Chapter 45
Brody
I’m frustrated at the jealousy I feel that her ex called her. And I’m confused about these primitive feelings welling up inside of me. The bitterness that he has her number, that she considered answering his phone call, makes me want to take her across my lap and punish her.
I glare at her, and she pales.
Then, in that spirited response I’ve come to expect of her, she tips up her chin. "I didn’t do anything wrong."
"You still have his number in your phone; that was wrong."
"Maybe, he was calling because he owes me the money for the wedding."
"We don't need it."
"I did almost marry him," she points out.
"But you didn’t. You married me." I lean forward in my seat. "You’re my wife."
I don’t bother to hide the proprietary tone in my voice. I’m giving away how, despite moving into the guest room and wanting to keep some separation between us, I’m not quite succeeding. Given how she watches me with a speculative look in her eyes, it’s clear she’s noticed it too.
"You call me your wife, yet you’re unable to deal with the emotions that evokes in you.” Her voice trembles. “You don’t want to share me. You’re upset because my ex called, yet you can’t name your feelings. You can’t own your vulnerabilities." She curls her fingers into fists.
I drag a hand through my hair, frustration tightening in my chest. She’s right. I want her. I love her. And yet, the words stay trapped behind my teeth. She looks at me, waiting.
The air between us hums with tension, electric and heavy.
It skims over my skin and winds tighter inside me until I can hardly breathe.
I open my mouth, ready to finally tell her what she means to me, but all that comes out is, “That’s it for today.
I’ll see you tomorrow at seven. We’ll ride to the office together. ”
Her face falls.
I almost jump to my feet and round the table to gather her in my arms. But I stop myself. I need time to think this through.
Maybe if I sleep on it, things will be clearer?
I rise to my feet. "Goodnight, Lark." My sweet wife.
I manage not to look at her as I walk past. Manage not to pause at the doorway and call out to her to come with me.
Manage to keep my gaze straight ahead, mount the stairs, and head to the guest room.
Once there, I look around the space, a little lost. Just a few nights of making love to her and holding her in my arms in bed, and I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep without her.
Shoving aside thoughts of her and the hard-on I sport at the thought of how I fucked her, I strip off my clothes and head into the en suite bathroom. I turn the shower on cold and step under it. I gasp a little at the contrast with my heated skin.
But long years of showers in the barracks, and wherever we stayed when on tour, means I adjust quickly.
It also means, it doesn’t do much to bring down my chub.
With a sigh, I pour conditioner into my palm, then squeeze my very erect shaft from root to crown.
Thoughts of the welts I painted into her skin with the ropes fill my head.
Images of Lark’s big eyes, swollen lips, trembling tits and thighs, and all that glistening pink flesh between them, crowd my mind.
I swell further in my palm. Fuck. This is not going to work.
Not when the reason for my being this turned on is down the hall in my bedroom. I squeeze again from base to tip, and again.
"That looks painful."
The words are spoken low, yet they reach me over the noise made by the shower.
I’m not surprised to open my eyes and find her standing at the entrance to the large shower cubicle.
She’s also naked. Fuck. Gloriously. Lushly.
Naked. I drink in the sight of her hair cascading around her shoulders, the swollen tits I imagined in my thoughts a few seconds ago, now revealed in front of me.
The tiny waist, that slight, sweet roll of her stomach, then those gorgeously flared hips, and fleshy thighs which I swear, I need to mark with my teeth and my nails.
I continue to jerk myself off as I take in my erotic dream come to life. "Come 'ere," I growl.
She swallows, then slowly puts one foot in front of the other. Step by step, she approaches. When she reaches me, I notice she has one hand hidden behind her.
"What do you have there?" I arch an eyebrow.
She looks guilty, then holds up her hand with a sprig of mistletoe suspended from between her fingers.
Her safe word. Which she’s now laying out between us as an offering, perhaps? A sign that she’s giving in to her innermost desires?
Does my little wife have any idea how transparent she is?
"Where did you get that?" I allow my lips to tilt up slightly on one side.
"I noticed an oak tree in your garden. After you left, I decided to walk out and pick one. Figured it gave me an excuse to come into your room. Then I found you under the shower." She shrugs.
"You don’t need an excuse to come to me. You never need an excuse to ask me for what you want."
I hold out my hand, and when she places the mistletoe in it, I carefully place it on the far side of the shower bench, out of the reach of the water. Then I seat myself, part my legs, and nod to the space between my feet.
She willingly folds herself and sinks to her knees. I reach out and shut off the shower. In the silence that follows, the sound of her breathing is audible.
She reaches for my cock, and I click my tongue. "You may only use your mouth, your tongue, and your teeth."
