Chapter Twenty-Six
HIS brEATHS ARE the first thing I hear.
They are what wakes me up. All heavy and harsh, growling. I open my eyes and there he is, all lit up by the first light of dawn, kneeling over me. With his hand on his cock and his eyes on my naked curves.
My tits to be exact.
God, he’s so beautiful like this. All sweaty and tanned, his eyes feverish, his chest heaving.
His biceps bulging and twitching with his movements.
Is that what he looks like when he jerks off over my sleeping body?
As if he’s in a trance, unaware of everything around him except me: The most beautiful thing in the world. The most tempting, the most perfect.
I know he said that to me last night, but I didn’t believe it.
Not until right this moment. Not until I caught him in the act.
I don’t think he knows that I’m awake. It feels like intruding almost. Especially when his other hand, the one tugging at his balls, creeps up and he rubs himself on the chest, restlessly, almost shaking with the sensation.
Or when he rubs his throat like he’s getting too hot and sweaty.
So much so that his breaths are misting everything up and he has to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.
Before he spits on the palm of it.
On the very hand he was rubbing his body with and oh lord, now he’s using the same hand to blow himself. While his other goes down to his balls as he leans back some, thrusting up his pelvis. Humping the air, going up and down like he’s actually fucking.
Like he fucked me last night.
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking how easy it is to think these words now, without blushing, without blinking an eye. I guess I’m really not a virgin anymore. I’m really his.
His wife.
And that thought makes me so horny, so restless that I writhe on the bed, twisting in need.
Which is what alerts him that I’m awake and his eyes snap up to mine.
I should look away now, shouldn’t I? I should be respectful of his space, give him privacy, but the thing is I don’t want to.
I don’t want to have any secrets from him, and I don’t want him to have any secrets from me.
And I know it’s crazy, but that’s how I feel and I want him inside of me right now.
Right this second, or I’ll pass out from this lust.
I’ll get crushed under its weight and the weight of his stare. So maybe that’s why he says, all gruffly and low, “Touch yourself.”
My eyes go wide in shock, but I don’t think I’m as embarrassed at his request as I should be.
Because first, he hasn’t stopped touching himself.
No, in fact, I think his hand has sped up and his jaw has clenched harder at being caught as if it’s the hottest thing ever.
Being caught by me while he’s doing things to himself.
And second, I am horny. Even though I’ve never done this in front of anyone, it makes total sense to do it now in front of my husband.
So keeping my eyes on him, I unclench my hand from my side, bring it down to my tummy.
I widen my legs some more and twisting my hips again, touch my pussy.
The moment I do, I feel an electric current passing through me because gosh, I’m so wet.
So so so wet. I’m all slippery down there.
And so fragile-soft. Softer than velvet.
Softer than roses and more swollen than I’ve ever been.
I wonder what I look like to him right now. Probably all slutty and whorish, my legs spread and my pussy dripping. But it’s okay. Not only because I don’t mind being slutty when it comes to him, but also because what he’s seeing, he’s liking.
He’s loving it because he’s shaking.
There are great big shakes that run through the length of his body, making his hips jump and movements all haphazard. And his breaths have become all choppy and broken. I think more than my own fingers, he’s the one who’s turning me on, and he’s the one who’s going to send me over the edge.
I’m proven right when on a groan, he begins to come.
His entire frame shudders and I notice his ruddy cock jump in his fist as it spills cum all over my body, my trembling belly and my shivering thighs.
Even my hand that’s playing with my pussy, and then I’m coming too.
I’m moaning and writhing and arching right before his eyes as I feel his orgasm sliding down my fingers, mixing with my own juices, all hot and musky.
Making everything even more slippery and drenched.
But it’s not over because in the next moment, he falls on me. He knocks my hand aside and replaces it with his mouth. He latches on to my clit and sucks and sucks and makes me come again.
Harder than the first time.
Because he’s not only eating me out, but he’s also tasting himself on me. He’s tasting his own cum and I think that’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done to anyone.
No, I spoke too quickly, because when he’s done lapping his cream off my pussy, he goes up and swirls his tongue over my belly, right where more of his cum has landed.
He laps at it, and before I can contend with that, that he’s eating his own cum off my body, he climbs up even more and in the next breath, grabs my jaw.
