Chapter 12 - Anchored
Lily put one hand on my chest.
“So, husband,” she said. “You think you have the energy to finish off your wife?”
“I do, honey.”
Her mouth curved, smug for half a second before it softened again. Lily had fire in her even when she was worn out.
“Sit,” she said, pushing at my shoulder. “Let me start this one. After what you gave me tonight, I owe you a proper thank-you.”
“You don’t owe me.”
“I know.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. “That’s why I want to.”
I let her guide me down onto the center of the couch. The music downstairs was winding down. Lily backed away with my hand in hers until my fingers slipped from hers.
Then she went to the bar counter and lifted a black silk pouch. She took out the plug inside.
Lily held it up between two fingers.
“This,” she said, and pressed it to her lower lip, “is yours.”
All night I had watched other men take what I let them take. My men. My brothers.
Lily knew it too. She kissed the tip of the plug, slow enough to make a point, then looked at me through her lashes.
“Nobody else gets this,” she said. “Only you. Don’t let me forget.”
“I won’t.”
Her shoulders eased at the way I said it.
She moved closer, hips rolling in that practiced, dangerous way she used downstairs when she wanted every bottle girl in the club to remember who she belonged to.
Her heels clicked against the floor. Red lacquer, thin straps, legs still shaky from the mess we had made of her.
She touched the side of my neck, then dragged my hand off my thigh and placed it over one breast, letting me feel the jump of her breathing under my palm.
“You liked watching?” she asked.
“I liked knowing you were doing it because I allowed it.”
Her smile turned sharper. “There’s my little boss-man.”
She licked the plug again, then turned her back to me and bent at the waist, legs straight, ass lifted high. The curve of her was vulgar. People downstairs could see the shape. But my wife displayed herself only for one man.
For me.
Lily sank into a squat without losing balance, the heels making it look as indecent as it should.
Her fingers slipped between her thighs. She wet herself with her own slick, then brought that shine back to the plug.
She took it slow. She wanted it right. She wanted me watching as she pressed in the plug.
She held her breath when it seated in place.
She crawled back to me and reached for my belt. Her fingers worked the buckle open. She freed my cock and wrapped her mouth around me before I gave her praise.
Her lips tightened around my shaft as she pushed.
A sound slipped out of her, trapped around my cock.
She tried again, slower this time, and her throat worked like she wanted to swallow the strain before I could see it.
I put my hand in her hair and held her there, firm enough to remind her she had asked for this.
“Take your time,” I said. “You’re not performing for them anymore.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine.
The next push opened her. Her mouth faltered for a second, then sealed tighter around me, wet and stubborn. She gave a low moan as the plug seated inside her, her lashes lowering while she adjusted to the fullness.
I guided her deeper onto my cock.
“That’s my wife,” I said. “That jealous mouth of yours. Still mine.”
She pulled off just enough to speak, lips slick. “I’m going to lose my mind again.”
“I know.”
“I’ll see some little bitch lean too close, and I’ll want to fire half your staff.”
“You probably will.”
Her laugh came out rough. “You love it, don’t you?”
“I love you,” I said. “Your temper comes with the package.”
The tease left her face for a beat, and the woman under all that armor looked back at me.
“I love you too,” she said.
Then she took me in her mouth again, deeper, hungry now. Her hand slid to my thigh and squeezed. She worked me until my control started drawing down to a hard point. I gripped her hair and pulled her off before I spent myself there.
Her lips parted. “Now fuck me.”
Lily turned on her hands and knees on the rug in front of me, hips raised. The ruby between her cheek caught the dim light. She looked back once, impatient.
I stood and stepped behind her. My palm rested on the small of her back first. I wanted her to feel the pause. I wanted her to know I saw my wife, not the room behind her.
Then I teased the plug free.
Lily shuddered and gave me a sound I felt in my teeth.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
I replaced it with my cock.
She took me with a hard little cry and pushed back, asking for more before I gave it. That was Lily.
I gripped her hips and drove into her. Her palms slid against the rug. The music downstairs punched through the floor beneath us, and the glass threw back a broken reflection of her body taking mine. Her jewelry clicked softly each time I brought her back.