She scowls. "Is that a challenge?"
"Why not?" I lean back against the shower wall. As she stares at my cock, the blood rushes to my groin, extending it further, elongating it, making it bob against my lower belly.
She flicks out her little tongue to lick at her lower lip, a giveaway of how much she's aroused. The thought of my wife locking her gorgeous mouth around my shaft and sucking me off is enough to knot the muscles in my groin. My testicles tighten. I widen my legs to accommodate my erection.
As if it’s a sign, she bends and licks around the rim of my shaft.
A line of fire zips up my spine. I grit my teeth and focus on tamping down this need to come right away.
Instead, I hold her hair away from her face so I can watch my cock disappear inside her mouth.
Everything I’ve said about eroticism before?
Forget it. This…right here…my wife swallowing my dick down her throat and gagging around it, and my wrapping my fingers gently around her neck to feel the shape of my dick ensconced in the snug column, is the answer to a prayer I’ve never voiced aloud.
I tighten my hold on her hair. In response, she looks up at me. A teardrop stays balanced at the tips of her eyelashes. Unable to stop myself, I run my finger over it and scoop it up. She shivers. The walls of her throat tighten around my cock.
"Fucking hell, wife, you’re going to be the death of me." I gently pull her back, so my cock stays balanced on her lower lip.
Saliva drools from the edges of her mouth.
Combined with the strands of wet hair that stick to her head, and her mascara running down her cheeks, she resembles something forbidden.
Something almost innocent. Except, she isn’t.
Not anymore. Not when I’ve introduced her to the pleasures of the world I inhabit.
It's a different side from the woman I interviewed for the role of my EA.
I was immediately entranced by her.
She never hesitated to go toe-to-toe with me.
She delivered on her promise of being a spitfire.
But that guilelessness that marked her out like she was wearing a crown of neon is now tarnished.
By me. It’s both humbling and a source of pride that I was the one to awaken those hidden cravings in her.
I created this version of her who craves being dominated by me. Who’ll yield only to me. Who’ll never bend that proud head to anyone else except me. A fierce protectiveness arises in me. I shaped her. Molded her into my fantasy.
A woman who's both fiery and submissive. Who can match my intelligence in the boardroom. Who isn’t scared of exploring the kinkier side of herself. Who looks at me like the sun rises and sets with me.
It's hard to miss the adoration in her eyes; it makes me feel twenty feet tall. That yearning with which she now looks at me while swallowing around my cock.
Her features are flushed. The pulse at the base of her neck flutters like the wings of a dragonfly.
One who will be imprisoned by me. For I’m never letting her go.
The decision sinks into me, and instantly, a sense of utter peace, of rightness, descends on me.
Of course, I’m not allowing her to leave me.
She’s mine. I married her. I’m keeping her.
I’m never letting her go.
She must see some of the emotions flickering across my features, for her gaze widens.
She begins to sit back on her heels, but I hold her in place with my grip on her hair.
I ease her forward, and my dick slips down her throat.
I hold her there once more, allowing her to adjust to my size.
Then slide my hand down to cup her swollen tit.
I pinch her nipple, and she almost loses her balance.
Of course, my hold on her keeps her upright.
The flush spreads to her décolletage, then her torso.
The rosy hue covering her skin is a delight.
I slide my foot between her knees and kick them further apart.
Her shoulders tremble; her pupils are so blown, she might well be on a hallucinogen. A flush of pride fills me. I did this to her. I’m the one to give her so much pleasure, she looks like it might take but a touch before she climaxes.
"Don’t you dare come," I warn.
Her gaze narrows. A flash of obstinacy lights up her eyes. I allow a small chuckle to escape.
I’ve pissed her off. Good. I want her to fight me. Not that it’s a fair scenario; I’m going to win. Her body knows who’s in charge. Not that it’s going to stop her from putting up a spirited defense.
To illustrate my point, I arch my foot so my toe grazes across her slit. She jumps. Her breathing intensifies. The green of her eyes turns almost golden. Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s aroused. Tied down by nothing but my words. Which makes her struggle more delicious.
My cock thickens, pushing out on the walls of her mouth. I tighten my hold on her nipple and tweak it. At the same time, I breach her slit with my big toe and begin to fuck her mouth in earnest.
The triple assault on her senses makes her entire body jolt. Her thighs tremble, her shoulders snap back, and I know she’s close. I straighten my foot so I can slip my toe inside her channel fully. I ease her head back, then forward. And when I punch my hips, I hit the back of her throat.
She gags. Her inner walls close around my toe. And I realize then, the assault is as much on my senses. For my balls draw up. I release my hold on her and cup both of her breasts, massaging them.
"I’m coming."