19. Permission & Promises #2
“Are you ready for a real first time, Americana?”
She doesn’t answer—just nods, eyes wide, lips swollen. That’s all the permission I need.
“First,” I say, as I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist. “You’ll experience your first time being fucked in the shower,” I whisper, as I slide into her in one smooth, aching thrust.
Her head falls back, a sharp cry echoing off the walls as I start to move—measured, deep strokes that pull a different kind of confession from her now. Pleasure. Raw and pure.
“Hold on tight, my beautiful Americana,” I growl, gripping her hips from beneath to anchor us both. “It’s been a while, and this first?” I growl as I thrust into her. Hard. “It’s for me. It’s mine too.”
The water pours down over us, steam curling around our bodies as we move in rhythm. Her hands clutch at my back, nails digging in. I drive into her against the wall, savoring every second, every pulse of her body around me.
“You feel that?” I breathe into her neck, my lips brushing her damp skin as I drive deeper, her body trembling beneath mine.
“Feel my body chasing your pleasure while being filled up at the same time? Feel me delivering my entire soul to you through each thrust?”
She whimpers, clinging to me like she never wants to let go.
“That’s what special feels like,” I growl, voice rough, rhythm never faltering. “This… this is how a husband fucks his wife.”
And then I give her everything—every inch, every ounce, every broken piece of me stitched back together in the heat of her body, the sound of her moans, the way she says my name like it’s hers.
She comes with a cry, her body tightening around me, and I follow with a low groan, burying myself as deep as I can go.
But we’re not done.
I carry my beautiful wife out of the shower, both of us soaked, dripping, breathless. She clings to me as I lay her on the bed, water still glistening on her skin like diamonds.
This time, I slow everything down.
No more urgency.
No more chasing release.
It’s just her. Us.
She hiccups again—soft, shy, involuntary—and it’s so fucking cute I almost lose my balance. My focus.
I think I love her already.
“You deserve everything special, Maddy Mills,” I murmur, brushing a kiss to her shoulder.
Her face shifts for a split second—like my words hit a place she wasn’t ready to open. But she hides it quickly. Pretends I didn’t see it.
“Somehow I don’t feel like I deserve this,” she whispers, voice barely audible.
I don’t let the words linger. I bend down and kiss them straight from her lips—slow and deep—taking her breath, her doubts.
“Don’t talk about my wife that way, beautiful Americana,” I say against her mouth.
She doesn’t argue. Not really. Because even though she fights the nickname, I can feel her softening to it. Getting used to the way it sounds coming from my lips.
I kiss every inch of her like I’m writing her name in devotion with my mouth. She exhales, fingers tracing my jaw, eyes locked on mine as I slide back into her, slow and deep, fitting us together like a secret finally spoken out loud.
This isn’t just sex.
This is a vow.
Claimed in sweat and moans and bare skin pressed together like truth.
“Never leave me,” I choke out, and I don’t give a damn that it sounds desperate.
Her eyes go wide. “What?”
I thrust into her—deeper this time, dragging a whimper from her throat as I push past the edge of what I can tell she’s used to, where comfort meets stretch and surrender.
“You’re mine,” I whisper, then take her mouth again, kissing her like I own it.
She breaks my hold, breathing hard, and I pout—then punish her with another deep thrust that steals the air right out of her lungs.
“Ah! Shit!”
“Your lips are mine, too,” I growl. “Give those back.” I trace my tongue across her mouth. Possessive.
“So possessive, he is,” she teases, her voice shaky but defiant.
“So talkative, she is,” I fire back, smirking. “Maybe I should’ve let you stuff this dick in your mouth like you wanted.”
She sticks out her tongue, mocking me, tempting me. And that’s it. That settles it.
I fucking love my wife.
“I’ve got an exceptionally deep throat,” she confesses, eyes dark, daring.
“And an incredibly tight pussy,” I groan, thrusting again, loving the way she clenches around me like she’s trying to keep me forever.
I love this.
The ease. The fire. The way we move like we’ve been doing this for years and will continue throughout eternity.
Who is this American girl?
And how the hell did she become my everything so fast?
We move like our bodies were made to sync like this. Her breath catches against my neck, fingers scraping down my back, our rhythm deepening with every roll of my hips.
“Promise me,” I breathe, dipping my head to suck her nipple into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue until she gasps.
She brings one leg up around my waist, and I grab it, holding it there, burying myself even deeper inside her.
“What am I promising again?” she pants, teasing me with that damn edge that drives me wild.
“Never leave, Americana.”
But she still doesn’t answer.
Her silence flips a switch in me.
I slide out, flip her onto her stomach in one fluid motion, then thrust back into her from behind. Her back arches, her long dark hair spilling like silk across her shoulders.
“Shit!” she screams, voice cracking under the force of it.
“Funny,” I growl, slapping her ass, the sound sharp, satisfying. “You’ve got no problem screaming everything but what I’m demanding of you, wife.”
I reach for her hair, gather it in one fist, like I’m about to tie it up—but I don’t. I wrap it tight around my hand, yank her head back gently but firmly, and fuck her harder, deeper.
I’m no longer making love to her.
Now, I’m fucking her with purpose, with ownership, with the full weight of the promise she still hasn’t made.
Finally—the words.
I hear them, broken and breathless, as I grab the headboard, knuckles white, using it for leverage while I drive into her with no mercy. Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.
Breaking her in.
Breaking us wide open.
“I promise,” she whimpers, voice trembling like her legs, like her will.
I lean down, bite her shoulder, then soothe it with my tongue—marking her and marveling at her all in one breath.
“Again, Americana,” I growl against her skin. “Say it again.”
“I promise…I won’t go,” she gasps, every word laced with desperation, surrender, truth.
“You’ll stay?”
She’s screaming now—louder with every thrust. From the stretch. From the burn. From the way I’m demanding more than just her body. I’m fucking the vow out of her, thrust by thrust.
Pleasure and pain crashing into each other as I wreck her with everything I am. And she gives it to me. All of it. Her body, her word, her fucking soul.
Mine.