3. Miranda
3
MIRANDA
“F uck. Me.” Pre-cum leaks from Nero’s cock as he walks backward, his eyes never leaving mine. “Knew it wouldn’t take long to find what you lost. Never expected it to be this fast, though.”
When there is a safe distance between us, I should hightail it for the exit and write off our exchange as a near miss. But since I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in a long time, and I’m just as confident they’ll be lost again within minutes of me leaving, I slowly cross the room.
My thighs rub during my last two strides, but there’s no friction. I’m too soaked from how thick Nero’s cock becomes the longer he watches me under hooded lids. He’s as hard as an iron rod, and his body’s response to my prance surges more than my libido.
My confidence is just as high.
I’m almost at the bed when Nero says, “Lose the coat.”
I hesitate. Confidence is an entirely different matter when you have coverage.
Without it, I will wither like a picked flower.
“Y-you first,” I demand, breathing heavily.
Slickness extends beyond the barrier of my crotchless teddy when his hands move to the done-up buttons on his dress shirt without hesitation.
This is when I notice the tattoos on his hands extend to his fingers. They’re a combination of symbols, letters, and numbers, and they send my head into a tailspin.
I’ve always thought tattoos were sexy. Roy said they were only for gangbangers. I still haven’t told him about the butterfly on my inner thigh. I got it in rebellion, and although I’ve been barely seen out of sweats ever since, that isn’t the sole cause of his unawareness.
He’d have to grant me more than five seconds of attention to notice anything, much less an object I’m purposely hiding from him.
I blink up at Nero when the last button is undone. He takes his time removing his shirt from his bulky shoulders like he too believes undressing is the longest part of any sexual encounter.
I’d be worried if he didn’t seem the type with a heap of stamina.
With his pants already huddled around his tattooed thighs, it doesn’t take longer than ten seconds for him to remove them. It would have been instantaneous with his shirt if he didn’t need to toe off his shoes.
As I drink in endless lines of ink and muscles, he tosses his shirt and pants onto the armchair he was seated on when I burst into his life.
Muscles I didn’t know existed pop when he steps closer. “Your turn.”
Not waiting for me to fathom a reply, much less answer him, he tugs on the lapels of my trench coat and guides it off my shoulders. Its whoosh when it floats to the floor matches the hiss that leaves his mouth when my breasts are fully exposed.
I’m one of those full-breasted girls.
I didn’t get just cleavage and a bit of side boob.
I got the works.
Nero likes what he sees and has no qualms about sharing his thoughts. “I knew your tits would be fantastic. I can’t wait to taste them.”
I thrust out my chest as if to say, Then what are you waiting for?
Nero’s husky laugh does wild things to my insides. “If I taste them, I’ll want to taste your pussy immediately after.”
“And that’s a problem because?”
My thighs clench when he mutters, “Because I need to start here first.” He drags his thumb over my bone-dry lips. “Before I move to here.” My nipples are awarded his attention next. “Then I’ll finish here.” I pant when his finger slips between the folds of my pussy. I’m wet, so he doesn’t face an ounce of resistance. “Fuck.” His one word is rough and unhinged, the very essence of a man on the brink of release. “You’re already drenched for me.”
When he peers down at me, lust snatches the last of my apprehension. I launch at him, propelling myself onto my tippy-toes. Our lips brush, and a moan vibrates through my chest. I don’t know if it came from Nero or me, but it sets off a frenzy of grunts, moans, and teasing licks.
There’s nothing sweet about our kiss. Nothing childish. It is the embrace of lust, and it makes me the wettest I’ve ever been.
As Nero’s fingers again get lost in my hair, I scrape the back of his head with my nails and draw him closer. It is a rough kiss, full of passion and driven by need.
In seconds, we’re on the mattress, tangled in a mess of legs and arms. Nero grinds against an area damp enough to need a Slippery When Wet sign displayed while I bury my face into his neck.
It’s hard to remain hidden when his lips lower to my breast. There’s no coverage, and I can’t help but stare.
He sucks my nipple into his mouth, arching my back before he swirls his tongue around the puckered nub.
“Fucking divine.” He adds a scrape of his teeth this time before he shifts his focus to my left breast. “Your tits are perfect.”
After enough attention to have me dripping, his mouth lowers several inches. I try to encourage him straight to my pussy, hopeful a hurried shove will have him missing the rolls my stomach isn’t without even when I lay as straight as an ironing board.
