23. Oh, What a Wedding Night #3
He thrusts his fingers in and out of me while he takes turns licking over my clit and spearing it with the tip of his tongue, driving more and more ecstasy into my body.
I try to buck. I try to writhe. I yank against the restraints on my wrists, but he has complete control of my body. And an atavistic part of me loves that.
I can't touch him wrong if I can't touch him at all. I can't mess up the most intense sexual experience of my life. The cuffs, the way his body holds mine down, they all give me permission to just be here, in my own body, receiving what he's giving me.
No pressure to perform. No responsibility for turning him on. From the way he's moaning, tasting and touching me is doing that all on its own.
This Adonis of a man, this man with the power and strength of an ancient warrior, is so turned on by my body, he's rubbing himself against the bed.
"I want you inside me," I cry.
But I don't want him to stop doing what he's doing.
He lifts his face set in feral lines, his mouth and chin glistening with my juices. "I will be. Over and over again. Trust me, baby girl. We've got all night."
All night? As in he expects to make love all night long? Like this?
"I won't survive i…it." My words ending on a wail as his mouth goes back to my clitoris and his big hand reaches up to squeeze my breast.
He pinches my nipple, tugging on it. Pinching and plucking in an endless cycle of overstimulation to my tender flesh, he forces my body not only to receive more pleasure but to go higher than I ever have on a precipice part of me is terrified of going over.
I make sounds I have never made before, sounds I'd be embarrassed about if my entire higher brain function hadn't clocked out and gone home.
Then a third finger joins the first two, stretching my vaginal walls until I feel the sting.
And suddenly, the precipice is right there. I scream out long and loud enough to concern the guests in the next suite.
The next suite where my mother and daughters are sleeping.
Oh, my lord. What if they heard me? These hotel walls are thick, probably because so many families stay here, but are any thick enough to muffle that decibel of sound?
Then even those thoughts fritz right out of my head as my entire body contracts in a rictus of agonized pleasure and another scream tears from my throat.
His name. "Kieran!"
I shake and shiver, my vaginal walls contracting over and over as the climax doesn't abate because my voracious husband won't let it. He tongues and nips my pleasure nub while pistoning his thick fingers in and out of me so hard, he'd be shoving me up the bed if his body wasn't so heavy on mine.
My scream turns to small cries and then whimpers.
"Please, Kieran, it's too much." That bundle of nerves I thought was good for a climax every few weeks with my hand is so sensitive every brush of his tongue makes my body jolt in too-much, not-enough pleasure.
With another hoarse cry, I come again and this time, every muscle that contracted releases and I go boneless. Like really boneless.
I'm a gelatinous mass. A really happy. Really sated. Pleasure-drunk mass.
Relief wars with disappointment when Kieran pulls his fingers from inside me and lifts his mouth away from my pleasure center.
"Bibbidi-Bobbidi-fucking-BOOM." Kieran shifts his big body, sending another aftershock rippling through my pussy. "No magic wand needed."
"Two booms in one night seems pretty magical to me." Am I even still breathing?
"Two? We just got started, baby girl."
If Kieran were a Disney villain, the only thing he’d need to keep the princess enchanted would be the magic wand jutting out from his body.
I may not be a princess but I’m so under this man’s spell.
He doesn't bother wiping his mouth before yanking me up and twisting us so I'm on top of him before he devours my mouth with the same enthusiasm he showed my pussy.
I taste myself on him. Tart. Different. And mixed with his taste, addictive. His hands roam my body while we kiss, my thighs spread wide over him. He lifts my hips like I weigh nothing and maneuvers me so my opening is pressed against the head of his straining dick.
When did he take his boxer shorts off?
Do I care?
I'm still mostly dressed, but I don't care about that either.
It doesn't matter that I just came twice in the most mind shattering climaxes of my life. I want more. I want him.
I wiggle my hips, trying to get his bulbous head inside me, but I'm tight and he's big and I'm going to need his help. Especially with my hands cuffed behind my back.
He thrusts upward, stretching my slick flesh around his dick.
Squirming, I try to take more of him in.
Sweat beaded on his brow, his jaw taut with strain, he shakes his head. "Don't. I'm big and you're too fucking tight to have given birth three times."
Yeah, despite what so many men think, including my dead husband, pussies aren't wrecked by childbirth. I swear with how hard it is for Kieran to get inside me, I'm tighter than the first time I had sex.
Or he's just really big.
Remembering the feel of him in my hand, even through his trousers, I'm going with he's big. Really, really big.