Chapter 28 #2
I give her a second finger. She’s dripping wet, but I need to make her absolutely soaked, open and ready for my cock.
I’m too big to half-ass this with her. I know she’s come to like the stretch of my cock, but I need to slide in like butter tonight, driving her wild with how full she is without even a hint of pain.
I go back to my knees, determined to watch my fingers disappear inside of her, and put my free hand on her stomach to hold her steady.
She tightens around me immediately, her pussy milking my fingers like they’re my cock. “You like that?” I muse, pressing on her stomach as I tilt my fingers to find her g-spot.
She comes all over my hand and all over the bedspread, her voice a high, keening moan as her body twitches. There’s this sense of victory in my chest, something primal and cave-man stirring inside me. I did that. I made my wife come like that.
“You squirted for me,” I whisper, watching her eyes flutter as I slowly withdraw my fingers. “Oh, pretty baby, I didn’t—you ever done that before?”
I somehow doubt it. She’s told me she hadn’t had sex in a decade, and I get the feeling that nineteen-year-old Cassidy wasn’t the lucky one who escaped the mediocrity of teenage boys and their dicks. Is it wrong that I’m hoping I’m the only one who’s given her this?
She shakes her head slowly, exhaustedly, and I use my clean hand to stroke her hair out of her face, leaning in to press soft kisses along her jaw. “I’m so fucking honored,” I tell her. “I love that you feel so good you can let go. I love it.”
I keep stroking her hair while she settles into her body again. Finally, I look down at her pussy, pink and swollen. “One more?” I ask her. “Do you want me inside you, baby? Or are you done?”
Her eyes flash, completely alert now. “Inside me,” she insists, voice a determined rasp.
“Alright, alright. Of course. What my wife wants, my wife gets,” I assure her, lifting her body so I can reposition her on the bed. “I know you like being full of me, hm? My pretty wife likes having her little pussy stuffed by her husband.”
I put a pillow under her hips, angling her for my cock, and then push into her nice and slow, keeping an eye on her expression, watching for even the smallest change. When she flinches, I stop cold.
She huffs, and then grabs at me, digging those short little nails into my skin. “Don’t. Stop,” she enunciates.
I swallow, torn. “Are you hurt?”
“I am sensitive,” she says primly. “And it feels so good. So overwhelming and so good and we are not done yet. Unless you talk a big game but don’t deliver?” she asks, some of that sass back in her already.
Well, her words make what she wants clear enough. I thrust into her, watching her face as she squirms and moans under me.
“I always deliver on my promises, wife,” I make sure to tell her, thrusting into her and setting a steady pace. “I want you to remember that. If I tell you I’ll do something, then you can count on it. It’s as good as done unless you say stop.”
“Finn,” she sighs, eyes slipping closed as she squeezes around my cock. Her head’s fallen back, and I can’t accept that.
I gently tilt her chin so she’s looking at me again. “Eyes on me, wife,” I tell her. She stares back, wide-eyed and not entirely here, pleasure sparking in her eyes. “Watch your husband prove what he can do for you.”
Then I trail my hands down to find hers, lace our fingers together, and drag her hands up over her head, pressing her into the mattress while I keep thrusting into her, deep and steady.
“Who does this for you?” I murmur. “Who fucks you like this? Who makes you feel good?” She didn’t even notice the people watching her tonight, but I sure as fuck did. And it can’t hurt to remind her why exactly I’m the one she goes home with.
“You do,” she gasps, rolling her hips against me the best she can.
“Who does?” I ask again. “Who am I, baby?”
She mewls, high pitched and so sweet, and then pleads, “My husband. My husband makes me feel this good, my husband fills me up—please make me come.”
So fucking sweet, so fucking needy for me and what I can give her. “Of course, wife,” I tell her, punctuating my promise with a hard thrust. “All you’ll ever have to do is ask.”
I keep my pace steady, feeling her squeeze around me, and know she’s close. Right there. Yes. I’m going to be able to do this for my wife, we’re both going know who makes her come, who makes her forget, who fucks her until there’s nothing else in the entire world. Me. I do that for her.
I’m honestly not sure what thoughts I’m saying out loud and what is in my head, and Cassidy’s little gasping moans don’t clarify it any. She’s so close, ready to burst, and then she’s coming, moaning my name as she convulses around me for the fourth time tonight.
I can’t help myself. Her pussy is too perfect to resist, so I spill inside her, sealing whatever promise this is between us.
My woman. My wife. Mine to please and fuck and care for, mine to make sure she doesn’t give more to others than she takes for herself. Mine.
I kiss along her face and neck, releasing her hands and slowly pulling out of her tight, perfect body.
My cock, which shouldn’t have an opinion on anything at this point, considering how hard I came, practically weeps to have to leave her, but I know how hard I pushed her tonight. She’s sore and she needs a break.
She nuzzles into me when I pull her into my arms, laying propped up on my side for the sake of my wings. And when I drape one over her, she gently grips the edge, using it like a blanket.
I didn’t think I could become any more of an obsessed mess tonight, but evidently I can. I melt around her, kissing the top of her head. “How’re you doing, baby?”
“Tired.”
I chuckle. She didn’t even open her eyes to say it, and she’s still holding onto my wing like a security blanket. “Not too sore, right?”
“I have never been that full in my life.”
It’s wrong to preen at that, I remind myself. Or at least, visibly preen. What I do inside my head is no one else’s business.
“You were so fucking perfect,” I tell her, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. “So beautiful, baby. Thank you for letting me make you feel good.”
“I should thank you.”
“No,” I tell her firmly. “You don’t thank me for that. I’m the lucky one.”
She scoffs, but I’m dead serious about this one. Even if she doesn’t get it right now, I’ll help her to see it. No matter how long it takes.