He won’t allow it.
As he pinches my nipple, sending a yelp bouncing around the room, his tongue traces the lines the teddy marked my skin with before he spears it inside my belly button.
That has me moaning.
I had no clue my belly button was an erogenous zone.
I breathe heavily when Nero’s tongue finds the edge of my crotchless teddy. His fingers look prepared to travel the same route as his tongue, but something deviates their attention.
“This is sexy.” He runs a calloused fingertip over the butterfly tattoo on my inner thigh before playfully grazing it with his teeth. My readiness smears his cheek. That’s how hidden my tattoo is. You have to splay my thighs wide open to see it. No man has ever bothered to get that close and personal with me. “I think you need one here as well.”
He bites at the delicate skin on my opposite thigh, sending another yelp bouncing around the room before he looks up at me.
He stares while pushing a finger inside me to the first knuckle, gauging my response.
I whimper.
It isn’t in fear.
It is in desperation.
We suck in a combined breath when he slides his finger out before he increases its burn by giving the solo traveler a girthy counterpart.
He pushes two fingers in deep, loving the desperate search of my hands to claw something. They scratch the bedding before bunching it into firm balls. My moans are nowhere near as controllable. They barrel out of me like waves crashing to shore.
I moan, cuss, and grunt as Nero continues to unravel me with his fingers. He pumps them in and out of me for several long minutes before he rolls his thumb over my clit.
That’s my undoing.
I come with a hoarse cry, shuddering and shaking through my first climax in over three years.
And then his mouth is on me.
“No,” is the first thought to leave my head, and then, “More. Please. Oh god.”
My hand flies up to clamp my mouth when Nero eats me with an expertise I’ve never experienced. He curls his tongue around my clit and grazes it with his teeth while finger fucking me at a leisured yet mind-spiraling pace.
I groan and rock my hips upward, mashing my pussy with his mouth. All quests for revenge are lost, my focus now solely on the present. I’m not Miranda, a soon-to-be divorcee. I am sexy and wanted and being eaten by the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Every muscle clenches as I come again.
I bite on the palm of my hand, silencing the franticness of my screams when Nero doesn’t stop.
His tongue doesn’t stop slithering.
His fingers don’t still.
He continues fucking me with his mouth and hand until not even the most painful bite will stop my moans from bellowing down the hotel’s hallway.
Nero’s tongue finally leaves my clit half a second before he looms above me. I feel the pulse of his cock when he braces it at the opening of my pussy. His groan when he feels the results of my multiple climaxes tightens my core.
I’m drenched front to back and barely coherent, but not even a near-comatose state would have me missing how far his cock stretches.
It braces against my pussy and halfway up my stomach.
I veer my eyes from his impressive cock when he says, “Can you bury the urge to hide from me if I take you like this, or do I need to change positions?”
Embarrassment that he knows my neurosis barely graces my cheeks; however, Nero acts as if they are on fire.
Without a single struggle, he switches our position until I’m hovering above him and he’s sprawled beneath me. He licks his lips as his eyes travel down my body. When he tastes me on his mouth, it reminds him of his early offer for me to ride his face.
He shimmies down like it isn’t a tight squeeze for a man of his size to fit between my thighs before he bands his arms around my legs and arrows his head toward my drenched slit.
“It’s okay. I don’t need?—”
Holy mother of god.
One flick of my clit with his nose and I come.
I don’t make a sound. It is silent but strong enough to almost pull my knees out from beneath me.
I hold back, not wanting to suffocate Nero.
Once the tingles racing through my veins dissipate, I try to dismount.
Nero holds on strong.
“Not yet.” His heated breaths batter my overstimulated clit. “You haven’t even taken your seat yet, so the show isn’t close to starting, much less finishing.” He tugs me down, growling when my thighs hug his ears and cheeks. “Fuck yes, printsessa . Ride my face.”
My body is shaking so much it is hard to move, but Nero guides me. With his tattooed fingers digging into my thick thighs, he guides me back and forth and back and forth until stars commence blistering for the umpteenth time.
“That’s it. Just like that. Come over my mouth.”
As his breathy words batter my clit, I climax again.
My body shakes and quivers, and I lose control of my legs.
Nero doesn’t seem to mind. His grip is almost bruising as he forces me entirely onto his mouth. He awards me with a heap of praise that prolongs the length of my orgasm before he rubs his cheek over the cleft of my pussy, absorbing my scent.
