30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
Blackout Blinds, Lace Bras + the Altar of Truth
Luca
“Come here. Now.”
I can tell my tone is startling her, maybe even scaring her a bit. But the time for being on my best behavior has long passed. I’m done being the patient observer, and I’m done giving her the polite distance she needs to figure out how much she misses me.
I can see the truth written in her eyes right now. She isn't just nursing a patient, she’s reaching for her husband. She misses me just as much as I’m starving for her.
And at this very fucking moment, I’m hungry for my wife.
Watching her today—the way she tended to me, the way her resolve fell apart as the hours passed—was all the confirmation I needed. My plan is working. My wife is coming back to me.
“I…” She pauses, retreating toward the kitchen island to set the pill bottle down. This is actually fun to watch. She’s looking for a way to escape the sudden heat in the room.
“I’m not sure how I feel about your tone,” she breathes, though she makes sure to keep distance between us, knowing I can’t get to her. At least, not quickly.
“Does it scare you?” I ask. I watch the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the way she avoids my gaze, but I don’t give her the comfort of looking away.
“Again… I’m not sure.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Luca, why do you keep—”
“Does it arouse you, wife? Does it make your cunt wet?”
“Yes.” The word is a rushed, breathless confession. I feel my pulse spike as I react instantly to the sound of her surrender.
Her yes.
“But I hate that word,” she whispers, her chest heaving.
“You don’t like it when I say cunt?”
She shakes her head. “I do not.”
“What word do you prefer, my love?”
She’s nervous now. I can see the goosebumps blooming across her skin, tracking down the elegant line of her neck.
“Use your words, Aspen,” I command, my voice dropping into a low, vibrato growl that vibrates in my chest. And my dick. “Speak.”
She swallows hard, her eyes finally locking onto mine with a raw, unfiltered honesty. “My pussy. It’s...My pussy. And yes, it’s wet, husband.”
“Bloody hell,” I ground out through gritted teeth, the sheer bluntness of it making me un-fucking-well. “Then why are you standing so far away?”
“Because—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt, my gaze locked on hers. “You can say it.”
She shifts, her fingers twisting restlessly at her sides as if she’s trying to ground herself. “How do you even know what I’m going to say?”
“Funny thing about us, Ms. Mysterious,” I murmur, a ghost of a smirk pulling at my lips. “I swear I could feel you through that pod wall in Vegas. I could read your body from across the wall without even seeing your face. Your skin calls to mine, Aspen. Your body whispers for me. It always has.”
She takes a shallow, shaky breath. “And now? What is it saying to you now?”
“Come here,” I command. “Stand in front of me.”
She obeys, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. My wife, finally surrendering her ground. She’s wearing a red jogging suit that clings to every curve, giving me a vivid map of everything I’ve been denied, but it’s not enough. I need to see all of her.
“Strip,” I say shortly. “Take off your clothes.”
She pauses, her eyes darting toward the hallway.
“The cameras are gone,” I reassure her, the grin spreading across my face. “No one is watching.”
I’ll tell her about the security feeds inside the apartment some other time. Right now, I only care about the view in front of me.
“But…the windows,” she whispers, gesturing toward the floor-to-ceiling glass that surrounds my apartment. “There are so many.”
“Does the idea of being watched scare you, Aspen?”
“I don’t want to be watched. I don’t want anyone to see.”
I reach for the remote on the side table and click a button. Instantly, the motorized blackout blinds descend from the ceiling, sealing us into a private, dimly lit oasis.
Her eyes go wide as the room plunges into shadow. “I never knew those were there.”
“You never asked.”
“Are there any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”
“Plenty,” I growl. “But we’ll discuss those later.”
“Thank you for your honesty,” she breathes, her voice trembling.
“Thank you for your trust.”
She bites her bottom lip, leaving it glistening and damp.
“Now,” I say, my patience snapping. “Where. Were. We?”
Without another word, she begins to undress, her movements tantalizing, the fabric sliding off her shoulders as she holds my gaze. “You know,” she murmurs, “I usually don’t allow men to speak to me this way. I’ve never let a man tell me what to do.”
