29. Graham
29
GRAHAM
Something snaps in me, the last thread of my control fraying and giving way. With a low growl, I surge forward, capturing Francesca’s mouth in a bruising kiss. For half a second, I could stop this. I should stop this. But she makes a soft sound against my lips, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and any last shred of hesitation dissolves.
Her lips part on a moan, and I take advantage, my tongue delving inside to claim her.
Her fingers curl into my shoulders as she meets me stroke for stroke, give for give. It’s hot and slick and so damn good I see stars. I pull back just enough to see her, our breaths mingling in the space between us. Her lips are swollen, pink, parted. Waiting.
Fuck. She’s waiting for me.
I pull her flush against me, reveling in the way her soft curves melt into my harder planes. She fits. Like she was made for me.
She wants a real marriage? Sign me the fuck up.
My hands slide up her thighs to grip her hips, pulling her fully onto my lap so she’s straddling me. My cock jumps at the contact, the heat of her pussy pressing against me through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts. Goddamn does that feel good.
Francesca breaks the kiss with a gasp, her head tipping back as I trail my lips down the column of her throat. I can feel her pulse hammering beneath my tongue and it only spurs me on, makes me want to unravel her completely.
“Graham,” she breathes, my name a plea on her lips. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping deliciously against my scalp.
I nip at her collarbone, soothing the sting with my tongue. “I’ve got you, sunshine. I’m going to take such good care of you.”
She shivers in my arms, a breathy moan escaping her lips as I suck a mark into the delicate skin of her throat. I want to mark her, claim her, make sure there’s no doubt in her mind or anyone else’s that she’s mine.
That tomorrow, when she looks in the mirror, she sees me all over her. That when she walks through town, through her bookstore, everyone else sees it too.
Mine to worship. Mine to pleasure. Mine to protect.
My goddamn wife.
I groan into her skin, my hands sliding under the thin material of her shorts to sink my thumbs into that sensitive crease at the top of her thighs. She gasps, tipping her head back and rolling against mine almost unconsciously. The need to touch her, taste her, have her in every way possible pounds against my temples.
“Graham, please .” Her voice is breathy, desperate as she grinds against my cock. “I think I—oh god, I think I’m going to come.”
It’s music to my fucking ears.
“Oh, sunshine,” I murmur with approval.
Her fingers tighten in my hair as she grinds down on my lap, seeking friction. I capture her lips again, the kiss deep and filthy. She whimpers into my mouth, and the sound shoots straight to my cock. I’m painfully hard, straining against my sweatpants.
My wife rocks against me, desperation making her movements rough and uncoordinated. The heat of her core rubs deliciously along my length through the thin fabric of our clothes. I groan into her mouth, my hands gripping her hips tighter as I guide her, showing her how to move, how to grind against me in just the right way.
“That’s it, sunshine,” I murmur against her lips. “Just like that. Fuck, you feel so good.”
She whimpers, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she lets me control her tempo. Her head tips back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. I can’t resist. I lean in and drag my teeth over the tendon.
She cries out, a desperate, needy sound that has my cock throbbing. Her pussy grinds down on me, the fabric of her shorts damp against my straining erection. God, I can’t wait to feel her without layers of fabric between us.
“Graham, oh god.” She’s breathless, hips undulating against me faster and faster as she chases her pleasure. I can feel how close she is, the way her thighs tremble and her breath comes in short, sharp pants.
“That’s it, wife,” I growl. “Come for me. Let me have it.”
My words seem to push her over the edge. Her back arches, and her mouth falls open on a silent scream as her orgasm crashes over her. I can feel her pulsing, throbbing against my cock even through our clothes. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
So fucking hot that my balls tingle, and my orgasm rocks through me.
I groan, my fingers digging into her hips as I come, my release pulsing hot and wet against the fabric of my sweatpants. Francesca collapses against my chest, trembling and panting as she comes down from her high. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as we both try to catch our breath.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of our ragged breathing and the hum of my computer monitors. I force my fingers to unclench from her hips, but it takes effort. My pulse is still hammering, my body still wound too tight.
She’s soft and boneless against my chest, her breath warm where it fans against my collarbone. If I close my eyes, I could almost pretend this is something more.