I’m so strung out on lust that I barely register him moving me until his hot steel rod rubs at the opening of my pussy, coating itself in my arousal. I’m on top, so I should have all the control, but I don’t need to do a thing.
Nero lines up before he drives home, impaling me with one ardent thrust.
“Fuck.”
I can’t express words. I can barely breathe. The stretch is painful, and the burn of taking someone with a heap of girth is a first.
“Not yet,” he snaps out again when I attempt to move. “Need you to acclimate first.”
“I’m fine. I am drenched. You can move.”
I’m full.
So fucking full.
But it feels too good to worry about a slight snippet of pain.
“Please move.”
My plea comes out desperate, and Nero immediately answers it. He slides his cock almost all the way out by hoisting me up as if I don’t weigh a thing before he yanks me back down.
I moan, a better response above me.
“That’s it,” Nero murmurs when my mewl reaches his ears. “Take my cock like a good little wifey.”
I stab my nails into his tattooed chest before encouraging an increase in speed. I slam down as his hips jerk upward, our bodies slapping from their brutal collision.
“Again.” His fingers flex on my hips as his cock throbs. “Ride my cock like you did my face. Take me to the very base. Swallow every inch of the monster dick your sexy-ass curves caused.”
His movements get more precise, and his thrusts become more urgent.
He fucks me as much as I fuck him, and it lasts forever.
“It’s good. So, so good.”
My thighs cuddle his as I rock my hips forward with every pump. I grind against him, dampening more with every rub of my clit against his V muscle.
We rock in sync for several long minutes, tiring both my body and my mental capacity.
“I need you to come again, printsessa . I need you to come now because you feel so good wrapped around my cock. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold back.”
Knowing he’s close to the brink spreads a smile across my face.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off me for a single second—not once.
The knowledge that he likes what he sees is thrilling, and I feed off the confidence it awards me.
When Nero drinks in my smile, his expression turns serious.
“Even more so now.” As his grip on my waist tightens, he says, “We need to change positions. It’s time for me to fuck you how you deserve to be fucked.”
I squeal when he maneuvers me as if I am as light as a feather. Then I scream when he enters me from behind.
I have no clue how we didn’t get twisted up in a sticky, sexy mess. I went from riding his cock from above to being on my hands and knees, taking him from behind.
“Deep. You’re so deep,” I murmur when he takes me deep enough for his balls to slap my clit.
Nero spanks my right butt cheek, sending heated tingles across the surface of my skin. “Your ass…” A groan ends his sentence before he spanks me again, harder this time. It’s firm enough to leave a mark, but ludicrously, I’m not worried.
Roy filed for divorce, so technically, this isn’t cheating.
Even if it is, it is too late now.
Nero has had his tongue, fingers, and cock inside me, and if I have it my way, his sperm is next.
I squeeze around Nero’s fat cock when he bands his arm around my body to toy with my clit. He multitasks like a pro. He drives into me on repeat while rubbing and caressing my swollen clit.
He also bombards me with a heap of praise.
He tells me my body is a temple and that it deserves to be worshipped. That a woman as sexy and beautiful as me should never cover up with dowdy clothes and oversized sweats. He adores my curves and encourages what he assures me are sexy moves by making them dance in sync with the fluent flexes of the muscles covering every inch of his delectable body.
“Come for me again, printsessa ,” he demands while cramming his cock inside me.
His cock flexes when it bottoms out at my uterus, and then he relishes the tight squeezes of my vaginal walls when I give in to the sensation turning me into a blubbering, shuddering mess.
I come with a loud cry, Nero’s name ripping from my lips.
Again, Nero doesn’t stop, slow, or come.
He lets me enjoy the moment of being first for a change before he finally loosens the restraints he’s barely controlling.
He thrusts in deep and then stills so my pussy can milk his cock one last time.
“Christ,” he grunts through clenched teeth as cum spurts from his cock.
I smirk at the exhaustion in his tone before slowly sinking into the mattress. I’m zonked, yet exhaustion isn’t weighing down my eyelids. I feel the most alive I’ve ever felt.
When rustling sounds from behind, I crank my neck back. Nero is edging off the bed. His cock is glistening with our combined arousal.
That’s when it dawns on me that we forgot to use protection.
“I’m on the pill,” I blurt out like it is an automatic shield for STIs. “I take it religiously.” I lift my eyes from a cock still larger than any I’ve seen, even with it in the process of deflating, and lock them with a lust-filled pair. “But I can take Plan B if it will ease your conscience.”