“And I’m the eldest child and a leader of men,” I counter, my blood beginning to roar in my ears. “All I know how to do is take charge. To command.”
Her top falls to the floor and it pains me not to be able to yank her on top of me right now.
“You have no idea how much it has killed me to let you mouth off to me, Aspen. Let you run things around here like you own the place.”
“My husband is a control freak. I remember. But you knew exactly what you were signing up for in the pods,” she reminds me, her voice trembling just as she snaps her bra open from the front.
The lace falls away, and the sight is better than anything I could have imagined in Vegas. This isn't a scripted moment. It isn’t even a fantasy. This is her raw, willing truth spilling open just for me.
With hardened nipples.
She’s standing there in nothing but red lace panties, my favorite color, making my blood boil. “Are those for me?” I growl, reaching into my trousers and shamelessly freeing the aching hardness that is aiming straight for her.
“Yes,” she confesses, her eyes dropping, fixed on my dick as I wrap my hand around my girth. “Wishful thinking, at least.”
She licks her lips, and I spit into my palm, deliberately looking to shock her.
“Masturbation is okay. That’s what you said, right?”
She nods but doesn’t speak.
I know my wife is relatively inexperienced, and sometimes the only way to bridge the gap is total immersion.
She looks stunned, breathless, watching me stroke my dick as if I’ve forgotten she’s even in the room.
“Has anyone ever let you watch before?”
She shakes her head, her lips parted.
“Do you like to watch, wife?”
“When it’s you?” she whispers.
“That’s right. Only me. Ever.”
“Then yes.” She nods enthusiastically, her gaze never wavering even as the heat in the room turns stifling.
I can see the tremor in her hands, the lingering hesitation of a woman who has spent her life being careful, being good. She’s terrified to ask for the very things that are making her breath stall right now. I can work with that. I can be the one to break those chains and free her.
“Talk to me, Aspen,” I urge, my voice a dark, velvet lure. “Tell me exactly what you want to do to me right now. No filters. No inhibitions. No consequences. Just say the words.”
“I’d like to lick it,” she says, the boldness of the confession dripping from that beautiful, filthy mouth makes it jump in my hands.
“I knew it,” I growl. “I knew you’d be a deviant for me, my love. Fucking filthy.”
“Only for you,” she confirms again, a small, reckless smile playing on her lips.
I grin back like a goddamn schoolboy, but the feeling quickly curdles into something devastating and feral and I’m grateful she’s already right where I need her.
“Kneel for me, wife,” I demand, the weight of the title now heavy and absolute. “Kneel for your husband.”
She obeys, moving with a cautious grace, using the edge of the sofa to anchor herself as she sinks to the floor between my thighs.
She leans in, and I hiss as she licks the moisture pooling at the tip. “Good fucking girl,” I rasp, my fingers tangling in her hair. “Now open up. I need to see exactly how much of me you can take.”
She licks the head of my dick once more, then swipes her tongue over her own lips before opening that beautiful mouth. She glides down, using her tongue to carve out more space, taking me in deep.
“Shit! Aspen—”
“Mmmm hmmm…” she moans against me, the vibration of her throat sent straight to my toes. I grip her hair tighter, fighting the urge to rip the back of her throat out with the release already at its edge.
But I’ve only just begun with her.
I tangle my fingers into her ponytail and yank her head back, abruptly pulling myself out of her mouth. The sudden loss of warmth leaves us both panting. “Grab your tits, Aspen. Play with your nipples for me.”
Her eyes go wide, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her face. “Why? I’ve never—”
“Never before? Or never for anyone else?”
“Never for anyone,” she whispers.
“So you play with your tits when you’re alone? When you're playing with your pussy?”
She nods, a frantic, rhythmic movement as she tries to catch her breath.
“Okay then. Allow me to remedy that.”
I lean forward, the movement slow and predatory, and press my palm firmly against her cunt. Even through the damp lace of her panties, the heat is staggering. She’s slick, drenched, and trembling under my touch.
“So fucking wet for me, wife,” I growl, my thumb pinning her through the fabric, pressing until she gasps.
