Chapter 29 Viviana #2
On the rooftop of a skyscraper, we savor a delicious meal.
Every person has glanced our way, coming to shake his hand while I pretend to be delighted about the introduction.
“I think I prefer eating in,” I mumble after another person interrupts our time together. Plus, I don’t like how women glance at him as if waiting for one sign from him to pounce. Totally disrespectful considering he’s out with his wife.
Through a rehearsed smile, I place my hand with my engagement and wedding band on his arm in a subtle sign to back off.
“You’re a preschool teacher, how sweet,” one says, smiling, but it couldn’t be faker.
“Important as I am shaping the kids that will become our future—capable, confident.”
My husband grins at me, pride etched in his eyes. “My wife. I could buy her the world, yet she wants to shape the next generation. She’s doing the meaningful part.”
I kiss him, and she quickly excuses herself.
“You handle them well,” he says, sounding proud.
I bite my lip, conveying a teasing tone. “I don’t have a reason to be jealous.”
He leans into me, nibbling on my lobe. “Good girl. I have eyes only for you.”
I slide my finger down his shirt buttons. “I’m not jealous because you don’t give me a reason. But then we’d have other issues.” I seek his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I am not territorial. I’m very possessive of you, husband.”
“Me too, wife. Me fucking too,” he says and cups the back of my neck, slamming his mouth on mine. It’s raw. It’s claiming. It’s us.
Flushed, I return to my dessert while he declines a bite, saying, “I just love watching you enjoy it. I’ll have mine at home.”
That almost has me choking on the fluffy cake.
His eyes darken, jerking his chin at me. “A problem, wife?”
I shake my head, doing my best to appear like I am not horny and wanton, that I would let him fuck me right here, right now.
I take my sweet time, wanting him to lose it by the time he can have me.
Amid all the playfulness, I forget my husband is a terrific predator, biding his time and attacking when I don’t see it coming.
As he sips his champagne, he slips his hand up my thigh.
I bite the gasp threatening to escape, flashing him a panicked look.
Smirking, he pushes the thong to the side and slips a finger inside me.
“Oh my god,” I breathe out.
“So fucking wet for me,” he says, teeth jabbing into his bottom lip, making him appear even more alluring than he is.
Who am I kidding? If my husband wants me to come, I stand no chance. He shatters my reticence as skillfully as he breaks me apart, one orgasm at a time.
“Tristan,” I say, my toes curling in my flats, and I bite into the fork just to gather myself.
People are looking in our direction. Keeping my composure while he rubs my clit demands incredible acting talent.
I am about to press my legs together when he leans into me, saying, “I wouldn’t do that, wife. First, you’ll come on my fingers.”
I blink at him, the sexual haze slipping over my head. No wonder I can’t think straight, so I give in, opening my legs wider. “You’re cruel.”
“Sure, baby. Now, be my good girl and let yourself fall. Come for me.”
My ears ring with the rush of sensations. It takes everything in me to act normal while he plays my body into sweet delirium—his fingers too proficient at playing with my folds and rubbing my clit with the perfect amount of pressure, undoing my resistance.
This exhibitionism, knowing anyone could catch us at any moment, only adds to the sexual experience making me a wanton mess.
The sun has nothing on how hot he makes me feel, burning up from within with the need to explode.
I lift the napkin to my mouth, moaning behind it to salvage appearances, before he comes in for a kiss, and I let go, tripping straight through release’s door.
He removes his fingers from within me, sucking both his index and middle ones while my eyes bug out, not believing I just came like that.
He shrugs. “Don’t give a fuck about etiquette. They didn’t have something sweet enough for me to match my wife’s pussy.”
I throw my head back and laugh, high on endorphins and drunk on him.
No worries. No troubles. Just pure contentment.
On our way back home, I rest my cheek on his arm, strolling down the pavement without a care.
“Did you like my wedding dress?” I ask in a playful mood.
The corners of his mouth curl into a smirk. “I had eyes only for you.”
“Wasn’t the veil too much?”
He chuckles. “No, it was a bold statement. I enjoyed the secrecy of being the only ones who knew the truth. I took your virginity, but I could never fuck your purity. I might like to corrupt you and dirty you up, but my goal is to bathe in your glow, not bring you to my dark side.”
I bite my lip, loving to play with fire. I guess I like to burn. “So, you didn’t want to rip my dress off?”
He arches a brow, slanting me an intense look. “I thought about it just about a million times. You have me in a twist, and you know that, wife.”
I lock my hand around his arm, beaming. “I love that.”
“Of course you do, you minx.”
Once we’re back in the penthouse, I say, “Give me a few minutes.”
I rush into the walk-in closet, picking up the second wedding dress I didn’t get to wear. This feels like a beginning, one I wish to celebrate accordingly.
It’s an ivory satin mermaid dress with spaghetti straps. It flows down to my ankles in minimalist elegance, and the open back adds a touch of sexiness.
After showering, I slip into the gown and find him in the living room.
He turns before I can even open my mouth, sharing this unshakable magnetism.
Eyes widening, he stumbles back.
Emboldened by his reaction, I sashay over to him.
The air grows headier, tension pulsing between us like a living wire, electrifying the atmosphere. Each step dipped in sexuality. Each breath coated in desire.
His eyes set on me as if I were his favorite movie playing. I couldn’t feel more loved or desired. Maybe that’s why I crave to be his good girl, who he uses like his toy, treating me like I am precious outside the bedroom while breaking, bending, and twisting me behind closed doors.
Making love to me. Fucking the soul out of me. It doesn’t matter.
He owns me.
I own him.
“I think you owe me a wedding night, husband,” I murmur, my tone ending on a sensual rasp.
“Fuck,” he says, blinking at me as if he doesn’t know if I am a dream or reality.
He brushes his knuckles along my cheek, his features sharpening, his eyes becoming darker.
I know exactly where this is going, and I crave it, badly. Just thinking of him claiming the last of my virgin holes, I swallow. Hard.
He grips my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You knew what would happen dressing like this—a personal gift for me to unwrap.”
I nod, licking my lips. Goose bumps rise on my feverish skin, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
“Tonight, I’ll fuck your ass. Claim your last virgin hole. Tonight, we consummate our marriage,” he says, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.
In one swift move, he gathers me in his arms and carries me to the bedroom bridal style.
All my nerves vanish when he gazes into my eyes, deep enough that he strokes my heartstrings, making them sing for him.
I am his.
He’s mine.
The end.