“Say it,” I told her.
“I’m yours.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I’m your wife,” she snapped, then moaned when I hit deeper. “Your spoiled, jealous wife. Fuck me like you’re done being polite.”
I bent over her and wrapped one arm under her thigh.
She knew the hold. Her knee lifted for me.
Her hand reached back and hooked around my wrist, helping me lock her where she wanted to be.
I got my arms beneath her, and then locked my fingers behind her neck.
I sat back onto the couch with her suspended against me, her legs spread and lifted, her head forced forward enough for her to watch my cock drive into her from below.
Lily shook in my arms and opened wider.
“Yes,” she gasped. “That. Make me take it. Don’t let me run my mouth.”
“You been running it all night.”
“Then silence me.”
I fucked her harder. She was helplessly suspended in the air, locked in place. Her mouth fell open, when I ram my cock inside her.
The position punished both of us. Her weight strained against my arms. My thighs worked under her. Her ass gripped me every time I buried myself deep. Her eyes stayed fixed on the place where we joined.
“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “look at it go in.” Her words became a mess as she tried to keep it together.
I eased the hold before it became too much. Her hands clutched my forearms when I lowered her, as if she thought I might set her aside.
“Turn around,” I said.
She obeyed fast, climbing onto my lap to face me. Her knees sank into the couch on either side of my hips. I guided myself back into her while she held my shoulders, and the first slow stroke made her eyes close.
“No,” I said.
She opened them.
“There you are.”
Her chin trembled once, and she tried to cover it by kissing me. I let her. The kiss broke down into her breathing against my mouth while I fucked her with a slower hand at her waist.
Her voice dropped close to my mouth. The couch creaked under her knees. The mirror table reflected the line of her back.
Up here, Lily cupped my face.
“Don’t leave me,” she said.
I stopped moving for one stroke, just long enough to make her look at me.
“Lily.”
Her fingers tightened at my jaw. “I know what I do. I know I get ugly about those girls. I know I act like if I don’t bite first, they’ll take you.”
“They can’t take me.”
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“It is.”
She searched my face, angry at how badly she needed the answer.
I put my hand over the back of her neck and kept her there. “I built all this with you. I don’t trade my wife for bottle service. I don’t step out because a girl in a short skirt offers herself to me.”
Her eyes shone. “And tonight?”
“Tonight I gave you proof in a language you understand.”
A shaky laugh left her. “Filthy bastard.”
“You married me.”
“I did.”
“And you came back.”
Her mouth softened against mine. “Every time they touched me, I looked for you.”
I began moving again, slow enough to make her feel the full stroke. She held my gaze for as long as she could.
“I wanted it,” she whispered. “I wanted them because you told me I could. I wanted to be nasty for you. Then when they filled me up, I still wanted your hands on me after.”
I stroked my thumb along her throat. “You have them.”
“I need more than your hands.”
“Tell me.”
Her hips started working with mine, meeting each thrust. She stopped hiding from the need in her face.
“Come in me,” she said. “Put me back where I belong.”
I held her tighter and gave her what she asked for. Her forehead pressed to mine. She rode me in short, desperate movements, taking me with her nails digging into my shoulders and her wedding ring cold against my skin. When she closed her eyes, I kept my eyes on hers.
I came inside her.
Lily made a broken sound and folded into me, her arms locking around my neck. I stayed buried in her while my grip loosened from command to care. The VIP room smelled used.
She did not climb off.
I did not move her.
After a while, she lifted her head and wiped at the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand, annoyed with herself for it. Her watch had slipped farther down her wrist. I straightened it for her, then turned her hand and kissed the ring.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what part?”
“The jealous part.” Her mouth tightened. “The firing-your-entourage part.”
“You’re going to forget that.”
“Probably.”
“I’ll remind you.”
Her eyes stayed on mine. “Like tonight?”
“When you need it.”
That answer satisfied her more than softness would have. Lily Rose Getachew did not want a husband who begged her to feel secure. She wanted a man steady enough to hold the line when she threw herself against it.
She tucked her face into my neck and breathed me in.
Beyond the glass, the club kept hunting for a show. But the show was over. The room belonged to us.