Putting pressure on it, he forces me to open my mouth, and before I can gauge his intention, he spits his cum onto my tongue, making this the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
So much so that I moan, and winding my arms around his neck, I latch onto him and kiss him.
He shoves his tongue inside my mouth, and then we’re both tasting each other.
We’re both swallowing each other down. And our flavor mixed together becomes my instant favorite.
We’re sweet and tart. Like sugar and lemonade.
He stays kissing me for a long time, and I’m sleepy and satiated once again.
When we finally stop, he tucks his face in the crook of my neck and breathes me in, his heavy arm draped across my chest, fingers playing with my hair all lazily and possessively.
I swear he feels like a sleepy, satisfied beast right now as he mutters on a grunt, “Fuck, you always smell so fuckin’ good. ”
He drags his “good” out as if he never wants it to end. He never wants to stop smelling me. Biting my lip, I tilt my head to the side and rub my chin in his hair. “Were you able to sleep last night?”
He breathes out, his chest moving over mine, and grunts. I’m taking that as an assent, and I smile. “Will you take me to see those buttercups that you talked about?”
His grunt is accompanied by a nod this time and a whiff of my neck, as if he’s smelling those flowers right now. And I smile even harder than before. “Is that what you did? Before? When I’d be sleeping.”
He hums.
I keep rubbing my chin in his hair as I whisper, “You know, you could’ve just…”
He turns his head and looks up at me, his eyes all stoned. “I could’ve just what?”
I trace his jaw, his cheekbone, with my thumb and reply, “Fucked me.”
I’m not going to lie that it does feel freeing, saying these things, talking to him in this way. But at the same time, I can’t help but blush when his eyes go slightly alert and he roves his gaze over my face. “Fucked you.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, nodding, caressing his beautiful face. “I was right there, my pussy all open.”
He flicks his eyes over my face for a second before his mouth lifts up in a lopsided smirk. “So what, I fucked you once and you’re all grown up now. That how it works?”
I blush harder, but I’m determined not to back out. “Uh-huh. You’ve made me a woman.”
“That so?”
“Yup.” Then, I think of something better and say, “Actually no, you’ve made me a wife. So get ready for all the wifely things.”
At this, he goes totally alert and maneuvers himself away from my body so he can prop his head up on his palm. “And what are these wifely things?”
I turn on my side, too, as I crane my neck to look up at him. “Um, let’s see. Okay, starting now, I’m always right.”
“You’re always right.”
“Yes. So if we fight about something, you’re the one who has to say sorry first.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re the husband.”
“So?”
I pat his jaw as if he’s an idiot. “So it’s always the husband’s fault.”
He grabs my wrist and squeezes it. “Startin’ to see why that is.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You always have to say yes to everything I want to do.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like, if I want to buddy read a romance novel with you, you have to do it.”
At this, he frowns. “What the fuck is a buddy read?”
“It’s when two buddies”—I motion to him and me—“read the same book together and freak out about plot points and such.”
His frown thickens. “Yeah, no.”
“Arsen. You have to. It’s the rule.”
“Fuck rules,” he grunts. “I ain’t readin’ jackshit.”
“Fine, whatever.” I roll my eyes again. “But you’re writing me letters.”
He grabs hold of my wrist and keeps it pinned to his chest. “What?”
“You’re still paying for your crimes, aren’t you?” I remind him. “All those letters you wrote, they didn’t even have your right name on them.”
His eyes flick back and forth between mine. “Didn’t have your name either.”
I bite my lip. “So then, you’ll write me a letter every day and you’ll start with Dear Reverie.”
“Dear Reverie.”
“Yes, and then end it with Your Arsen.”
His fingers flex around my wrist. “What else?”
“And then you’ll tell me one true thing about yourself.”
He watches me a beat before saying, “Yes, ma’am.”
My pussy spasms at his words, and I lean up and put my mouth on him.
He still tastes like me and himself, and it’s so intoxicating, my favorite flavor, that I can’t help but moan.
And I guess we’re his favorite flavor, too, because at my moan, he presses into my mouth harder and takes over.
He rolls me to my back and settles between my thighs as we make out for the next several minutes.
I’m so horny and desperate that when he breaks the kiss, I writhe under him, trying to rub my pussy against his hard dick.