Yearn

Prologue

Licking Stretchmarks

Dominic

Her dress was bunched at her waist and her panties tossed to the side. Even more, Teyonah was spread out on the kitchen table like a forbidden feast, and I was starving for her pussy.

The wood groaned as I slid her knees to the edge, nudged them wider with my hips, and stood between her thighs.

But I didn’t care if the table gave out.

In fact, I wanted this fucking table to break. To never recover from her moans, her surrender, and my erotic destruction.

I wanted to scar and crack the grain with my cock slamming into her. Yearned to stain the wood with my cum and mark it forever.

Then later, she could never look at this table the same again. It would not be the place where her young sons dropped their homework or ate their bowls of cereal.

It would not be the place where her husband pretended to read the newspaper online as he really lust-scrolled on his phone and ignored her.

That smug, unrepentant bastard, who still expected her to swallow his lies with her morning coffee.

Every time I thought of her husband’s hands on her, I wanted to break his fingers one by one.

From now on, she would see this object as my operating table where she was my only patient.

Shit. . .I wanted to fuck her into this table until the noise dragged her husband downstairs and made him choke to death on his own rage.

I needed him to see her head thrown back, mouth open, moaning for me in ways she never had for him.

To realize too late that he’d lost due to taking her for granted.

Maybe then he’ll regret coming back after he betrayed her.

I looked down at Teyonah.

Why is she so beautiful?

For now, my cock was still caged in my pants, but my pierced tongue was hungry and ready to devour her pussy.

She closed her eyes, and for a second I swore she was trying to remember the last time anyone touched her like this—like she was more than a mother, more than a wife, more than tired hands on a clock.

I grabbed the dress bunched at her waist.

She opened her eyes and parted her lips.

I shoved the dress higher to display her belly, and locked both hands around the large curvy softness.

Fuck yeah.

Deranged groans ripped from my throat.

Her belly trembled under my palms, soft, lush, and warm with heat from her arousal.

She flinched and tried to push my hands away.

I put them right back on her belly and sneered. “Don’t you ever move my hands again.”

My voice had cut sharper than any scalpel. However, she had to know that she wasn’t in charge here. I was the surgeon, and I decided how deep the cut would go.

Still, she swallowed, and there was a lot of fear in her eyes. Fear of desiring a secret fantasy buried deep, the kind she’d been taught was sin. Fear of giving herself to a younger man who refused to see her as untouchable. Fear that her own body was betraying her.

And beneath that fear, I saw hunger too—the kind that grows from years of being strong alone, years where no one truly fed her soul.

The ache of a woman constantly overlooked.

I’m not going to let your fears stop us today.

I licked my lips. “Teyonah. . .put your hands at your sides.”

Shivering, she obliged and flattened her palms against the table.

“So perfect.” I had to stifle my groan. “Look at me while I touch what you hide.”

Her gaze locked on mine. She wasn’t used to anyone talking to her this way, and with our huge difference in age, she probably expected nervousness and hesitation from me.

I didn’t have any.

Unlike her fucking husband, I knew what I wanted and would not back down.

She had a life already—school forms on the counter, a mortgage, a calendar crowded with pick-ups and dentist reminders.

I had medical school lecture slides, a secret trust fund, her basement apartment that I was renting, and her two sons that I tutored and babysat when she needed it.

She had a body that had made people.

I had a body that was built to make her moan.

She had a reputation of being a hard working legal assistant and stand-up mother that sacrificed her life for her kids, even to the point of dealing with her douchebag husband.

If the PTA found out I was spread between their precious volunteer’s thighs, they’d choke on their bake-sale brownies.

They would whisper at Sunday service, eyes cutting sharp across the pews.

They would side-eye her at the grocery store, clutching their carts like morality shields.

They’d talk about her in hushed voices, but never to her face.

And every rumor would make me harder and want to slam into her pussy deeper.

Fuck those nosy women, and fuck her cheating husband too.

He thought he held power over her because he still paid a lot of the bills. But the trust fund in my account could buy this house three times over, rip his name off the deed, and engrave hers in gold. Money wasn’t the prize, she was. And I would spend every cent to make sure she knew it.

He thought he owned this house, this table, this woman—but the only thing he really owned was a body I hadn’t buried yet.