Nero’s smile has me on the cusp of ecstasy again. “It’s fine. I trust you.”
That’s ballsy for him to say considering I confessed at the start of our exchange that I’m married.
Nero drinks in my shock for half a second before he lowers his eyes to the nonexistent crotch of the teddy. “Let me get something to clean you up.”
There’s no shame to his words, no color of embarrassment heating his cheeks, but it is still a fight not to scamper for some coverage when he heads to the bathroom.
He’s all muscles and ink, and I’m soft and flabby.
We are not the same.
As Nero enters the bathroom, I sling my eyes to a mirror in the corner of the room. The angle is off. I can’t check if I have raccoon eyes and bird’s nest hair, so I scoot off the mattress and tiptoe across the plush carpet.
Three seconds later, I glance into the mirror, taking in my flushed cheeks, dilated eyes, and messy mop of curls.
Instead of grimacing, I feel heat slick my skin.
My choice of lingerie is even more risqué now since it is caressing impassioned, lust-spurred skin. I feel beautiful and uplifted—two things I hadn’t considered experiencing today.
A faucet shutting off shifts my focus. I head back for the bed, not wanting to look like an unconfident fool—or worse, a cocky airhead.
I make it halfway back before a groan stops me in my tracks.
I recognize that moan.
It’s beaten me to the finish line dozens of times over the past fourteen years but never lingered long enough for me to mimic it.
“Roy?” I murmur while moving closer to the closet at the far side of the room.
This hotel is new, but it has louver doors that were the rage from the ’50s until the ’80s. The slats on this one are mostly open, and the shadow my horniness hid earlier is human-sized.
With my heart in my throat, I lock eyes with the glossy pair peering at me through a louver before carefully prying open the door.
When I find Roy in the closet, my hand shoots up to muffle my squeal. He’s bound to a chair, and his almost naked frame is covered with a range of bruises and cuts. His eyes are wet and wide, and the red lettering scoured across his forehead wasn’t there when he left home this morning.
Cheater.
I’m not given the chance to fret. The photographs scattered beneath his shoeless feet warrant nothing less than pure rage. They show Roy in a range of positions. All of them are sexual, and I don’t feature in a single one of them.
My eyes dart up from an image of Roy tied to a bed that looks oddly similar to our marital bed when he grunts and groans as if possessed.
My body registers the cause of his alarm in his bloodshot eyes half a second before the voice of a man who brought me to climax more times in the past hour than I’ve achieved myself over the past three years confirms it.
“I planned to kill him.”
When I twist to face Nero, he dumps a damp washcloth and props his shoulder on the bathroom doorjamb before folding his thick arms in front of his chest. His stance displays the aggression in his tone has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with my husband.
“I was in the process of doing precisely that when you interrupted us. Then I figured this would hurt him more.” He thrusts his hand between us during the this part of his reply.
As I struggle to work out what he means, he pushes off the doorjamb to fetch his pants from the foot of the bed. I watch him with eagle eyes as he gets dressed. He moves with such fluency that it is as if I am attending a Broadway show. I can’t take my eyes off him.
Once his cock is concealed and he’s absently placed on his shirt, Nero lifts his eyes from the surveillance images scattered around Roy’s feet to my face. He features in as many of the surveillance images as I do—not at all—but the ticking of his jaw makes it obvious the tall, slender blonde draped across Roy in multiple pictures is known to him.
“I don’t know what pissed me off the most. My soon-to-be ex-wife thinking she could take me to the cleaners by sucking her divorce attorney’s cock, or her assumption I wouldn’t find out she secured the best divorce attorney in Vegas before I filed.” He rakes my body with a hooded gaze, almost making it seem as if we’re lucky our spouses chose to cheat with each other. “Neither point mattered once you arrived. One glance and I realized I hadn’t lost anything.” He snarls at Roy as he crosses the room. “He won’t be so lucky.”
Roy is gagged with his own stinky sock, so his mumbles make no sense, but two words make it through the chaos. “Run, Miranda!”
I glare at him like he’s insane before shaking my head. I can’t get my legs to move. They’re not frozen in fear. They’re exhausted from endless orgasms and growing more wary the longer Nero stares. His eyes are pumping out a range of emotions. I pay attention to the sheer ownership in them the most.
