Chapter 27 #2
She predictably turned indignant and tried to free her wrist. “You’re assuming I’ll give you a blow job. What if I don’t do that?”
“Even better,” I drawled. “I could teach you, but I’m warning you, I’m not feeling very gentle at the moment, and the more we talk about it, the harder I get. But I want to do something first.”
I kicked the bathroom door closed.
“What the—” she gasped.
And had her pinned to the door by her neck. Her eyes flaring in mutiny only made me turn feral. I ripped her sweater in two, sending the buttons flying.
I crushed her mouth, silencing her gasp, driving my tongue between her lips.
She didn’t marry a fucking Boy Scout. She could bite my tongue if she had wanted to stop me, but she responded.
Tangled with me. Clashing teeth and dueling tongues.
I groaned into her mouth. She was in this with me.
I kissed her harder. I was taking, dammit.
Lucy’s fingers scratched down my sides. I loved it.
Clothes went flying, and we made it into the shower without our limbs tripping over each other.
We were need and desperation. Frantic and wild. Pressure-cooker tension finding release.
I couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Under the hot spray of the water, my hands clasped her jaw, keeping her there so I could kiss her at every angle. I wanted to taste her. Make her scream. I backed her against the tiles, but she fought me. I gripped her neck again and glared at her.
“I want to taste you,” I growled.
“So do I,” she shot back.
Fuck.
I released her and flipped her around so the water sloshed down her back to keep her warm. My erection was between us, and she glanced up at me briefly, smiling wickedly, before dropping to her knees and swallowing my shaft.
I could feel the tip of my cock hit the back of her throat, and it went past it.
She doesn’t give blow jobs? Bullshit. Irrational jealousy threatened to consume me. And I fought against the red hazing my vision, thinking of the other men who—
“Fuck,” I growled.
I gripped her hair viciously and yanked her off my cock. Lowering my head, I snarled, “I won’t be gentle.”
That was her only warning before I shoved her head back down.
Feeling her teeth graze my cock only added fuel to my ferocity.
Nails dug into the back of my thighs to keep herself steady, but I continued to use her to appease the monster inside me.
The offended husband shot by his wife, the unexpected red-hot jealousy.
I didn’t even care about the virginity issue.
It was the idea that she’d been intimate this way with other men.
Men I wanted to hunt down and obliterate from the face of this planet and her memory.
But I was going to mark her.
I exploded in her mouth. Her arms flailed.
I derived satisfaction from using her this way.
I allowed her room so she wouldn’t choke on my cum.
But she was going to swallow every drop of me, dammit.
She could bite my dick in protest. I didn’t care.
But she was going to appease the jealous beast inside me.
I continued controlling her head movements.
“Had enough, hmm?”
She glared at me. Her face, blotchy. Her eyes, red. Her tears were mixed with the water from the shower. Finally, I released her hair. She shoved my torso, but my unyielding stance sent her flat on her ass.
“What the fuck, Kirill?”
“What the fuck?” I taunted. “You give blow jobs like a goddamn slut.” I yanked her up and lowered my head. “But guess what, wife? You’re my goddamn slut. Got it? Mine. MINE. I’m the last man whose dick you’re sucking.”
“Fuck you!” she yelled. “You’re insane, you know that?!”
I gripped her shoulders. I grinned at her maniacally. “Let’s test that theory.”
As with my original plan, I backed her against the shower stall.
We were in a cloud of steam, and the bathroom was turning into a sauna, so I shut the water off.
But before Lucy could move, I dropped to my knees, grabbed her left leg and draped it over my shoulder, and dove right in. Straight into fucking ecstasy.
The delicious taste of her saturated my tongue. I inhaled her deeply, rubbing my nose in Lucy’s natural scent. I was feral for her. I attacked and attacked, unrelenting in the strokes of my tongue. She was drenched. Her arousal fed my thirst, my hunger.
Her fingers found their way to my scalp. She wasn’t pulling me away. She was keeping my head where it was. I guess it was fair payback since I made her choke on my dick that I would suffocate eating pussy.