“Once again,” she whimpers. “Only for you,” the confession catching in her throat as I finally hook a finger beneath the lace and dip inside. She’s molten.
I lean back, watching the way her face fractures with pleasure. “I want to take this next phase of our marriage slow. For you.”
She doesn't answer with words. She reaches up, grabbing my face to pull me into a kiss that tastes like desperation, her tongue tangling with mine while I fuck her with one finger, then two.
When she finally pulls away, her lips are swollen and her eyes are glazed. “This…” she pants, “this is what you consider slow?”
I flash her a slow, sinister smile. “You see, Aspen,” I say, my thumb circling her clit with a predatory rhythm while I lay down the new rules of our agreement.
“I haven't just been keeping my distance.
I haven't simply been avoiding suggestive remarks or keeping my mouth shut about how fucking gorgeous you are.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ve also been withholding the part of me I wasn’t sure you were ready to handle.”
She raises an eyebrow, a flicker of that defiance sparking through the haze of arousal. “Should I be afraid?”
“Maybe.” I lean down, catching her bottom lip between my teeth and tugging until she moans.
“I want to go slowly and allow you to see all of me, bit by bit. And I want to see you. The parts you haven’t even seen yet.”
She nods. “That sounds…reasonable.”
“Good. Now, show me. Play with your tits, wife. Let me see what you look like when you’re alone.”
She hesitates for a heartbeat before her hands find her own skin. She grabs her nipples, twirling and squeezing them between her fingers. It’s a private ritual, a secret she’s kept for herself that she’s unveiling only for me.
I sit up straighter, the heat radiating off her body pulling me in like a magnet. “Lean forward,” I command, my voice dropping to a jagged edge. “Let me fuck your tits.”
Her eyes go wide, wider than I’ve ever seen them. “Luca!”
“Now, Aspen. You said it. Promised. Only for me, right?”
She lets out a shaky breath, her resistance crumbling under the weight of my command. She nods once, then leans forward, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes me between her breasts.
“Squeeze, my love. Squeeze me between your breasts.”
She squeezes as she begins to move, a slow, torturous slide up and down, offering up a new kind of adoration that she’s saved…only for her husband.
“Yes, my love. That’s it. You’re loving it, aren’t you?”
She closes her eyes, surrendering completely to the friction, the heat, and the beautiful filth of it. She is giving me a version of herself I knew she’d never granted another soul—a private door she’s kept under lock and key, now open only for me. I could come just from the sight of her ruin.
“Fuck!” she cries out, her voice cracking.
“I know, my love. Me, too.” I rock into her, sliding between her breasts with a shameless, rhythmic brutality.
“Open your eyes,” I command, and when she does, they’re dark with a hunger she can no longer hide.
“Now, part your lips. Just a bit. Let me feel them against my dick while I’m fucking your tits. ”
“Luca,” she gasps, her mind clearly spinning. “You’re so… dirty.”
“Great observation, but we aren’t talking about my mouth right now,” I growl. “I’m only concerned with yours, and why you aren't using those lips to massage my dick. Do as you’re told.”
The last of her defiance dies a quiet, breathless death as she finally gives in, her tongue darting out to stroke the head of my dick.
I’m lost in the heat of her breasts and the wet graze of her mouth with every heavy thrust. One hand is tangled deep in her hair, my thumb pinned against the frantic pulse in her neck.
The pressure behind my ribs hits a breaking point, a roar of need that only she can silence.
“Can I come on you?” I rasp, my voice breaking. “Let me mark you, wife. Let me come on your tits.”
She gives a frantic, silent agreement that nearly sends me over the edge then and there. I don’t waste a second. I release all over her breasts, the white heat of it splattering against her skin as she arches her back, offering herself up as a canvas for my climax.
I watch the mess of it settle against her skin, a brand she’s wearing only for her husband.
“I’d write my name all over you if I could control what you’ve just dragged out of me,” I breathe, my forehead dropping to rest against hers as our breath mingles in the dark. “But I have to take care of you now, don't I?”
She just grins. “Yes, husband. I believe you do.”