Before I can overthink how quick I am to trust a stranger, Nero’s fingers knot into my curls, and he tugs my head back. A sliver of silver catches my attention. It is obvious the switchblade Nero is clutching is the cause of Roy’s fret. His pupils are massive, and I can smell his stinky armpits from here.
He thinks Nero is going to hurt me.
I don’t feel the same way.
I’m the prey and Nero is the hunter, but this game was over the instant he stuffed me to the brim with his big, fat cock.
“Ah,” Nero murmurs when he notices my lack of fear. “I got your title mixed up.” He inches closer, fanning my lips with his heated breaths. “You’re not a princess.” Heat burns through me when he says, “You’re a queen.”
My heart stops beating when his lips arrow toward mine. Our noses brush before his tongue slides across my kiss-swollen mouth.
When my lips part at the request of his lashing tongue, he slides his tongue into my mouth and does a long, leisured lick.
My insides clench and my knees buckle when he kisses me like we don’t have an audience, like my husband isn’t bound, gagged, and injured mere feet from us.
His kiss matches his body.
It is godlike.
Only once I am again pliable from his touch does he pull back. Lust fires in the air when he inches back far enough to align our eyes and expose the winner’s smirk tilting his plump lips at one side.
The victory flaring through his hooded gaze should hackle my last nerve, but somehow, it doesn’t. He’s right. I’m not a princess. I am the ruler of my realm, and it is time for me to take back my crown.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miranda.”
He presses his lips to my temple and draws in a long breath before he places something cool and smooth into my palm.
I stare down at a switchblade.
“He will never get over watching his wife fuck like a thoroughbred.” The cockiness fluffing out his peacock feathers dulls a smidge before he says, “But if you don’t believe that punishment will make up for him sleeping with my wife, you’re free to issue whatever sentence you deem fit.”
He squeezes my hand holding the switchblade before moving to collect the jacket I didn’t notice hanging in the closet Roy is hogging until now. He yanks out his designer jacket, grinning when the coat hanger snaps from his rueful tug. Its sharp edge adds another nick to Roy’s bloody face.
“A cleanup crew will arrive in an hour. No matter what route you take, you have my word that they’ll make it seem like you were never here.”
Nero takes in Roy’s shirtless torso and battered arms while he puts on his jacket. I should use the time to consider my options, but all I do is gawk.
“Cut him free or cut off his cock.” His eyes are on me again, hot and narrowed. The latter point is for Roy. The former is for me. “I’m satisfied with the outcome I achieved today. Now the ball is in your court.”
His eyes lower, and he groans when he notices the steady rise and fall of my chest.
After imprinting his lower lip with his teeth, he awards me with a frisky wink and then heads for the exit.
I wait for the bang of the honeymoon suite’s door closing to boom up the stairwell before I shift on my feet to face Roy. He’s hurting. There’s no doubt about that. I don’t believe all his pain centers on the cuts, the bruises, and the freshly inked tattoo scoured across his forehead, though.
What Nero said is true. He’ll never get over seeing me with another man.
For once, my actions obliterated his ego, and I’m glad.
My confidence feeds off the wetness in his eyes when I walk toward him with a strut in my step. He’s only witnessed it once since he cut it to pieces with a ton of cruel words.
The last time I wore lingerie, he told me I should dress appropriately for my body type, and someone “with too much fat on their bones” should steer clear of the lingerie section of the department store.
Another man’s cum is dribbling down my thigh, but Roy doesn’t pay it an ounce of attention. He’s too focused on the trek of the switchblade I flicked open during my strut, sweating when I glide it up his thigh. He’s never seen my eyes hold this much confidence. Unlike with Nero, the awakening of my self-assurance has him petrified.
“Mir…” he murmurs, his use of a nickname purposeful and with hope. He thinks he can play me for a fool again. I have news for him. “I made a mistake.”
“ A mistake? Ha!”
I stuff his sock in more profoundly, stealing his chance to issue more lies before positioning the switchblade between his splayed thighs. The rope circling his ankles isn’t forcing a thigh gap. His legs are so skinny, even flattened on the chair, that not an ounce of fat spills over.
His middle leg is just as scrawny as its counterparts.
“Mir…” His mumble is fraught, full of distress. “Pleas?—”
I silence him by yanking the switchblade upward, tethering far more than the sanctity of our vows with one swift slice.
He keeps his cock—just. But I’m hopeful the footage from the blinking red contraption propped at his right will help me strip anything of real value from his life.