Her heart pounds against my chest, gradually slowing as the aftershocks fade. I stroke my hands up and down her back, soothing and grounding us both.
“Holy shit,” she murmurs against my neck. Her voice is sex-rough, languid with satisfaction.
A slow, victorious grin spreads across my face. “Yeah, sunshine.”
She lifts her head, her eyes heavy-lidded and sated as they meet mine. A lazy, contented smile curves her lips, and it hits me square in the chest. I did that. I put that look of utter satisfaction on her face. Pride and possessiveness swell within me, tangling with something deeper. Something that feels dangerously like adoration.
I brush a lock of hair off her damp forehead, tucking it behind her ear. She leans into my touch, nuzzling her cheek against my palm. The simple gesture, so trusting and affectionate, it makes something ache inside of me.
“Okay, Francesca?”
She grins, brushing her lips against mine in a soft kiss. “More than okay. But I think I need a shower now.” She stands up slowly, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. She drags her gaze from me to the security camera feed and back to me once more.
My cock twitches at the invitation, already starting to harden again.
Francesca saunters toward the door, hips swaying with each step. My eyes linger on her curves, barely concealed by the thin cotton shorts and camisole. She pauses in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. An impish grin tugs at her lips, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Enjoy the show, husband,” she purrs. Then with a wink, she slips out of my office and pads down the hallway toward her room.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand over my face as I lean back in my chair.
“Jesus Christ.” I’ve lost my fucking mind. I tell myself it’s the tension, the stress. That it’s just been a while since I’ve had a woman like that, soft and eager in my lap.
But it’s bullshit, and I know it. This isn’t about sex. It’s about her .
I’d like to think that I’m strong, patient and logical. But Francesca Carter seems to be my weakness in every regard.
I drag the camera feed to the center monitor, changing the nine squares to one. The one in her bathroom. I hadn’t added it to the main grid, mostly because I never intended to check it. There are cameras in every room of my house as a precaution.
But she invited me to watch. It’d almost be rude of me not to do ask she asks. Disrespectful as her husband.
My logic is thin, but right now it feels iron-clad.
The image on the screen flickers to life, grainy black and white giving way to the soft glow of the bathroom light. Francesca steps into view, her back to the camera as she faces the mirror. Even through the slightly pixelated feed, I can see the flush on her cheeks, the wild tangle of her hair from my fingers.
She meets her own gaze in the mirror, a small, secret smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. What she’s about to do.
Slowly, teasingly, she peels her thin camisole over her head, letting it drop to the floor. Her bare back is to the camera, the smooth expanse of her skin making my mouth go dry. She reaches behind her, unclasping her bra and sliding it down her arms. It joins the camisole on the tile, leaving her naked from the waist up.
My cock throbs, already fully hard again as I watch her. She slides her hands over her stomach, up her ribcage, cupping her breasts. I can’t see her breasts fully, not from this angle, but I can imagine. The way they would fill my hands, soft and supple. The pretty pink of her nipples, begging for my mouth. I groan, palming myself through my sweatpants as I watch her tease her own flesh.
Francesca’s head tips back, her eyes fluttering closed as she pinches and rolls her nipples between her fingers. I can almost hear the breathy little moan that escapes her parted lips. She’s putting on a show for me, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My wife, pleasuring herself, knowing I’m watching.
Wanting me to watch.
She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her sleep shorts and panties, slowly dragging them down her legs. She bends at the waist as she steps out of them, giving me a tantalizing view of the curve of her ass. My fingers dig into my thighs as I fight the urge to go to her, to sink my teeth into that plump flesh and make her come again. All over my face this time.
I watch as she steps into the shower, the water cascading over her curves as she faces me through the glass. The steam fogs up the door, blurring her body into a silhouette. But I can still make out the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
I grip the armrests of my chair, white-knuckled, as I watch her tilt her head back under the spray. Her hands slide over her body, slick with soap, mapping the valleys and peaks I’m desperate to explore with my tongue.
My cock throbs inside my pants, like I didn’t just come ten minutes ago. I press down on it, a paltry attempt for relief.
She runs her hands through her hair, massaging shampoo into her scalp with languid strokes. Rivulets of water trail down her body, following the curve of her spine, the swell of her ass. I imagine myself behind her, my hands replacing hers as I work the lather through her hair. I’d kiss down the column of her neck, nipping and sucking as my hands roamed her slick skin.
