I don’t think I’d have survived.”
Something primal kicked me into high gear at her words.
I ducked down and caught her lips in mine to shut her up. She gasped into my mouth but opened up for more. Our tongues found one another. I sank to the mattress, laying her down. I braced my arms on either side of her head without mounting her. I didn’t want her to think about that arsehole.
Our kiss deepened, and Lila reached for my cock between us. At the touch of her silky hand, it spasmed and pulsed, leaking into her palm. She moaned into my mouth and patted it like it was a dog’s head. I didn’t even care. It was perfect. She was perfect.
She was playful and confident and fearless. I no longer set the pace of what was happening. The conqueror became the conquered. And I knew, with amusing, dark finality, that I was completely, tragically, wretchedly hers.
She used her free hand to hold the side of my face, stroking her fingers along my cheekbone.
Her mouth moved over mine, looking for different angles to deepen our kiss.
Meanwhile, the hand that worked my cock discovered that if she stroked it up and down, it instinctively thrust into her.
She did that while I went through Rhyland’s idiotic video in my head, trying to remember all the right moves, and coming up blank.
Lila let go of my cock to tug her nightgown down all the way. She fumbled with the material. I pushed myself backward on my knees, watching her.
You bleeding idiot. You should be doing that to her.
“Should I…” I cleared my throat. “I mean, should I?”
Did you just mumble, motherfucker?
She bit her lower lip, nodding.
I unbuttoned her gown, searching her face intently for signs of discomfort.
My wife looked alarmed and a little overwhelmed, but not like she wanted to stab and shoot me simultaneously, like our so-called honeymoon.
“I want you to put your penis in my mouth. See why you like it so much.”
“No,” I growled, a little too quickly, a little too harshly. “This is not about me. It’s about you.”
“Shouldn’t it be about both of us?”
She reached for my face again and slowly removed my eye patch. I held my breath, forcing myself not to look away and hide.
“I think you are beautiful,” she voiced out loud, to bring the point home. “And if I had to choose a husband all over again, I’d still choose you.”
I leaned down, taking her right nipple in my mouth, giving it a good suck.
It was sweet and warm and smelled of her coconut body lotion.
Lila arched, asking for more, and I used my left hand to tease her other nipple, tracing it with my finger, gently stroking and tugging, testing different pressures to see what made her toes curl.
Her tits were… Ah, fuck, was there even a word for this? I couldn’t get enough. My tongue lapped against every inch of her right breast, then moved to the left. All the while, she was squirming, thrusting her pelvis upward, begging for something she didn’t understand, and I didn’t know how to give.
I kissed my way down her torso, not because I remembered Rhyland did that in the video—I couldn’t recall my own bleeding name, let alone the tutorial—but because I wanted to know what every corner of her body tasted like.
I ran my tongue along the curve of her waist, hands gripping her ass as she squirmed breathlessly—ticklish, duly noted—kissed her hip bones, nuzzled my nose into her pussy through her panties, inhaling deeply.
I realized her scent was an aphrodisiac; it made my cock leak precum all over the sheets.
I wanted to rip her panties to shreds and gorge on her pussy without even knowing what it tasted like. But I had to be careful with her.
No, wanted to be careful with her. I’d won the most precious thing she had to give—her trust—and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.
I moved my hands across her legs, massaging them, working my way up; I sat back on my knees, snatching her right leg by the ankle, pulling her panties off.
Her pussy was a work of art, and I’d visited most museums in the Western world.
An achingly tiny triangle, protected by golden curls a shade darker than her hair.
No one taught her to wax, trim, shave, seduce. And yet she was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
I kissed each of her toes, maintaining eye contact. She purred and stretched across the mattress like a lazy cat. I kissed the inside of her ankle, moving south, to the back of her knee, kissing and lapping at her inner thigh, slowly, slowly, giving her the chance to stop me, to change her mind.
She didn’t.
My mouth watered the closer I got to her pussy. My cock twitched uncontrollably.
I stopped at her center, giving her a slow, earnest lick from arse crack to clit.
She moaned so hard I thought she was going to wake people in Nebraska.
Stroking her inner thighs, I started licking, using my free hand to feel for her elusive little clit. I wasn’t completely hopeless. I knew its general whereabouts. When I found it, I started massaging it.
My wife tasted incredible. Of clean skin and sugar water and an addiction I never thought I’d pick. My tongue dug deeper, penetrating her, my thumbs spreading her wider. She arched tautly, like a drawn bow.
“Tiernan,” she choked out my name, speaking it in her sweet, soft voice. “What are you doing?”
“Playing with my food,” I murmured into her core, knowing she couldn’t read my lips.
She reached for my hair. Gave it a good, earnest tug. I froze, lifting my head up to watch her.
“Shit. Was that too much?” I felt myself honest-to-god bleeding blushing. The fuck was wrong with me?
Lila snapped her head up from the pillow, face pink, eyes unfocused. She wrenched her fingers from my hair, yanking out a good portion of it.
“Why did you stop?” It was amusing, how I could hear her tone based on her sharp movements.
“You pulled my hair. That was our safe word.”
Her eyebrows slammed together. “I was close.”
“You were?”
“Yes. And I wanted to see what it feels like. Go back to it.” She pushed my head between her legs hurriedly, and I laughed.
I went back to work, picking up the pace. Every time I thrust my tongue into her, her muscles squeezed, trying to trap it inside. And every time my finger pad flicked just below the clit, she writhed and whimpered.
She was close again.
So was I.
Without realizing it, I was rubbing my cock against the mattress, seeking friction. Lila yanked at my hair again. This time I glanced upward before stopping. She thrashed and moaned with abandon. I continued.
Her hips jerked, trying to escape my tongue, my lips, my fingers, and I clamped a hand around her waist, pinning her to the bed.
She came hard against my tongue with a rush of liquid heat. I knew, because I could barely pry it out of her cunt. A cunt that was now dripping.
My desire for her was violent.
I slurped it, rubbing myself faster against the bed. She whined in pleasure, stretching her leg.
My orgasm hit different this time. It built, like a castle, brick upon brick, curling skyward, looming over everything else, until there was nothing but pleasure, and her scent, and her flesh.
I came inside my hand so hard my vision blurred. Every muscle in my body was rigid. Every inch of it slicked with sweat. I buried my face in the crook of her knee, breathing her in.
“Oh, fuck.” I kissed her kneecap, chuckling, my lips skimming along her smooth bronze flesh. “Jesus Christ. That was…perfect.”
I wasn’t an empath, but I did feel pity for the rest of the male population for living their wretched lives without knowing what my wife felt like.
I stood up and proceeded to the bathroom to wash my hands.
Returning two minutes later, I found my wife asleep, her head resting on the silk pillow, mouth slightly agape.
I pulled the duvet over her, kissed her forehead, and turned off the light. I paused in front of the bathroom again, only for a nanosecond, before deciding there was no way I was washing that woman off my skin.
Instead, I took her “pissed off” spot in the recliner in the corner of the room and sat back, watching her sleep.
All eight hours of the night.