Julia
He hitches me with ease onto the desk, and I’m reminded, all of a sudden, of our very first time together.
The time in his office, when he helped strip me out of my dress, tugging at every tie on my corset until it fell in a heap around my ankles.
And the way he looked at me then, as if I was something he should know better than to want, something he should never let himself desire.
But now? Now, as he catches my face in his hands, and drags his nose across my cheek, breathing in the scent of me as though he’s starved, there is none of that. No effort to hold back, no attempt to deny himself. He wants me, and he will have me, just like I’ve always wanted.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he murmurs.
Even though it has barely been a week since the last time we were together, he grasps my waist as though he’s reminding himself of exactly how good I feel, and he tugs me to the very edge of the desk so he can move between my thighs, parting them with ease.
I wrap my legs around him, once again struck by how well we fit together. Every gap that forms in me, he seems perfectly capable of filling, and I wonder how it was that I didn’t see it for so long.
He kisses me, turning his head so his lips can meet mine, and caresses my bottom lip with his tongue for a moment as though savoring the taste of me.
I can already feel his cock growing hard beneath his pants, and the sensation makes me whimper with excitement.
He grins against my mouth, hand slipping up the inside of my leg.
“That’s it, Julia,” he tells me. “I want you to be loud for me, okay? Let me hear all of it.”
I gasp as he moves down to my throat, brushing his lips along my jaw and then down to my neck as if he wants to feast on every inch of me.
My ankles tighten behind his back, and I remember the way he spoke to me back in the bathroom, when it was just the two of us, coming together again after we had been pulled apart.
How he asked me to say his name, like it was some kind of incantation to conjure his lust for me.
“I want to feel you inside me, Antonio,” I murmur, and he lifts his head, eyes narrowing playfully. He slides his hand to the small of my back, pulling me roughly against him so he can show me just how much he wants me.
“Fuck, you know what that does to me,” he growls, grinding himself into me lewdly.
I love how blatant he is about his desire for me, how he sees no reason to hold back. He plays no games with his lust, never has, and now that we have cleared the air, I hope he never will again.
“Mhm,” I murmur back playfully, fluttering my lashes up at him as I play at innocence—he kisses me once more, this time biting down on my lower lip, as though reminding me once and for all who’s in control here.
“Say it again,” he orders me, hand working its way industriously beneath my skirt as he searches for my most sensitive spot.
“I want you inside of me, Antonio…”
He grunts as he thrusts his fingers past my panties, parting my folds like they belong to him.
And in a way, they do. I am his wife, after all, and while I’ve never much been one to buy into those fantasies of an innocent woman handing herself over body and soul to a man just because his ring is on her finger, I have to admit, there’s a part of me that finds it seriously hot as part of our power play.
He rips off my panties like they have pissed him off personally and tosses them to the floor of his office.
I reach down to graze my fingers over the front of his pants.
I can feel the swell of his cock inside them, barely contained, and can already see, when he unzips them, a drop of precum staining the inside of his boxers.
I love how much he wants me, how little point he sees to controlling it, and when he eventually lets his cock spring free, I bite my lip demonstratively, arching my back so I’m even closer to him.
“Let me feel you,” I plead with him, putting the edge of a whining tone to my voice to let him know just how damn serious I am right now.
He wraps his hand around his cock and stills for a moment, a grin licking up his lips. “Ask nicely.”
Oh, so that’s how he wants to play it, huh? I make him lose control when I say his name, and now he’s determined to take it back in any way he can. Wants me to beg for it and has no issue holding back until I give him what he wants.
I gaze up at him, so overcome with need that it’s almost difficult for me to think straight, and flick my tongue over my lips as I consider my answer.
“Please, fuck me, Antonio,” I murmur, the words tingling on my tongue as I come out with them.
I can see his eyes darkening with every syllable that passes my lips, and he rubs himself along the outside of my slit, coaxing me into giving him more. “Keep going.”
“Please, I need to feel you inside me,” I beg him. “I want to feel you. I need it, Antonio…”
And that last mention of his name is all that it takes to finally get him to give me exactly what I want.
