Chapter Thirty-Five #2
It takes him three large strides to get to me but only two for his hands to wrap around my middle and for him to drag me up to his chest. His lips cover mine, torn lip budding open so I taste him and the iron in his blood.
Metallic, angry, and so, so dangerous. God, my husband is delicious.
My pink parts have probably turned red with how warm they’ve gotten just being touched by him again.
I struggle in his hold, even though my traitorous legs wrap around his waist. He kisses me harder, his strong tongue flicking at the seam of my lips, but I don't grant him entry. “Get out of my house, Maksim!”
I slap at him when he tries to kiss me again, and the growl that reverberates in his chest is like an unhinged animal. He grows hard against my pussy, and I hold back the wanton moan that wants to escape me. “You want to take it away for me, wife?”
Yes.
“NO!”
One of his hands goes to my hair, the other rips my shirt from the neckline to my ribs. “Bugiarda—” Liar.
I am. I’m a fucking liar and burning with need for him to take it out on me.
“—I told you before that your lips can spout the prettiest lies, but this perfect body of yours can’t lie to me.
” Maksim no longer tries to kiss my lips, going to my neck and swirling his tongue there to below my ear.
Another sob wracks my body because I hate how much he knows me.
Where to kiss, where to touch. And I hate that I love him so much I would let it drown me so he could live.
I have no self-preservation when it comes to Parker or Maksim, and they know that.
I am weak… But I am only weak for them. My treasonous hips move in the slightest grind against his thick length, and I shudder, proving my husband right.
“There’s my duchess. Already needy for her husband’s cock to fill her. ”
“Shut up!”
“Why, are you gonna slap me again?”
“No,” I moan, grinding against his length.
He lowers his voice even further, sending a chill down my spine when he whispers, “Do it.”
I pull away from him to peer into his dark, molten gaze.
I recognize what he needs immediately. It's the pain he wants to feel. Anger. It’s anything but the continuous void-like cloud that’s following him around, waiting to swallow him whole.
So I do. I slap my husband with my cake-battered hand.
The growl that leaves him is feral. He pulls down my bra and attacks my nipple, biting it so fiercely the pain makes me gasp.
He looks up at me intensely as he walks us backward and sits me on the only empty countertop.
His fingers find the seam of my leggings and he tears them open, finding me bare and so incredibly wet it could be humiliating. “See? My little liar.”
I shove my fingers into his dark hair that he has yet to cut, and he winces. “Shut the fuck up, husband.”
He reaches between us and unfastens his pants, letting them drop, hard cock jutting out, heavy.
So heavy it looks angry; every vein seems to already be pulsating.
I want to feel that familiar throb so bad it hurts.
He scoots me to the edge of the counter.
I keep my eyes on his as he wets the head of his cock with my arousal and then notches himself at my entrance.
In one merciless, jarring thrust, he pushes every fucking centimeter of his strong, thick cock into me so roughly it steals my breath and my thighs quiver.
He seems to need a moment as well because he rushes out a breath. “This what you wanted?”
I tighten my grip on his hair and grab his jaw, shaking my head. “More.”
He grabs my inner thigh and pushes it, spreading me for him even further. His other hand goes in my hair by the nape of my neck as he drags his hip back so I feel every vein of his cock and then thrusts even more brutally.
“More,” I gasp on the next harsh stab of his hips.
“That what you need?”
“You said you were going to give it to me. Give it to me then, you fucking beast.”
The word breaks something in him. I’m no longer on the counter; he’s hooked my legs over his arms, and without withdrawing from me, we make it to the guest room, where he sets me on my back on the bed.
Hands on my hip bones, he fucks into me, splitting me wide open.
But I see it in his eyes. He’s afraid to go harder, fuck deeper, to hurt me.
“More,” I challenge. He reaches up and helps me out of my shirt and bra.
Pushing me up on the bed, settling his weight on me, shoving my thighs so wide apart my hamstrings burn at the stretch.
His hand goes to my throat, squeezing the sides lightly, and the crazy, touch-starved bitch in me giggles.
“Is that all you have?” His eyes narrow and I see that flicker of vitriol he once held for me.
I want that. “Fuck me like you hate me, Maksim. Show me what it takes to make you feel bright.”
He grunts, the sound like a frustrated growl, but he does. “I need you to shut the fuck up and take my dick like a good little fucktoy. I’m going to use you, and I don’t give a fuck if you come for me or not. I prefer it, but I don’t give a fuck.”
The joke is on him. I love this.