Scott had returned to win her back, but the very thought of Scott ever touching her again made my jaw ache.

I wanted to erase his past fingerprints from her skin with my tongue and teeth.

It’s time to stop being nice.

I lifted my head and studied her. “You keep going back and forth on what you want.”

“Dominic—”

“Stop pretending you don’t dream about this cock stretching you open.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“You can fight it, lie to yourself, but your pussy wants to be mine.”

She blinked.

“I don’t want to hear anymore fucking excuses. We’ll figure out everything else later or. . .never.” I seared her with my gaze. “But for right now. . .just say yes to me touching you the way I’ve yearned. Please. . .say it. . .”

Time stopped.

The refrigerator hummed.

The table creaked.

My heart boomed in my ears.

Everything hinged on her response.

If she denied me, I would unravel.

If she gave in, I would explode.

She shivered. “Yes.”

That word shot through me, but I knew a yes now didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t regret it later, or try to take this moment back.

At least she said yes for now.

I caressed her belly slowly, drinking in the dark brown of her skin beneath my hands.

A soft moan left her.

In the moonlight spilling through the window, her stretch marks shimmered like golden-brown streaks across her body.

Some spiraling.

Some twisting.

Some short with feathered edges.

To anyone else, they might have looked like flaws.

To me—a second-year medical student—stretch marks represented the body’s brilliance on display. Collagen fibers extending, skin adapting under pressure, dermis reorganizing itself to hold more than it was ever meant to.

I’d memorized this process in textbooks, traced diagrams of tensile strength and scar formation. But none of those sterile illustrations compared to the erotic reality under my hands.

God yes.

I wanted to smear my precum across her belly and mark every golden-brown line like I owned them.

Her gorgeous, curvy belly was a living record of expansion and endurance, warm and soft, breathing beneath me.

Not a flaw, not a blemish, but a constellation across her flesh and proof the universe had once chosen her to carry galaxies.

Every spiral was evidence of how her body made room for life.

Every twist was proof of her survival written in tissue.

Every feathered line was adaptation etched into skin.

And I wanted all those stretch marks under my tongue.

Finally.

I lowered my head to her belly and remained there, just watching her breathe.

Chest rising.

Chest falling.

The sound of her breath filled the kitchen like music, and for a heartbeat I let silence dance between us.

The way she looked at me now—wide-eyed, lips parted—told me she felt it too: this was freedom, even if it only lasted one night.

“You deserve everything and more.” I leaned in closer, but wouldn’t let my lips brush her skin yet. I just wanted the heat of my breath to torture her for a few seconds.

To let her know that she wasn’t just someone’s wife, or the mother with grocery lists taped to the fridge—she was mine, trembling under my hands, finally remembered as a woman again.

Then, I broke the moment the only way I knew how: with my mouth on her skin. I dragged my wet, pierced tongue along the golden-brown trails, following them as though they were pathways only I had the map for. I pulsed the metal ball like a metronome.

Tap.

Tap.

Drag.

Her thighs quivered, slick heat spreading. Her pussy was ready to learn the shape of my cock. The scent of her arousal rose up thick and sweet, clinging to my tongue.

I can’t wait to taste her.

But I had to take my time, even though this was torture, like standing outside a locked door while the treasure I craved moaned on the other side.

The floorboards above creaked, and she tried to move me away and sit up.

“No. If he heard and is coming down, let him see how you should have been worshipped.”

“You’re insane.”

“I am.” I lapped at her skin.

Teyonah grabbed my hair. “Oh.”

“Your body is perfect.”

Teyonah moaned. “Oh, Dominic. You’re so nasty.”

“Fuck yeah. I am. Wait until I put this piercing on your clit.”

“Oh my God.”

My tongue traced a stretch mark, then another, cataloging, committing them to memory the way I would for any vital case study.

Only this wasn’t a case.

This was my obsession.

My yearning.

This was Teyonah, and soon she would be mine.

I just had to get rid of her fucking husband.

I would do anything and more.

Even if it meant. . .blood would spill and a body would need to be hidden. . .

The thought didn’t scare me. It thrilled me. Because loving her felt like war, and I was built for battle. If Scott wanted to get her back, he would have to fight me for her.

The only problem was. . .I didn’t plan on playing fair nor leaving any survivors.