He strokes into me in one long motion, and I tip my head back, my body responding to him in an instant.
He feels perfect, fits inside me like he’s made for me.
Every time we’re together like this, it blows my mind a little how well we match, and I know that I will never find someone who makes me feel like this again as long as I live.
Good thing I’ve already made this one my husband…
He wraps his arms around me, catching my earlobe between his teeth and tugging on it lightly to coax a moan from between my lips.
I shiver, running my nails down his back.
The tension that has built between us this last week finally seems to shatter and break now that he’s inside of me, and I want nothing more than to let it roll through every inch of me.
“God, you feel perfect,” he grunts in my ear, and I pull him closer, my thighs tensing on either side of him as I draw him in deeper and deeper.
He tilts me back on the desk slightly so that he can push down and into me, his body pressed against my clit with every thrust, and he catches my chin and guides my face up to his.
I can see his eyes blazing with need for me, practically scorching me with their intensity, and I slip my hands around him and pull him closer, closer, closer, ankles digging into the small of his back.
I feel as though I’ll never have him close enough, not as long as I live, but this connection between us is the closest I will get, and I will savor every inch of it that I can.
He slows his pace, stroking deep into me, almost stirring his hips against me to apply pressure to my clit with every movement.
I gasp, nails digging in to the nape of his neck, and he presses his forehead to mine, our lips not quite touching, but the air between them mingling as our breath passes back and forth, back and forth, drinking each other in.
“I want to feel you come for me,” he tells me, that slightly cocky smile of his turning up the corners of his lips.
And fuck, I don’t have it in me to deny him, not now, not ever. I brush my lips over his, feel the barest graze of his stubble on my skin, and he stills himself within me, pushing me to the edge of my breaking point as he keeps the pressure on my clit and spreading through my pussy.
I pant, catching my breath, lingering helplessly on the edge—and then, finally, I give in, crashing down over the other side of it the way a wave crashes onto the beach, something inevitable, endless, surging through me until there’s nothing left but the point where our bodies meet.
He draws back and strokes one last time inside of me, and that seems to be all it takes to push him over the edge and into his own release.
My pussy clenches and tugs at him as he comes, like my body is taking matters into its own hands, drawing every drop of his seed from his body to mine, taking what I can, claiming it the way he has claimed me so many times now I’ve lost count.
This is how we made our child, and the thought of something so sweet rising from a pleasure so intense makes me smile.
He keeps his forehead pressed to mine for a long moment, breathing hard, and I press my hand into his chest so I can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat under his shirt.
I love the way it feels beneath my fingertips, how alive he is here with me in this moment.
Not lost to guilt or grief or anything else—just here, present, our bodies still intertwined, as he holds me tight like I’m the only thing on earth he cares about.
He eases himself back from me, but stays leaning there between my legs, his expression shifting to one that I haven’t seen before. For a moment, I think the darkness is back—but then he reaches up to push my hair back from my face, and he says it.
“I love you.”
I press my lips together, the shock of those words almost more than I can wrap my head around.
Not because I don’t feel it too, but because I do.
And I never expected to hear it like this, coming so easily from him.
But he speaks the words as though they’re obvious, as if I’d be crazy not to see it coming, and it’s hard not to feel my heart melt a little at his confession.
“I love you too,” I whisper back, and I kiss him again. A sweeter, softer kiss, one meant to seal this moment, a confirmation of what we’ve just said to one another. He holds me there, just breathing me in, like he doesn’t want this to end quite yet.
“You know,” I murmur, a teasing edge to my voice. “I’m pretty sure you’re meant to say that before you get married.”
He chuckles, brushing his nose against mine. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” he replies. “I don’t exactly do things the way I’m meant to.”
And as he sinks his mouth to mine once more, a swell of certainty rushes through me. When I’m here in his arms, I am where I belong. With my husband, the father of my child, my future—all of it wrapped up in this one man who I don’t think I will ever be able to get enough of.
And I know there’s nowhere else in the world I would rather be.