“Oh God. Oh my God.”
I sucked on her swollen clit. Felt it swell some more right before she screamed. I continued to eat her as if her dripping wet cunt sustained my survival. Fuck me. I could live here and die. But this was nothing compared to the feeling inside her.
We had time.
We had a whole fucking weekend.
Fuck that, I’d keep her in this cabin until I was satiated like a bear before hibernation.
After wringing out a couple more cries and orgasms from my wife, I rose to my feet.
She had a silly grin on her face that invited an answering smile from me.
A tug on my chest, a fucking feeling called tenderness slowly pushed away the clawing need for possession. Strange, how I started to assign names to the unfamiliar emotions I’d been grappling with in the past few months.
“I need sleep,” she groaned.
I had to prop her up before restarting the shower.
“I thought you were going to take care of me,” I teased her. “Looks like I’m in charge.”
“Blame temporary asphyxiation by massive cock.”
I barked a laugh. Smartass.
“I need oxygen to my head.” She pouted.
I traced her lips before cupping her jaw. “Was I too hard on you, Lusenka?”
“Yes, and no. Yes, in the beginning.” Her head dipped as if embarrassed, but I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand to encourage her to open up to me.
“Then?”
She rolled her lips. “I’m finding out I might love it. I love how you push my boundaries. I love seeing you lose control…because of me.”
That statement should bother me because I was a man who prided himself on absolute command of my feelings and actions. But with my wife, I was finding out I didn’t care.
“We'd better get to the business of showering before we turn into prunes,” she said.
Ah, yes, the purpose of getting clean. “Why? When I’m going to dirty you up all over again.”
Lucy’s answer was to shake her head, grab the soap and gesture for me to turn around. She started soaping my back. I could admit, it felt nice. No comparison to her sucking my dick, but nice nonetheless. When she went lower, rubbing over my ass, my cock started to wake up again.
“Don’t get any ideas. This is clinical,” she said. She turned me back the other way around and grabbed the shampoo. “Now you’re going to shampoo my hair.”
I raised a brow. “Oh.”
“Showering is not all about sex, Kirill,” she said. “Think of it as a way to give and take.”
“Like I scratch your back and you scratch mine?” I deadpanned.
She rolled her eyes, but Lucy didn’t have to explain any more.
I was a quick learner. I’d been a selfish lover who didn’t give anything past delivering orgasms. The shower, to me, was another erotic location for sex.
The sensuousness of slippery soap over wet skin was very stimulating to me.
But as I dug my fingers into Lucy’s hair and she moaned as I worked her scalp, I was finding pleasure in giving her pleasure without the expectation of sex.
But sometimes outside of sex, lingering in the shower could open up vulnerabilities…
Her fingers traced my back. “There are scars beneath these tattoos.”
“I have a dozen of them. Take your pick.”
“This doesn’t seem like a knife. They’re parallel like…”
I spun her around and caught her hand and distracted her with a kiss. She didn’t probe, but I was under no illusion that she would forget to circle back to those scars. Lucy was a strategist, as I’d learned in the few months I’d known her.
After cleaning up, it was time to prepare the bed.
“Ugh, I hate this,” Lucy mumbled.
“You hate the bed?” It was a craftsman’s bed. Irina had it specially commissioned.
“No. When you’re so sleepy but you stripped the bed earlier to wash the sheets and forgot to put fresh ones on.” She huffed. “I do it all the time and never learn.”
I pointed at the armchair in the corner of the bedroom. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll do it.”
Lucy didn’t argue but slunk off to curl up in the sofa chair. “See, I’m useless at this domesticated stuff.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, baby. How about after our nap, you fix me a grilled cheese sandwich?”
She grinned. “Deal.”
Maybe my wife was teaching me give and take. Like even if I wanted to fuck her on that bed, I knew she needed to sleep because despite the refreshing shower, she could barely keep her eyes open from exhaustion, and I sensed her oncoming crankiness. She was teaching me empathy, and I didn’t mind.