He flips me over on all fours, ripping the leggings even more, and grabs a hip and the other goes to my shoulder. Every thrust thrust thrust gets deeper, spreading me further, punishing me for not getting to him sooner. I cry out when he spanks me so deliciously hard I keen, clawing at the sheets.
“That’s my good little slut. Look at you, bent over like a dirty bitch in heat. That's it. Take my fucking cock, wife. Letting me use you makes you so fucking wet. You’re creaming down my balls.”
I squeal when the next series of smacks leaves my ass warm. Maksim doesn’t relent. He shoves his fingers through my hair and yanks me up, my back to his chest. But his free hand gropes me everywhere, pinching my clit for a second then smacking it before going up to pinch my nipples.
“I can feel how bad this fat little pussy wants to come for me. Massaging my cock like you’re trying to suck me in deeper. You love this, don’t you? Love getting used by your husband?”
A soft whimper escapes my lips.
Maksim reaches up to cup my jaw and tilts my head back. “Open your fucking mouth when I ask you a question.”
But I know what he wants. I open my mouth and stick out my tongue. He slaps me lightly, then shoves two long, wide fingers between my lips, fucking my mouth. I grin up at him like the sadistic whore I am as saliva rolls down my chin.
“Reach down and play with your clit if you want to come, Duchess.”
I obey. So, so easily I obey my husband while he fucks my pussy with his cock and my mouth with his fingers.
Every moan is stifled; when I beg, he hushes me with another slap and another punishing ruthless stab of his cock, fucking into me so ferociously it makes me want to come. “Fucktoys don’t make noise.”
Oh. My. God. Why is that so hot? I’ve become a fucking masochist. I rub my clit faster, as his masculine grunts fill the room. Every pant of mine turns into a shattered breath as my orgasm barrels toward me. I let out a scream as my pussy clamps around him so tightly his hips stutter.
“There you are, my little fucktoy. Keep coming. I’m about to fill you with every fucking ounce of my cum and fuck it back in like the cocksleeve you are, my filthy bride.
I’m gonna use your mouth, your ass, your pussy.
Just remember when you’re sore and can’t walk tomorrow because every step reminds you how fucking deep I got and how hard you got fucked—You. Wanted. This,” he purrs against my ear.
“Oh, fuck, Maksim!”
He shoves me down, face to the mattress, as he grabs my hips one last time and yanks them until the backs of my thighs are flush against his.
He roars my name, cock jerking inside of me, fingers tightening their grip to inhuman measures.
“Fuck. Yes. That’s it. Take my cum. Every fucking drop. Goood fuccckkinnnggg girrrlll.”
He uses my mouth in the shower.
He fucks my ass in missionary while kissing me savagely.
We shower again, and afterward he makes me ride him. When I don’t do it fast enough, he flips me in whatever position he wants and ruts into me like a fucking animal.
It’s hard. Fast. Brutal. Raw.
My hair is pulled, his fingers are in my mouth or my ass.
My nipples are pinched, pulled, tweaked, plucked.
There are finger-shaped bruises on my arms from where he handles me like a goddamn ragdoll.
I take every thrust, every spank, and every flick of his tongue like a champ.
If I’m not swallowing his cum, it’s in me or on me.
We don’t leave the room for an entire day.
We barely make it in time to the fundraiser.
When we get back home, every hole of mine is eaten and fucked.
We spend another day in bed.
On the third day Parker almost breaks down the door. When Maksim opens it, Parker storms in. “She needs to eat and hydrate, you fucking asshole.”
Maksim doesn’t reply; he just turns and climbs back into bed, bringing me up to his chest. His smile is lazy, but his eyes… there’s still violence in them. A darkness I understand all too well. “Don’t worry. I planned on letting her rest today.”
Parker’s eyes go wild. “Oh, just today?”
Maksim does his Robert De Niro frown. “I mean, I can't keep making her every meal my cum.”
He absolutely can. Both of them can, actually.
His lips kiss my temple, then he moves swiftly, blankets pushed down as he cups my breast.
I peek at Parker. “Are you coming to join us?” I don’t have to ask him twice. I giggle when he toes off his trainers then reaches behind his head and pulls off his shirt swiftly. The mattress dips under his weight, but when he pulls the blanket to get in, he hisses. “What is it?”
“You got bruises all over, baby,” he says while settling in beside me, Maksim lightly snoring behind me, hand on my sore hip, covered in bruises.
I grin. “I know.”
“Real proud of that, huh?” He lifts an arm, and I tuck into his side, head on his chest.
“Even better. I feel like his wife again.”
But it doesn’t last long.