Francesca rinses the shampoo from her hair, tipping her head back under the spray. Her expression is one of pure bliss, lips parted and eyes closed as if lost in sensation. Through the fogged glass, I catch glimpses of her hands gliding over her body, teasing and touching in ways that make my blood run hot.
She works conditioner through the ends of her hair with slow, sensual strokes. Her fingers comb through the long, damp strands before she rinses it out.
“Jesus Christ. Shampoo and conditioner shouldn’t be so fucking hot,” I whisper, leaning toward the center monitor.
Francesca turns to face the camera head-on through the foggy glass, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. She slowly lifts one slender leg, propping her foot up on the built-in bench. The new position opens her to me completely, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she knew exactly where the cameras were.
I zoom in, my breath catching in my throat when she reaches out of frame, grasping something I can’t see. When she pulls her hand back, my eyes widen.
A small, sleek vibrator rests in her palm. Midnight blue and glistening under the shower spray. My mouth goes dry, blood rushing south so fast I feel momentarily lightheaded.
She brings the toy to her lips, closing her eyes as she runs it along the seam of her mouth. Her pink tongue darts out, flicking against the tip in a move that makes my cock jump. She’s teasing me, putting on a show, and goddamn if it isn’t working.
My grip tightens on the arms of my chair as she trails the vibrator down her throat, between her breasts. She circles one tight nipple, biting her bottom lip as she grazes the sensitive bud. I curse under my breath, pressing my palm harder against my straining erection.
My beautiful, brilliant, tease of a wife drags the vibrator lower, pausing with the tip above her clit. Her smirk is downright wicked as her gaze collides with the camera once more.
My cock throbs in my pants, desperation pounding inside my bloodstream.
With deliberate slowness, she lowers the toy, parting her folds and pressing the vibrator against her clit. Her head falls back and her mouth opens on a silent moan as she begins to slowly sink the toy inside her perfect cunt.
I groan, my hand moving to grip my cock through my sweatpants. I’m achingly hard, the fabric damp with cum. Watching Francesca fuck herself on that toy, knowing she’s doing this while I’m watching, it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed.
And it’s also the most jealous I’ve ever been of a battery-operated toy.
Because what the fuck is going on with me that all I can think about is storming into that shower and replacing it with me.
She works the vibrator in and out, her pace quickening as her pleasure builds. Her other hand slides between her legs, finding her clit and rubbing tight circles. Her hips undulate, chasing the sensations, and I can see the way her thighs tremble, the water sluicing down her flushed skin.
“Fuck,” I growl, zooming in even closer.
I palm myself harder through my sweatpants, matching her rhythm, imagining it’s my cock she’s riding, my fingers on her clit. I’m so hard it hurts, my arousal a living thing clawing at my skin, desperate to break free.
I want to be there with her, want to feel her clenching around my cock as she comes undone. Want to lick the water from her skin and swallow every desperate sound falling from her lips. I want to make her come so hard she forgets her own name.
Her movements grow more frantic, her hips rocking faster as she nears her peak. Her free hand braces against the foggy glass of the shower door, leaving a smeared handprint. Her chest heaves, water droplets trailing between her breasts as they bounce with each thrust of the vibrator.
I can’t take my eyes off her. The way her back arches, the flush of arousal staining her skin. The look of pure, unadulterated bliss on her face as she fucks herself, chasing her pleasure with single-minded focus. Knowing I’m watching.
I’m right there with her, my hand matching her rhythm as I stroke myself through my sweatpants. The damp fabric clings to my cock, adding just enough friction that has me teetering on the brink. I’m so hard, so fucking ready to explode.
Francesca's head falls back against the tiled wall, her mouth falling open on what I know is a silent scream of ecstasy. Her hips buck erratically, the vibrator moving in short, frantic thrusts as she rides out her orgasm. I can see the way her body tenses and shudders, every muscle pulled taut as pleasure crashes over her in waves.
It's the most erotic, mind-blowingly sexy thing I've ever seen.
My cock pulses in my hand, my balls drawing up tight as my own release barrels down my spine.
I’ve never come in my pants before, but now it’s happened twice in one night. All because of my wife.