33. Allie
Allie
I bite down a smile. Rico’s fists clench and unclench as he steps closer, gaze locked on my body, not my face. Fine, we will work on that one.
“Once a week,” he grinds out.
Negotiating. Cute.
I tilt my head, feigning consideration while lazily trailing a finger down my bare stomach slowly past my navel, swirling it around once, twice, then trailing lower, dipping as his eyes follow and my single index finger dips just one inch above where my body is humming for friction.
“Wow, one whole time a week? What a generous offer.
Should I also pencil in my annual orgasm while we're at it?”
His tongue flicks out, wetting his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly zeroed in on my breasts like they’re the promised land. Good to know he appreciates the girls, because they’re currently standing at attention for him and the dull ache in them is making sitting still very, very hard.
“Twice,” he counters, though his voice is tighter, and no confidence.
I push up on my elbows, spreading my legs just enough to give him a front-row view. His eyes snap to the show, sharp and dangerous, as if I’ve just waved a red flag in front of a very pissed-off bull.
“No set days. No calendar reminders. It happens when you need a release, or when I do.” I pause, giving him an innocent smile. “And…that's daily for me.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t step back. Doesn’t run like he usually does when I push too far. Instead, he does the unthinkable.
He shoves down his sweats.
My mouth is so dry my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
Thick, velvety, and already standing at full attention like it’s on a mission, he grips himself, thumb running over the tip as he closes his eyes. The "I’m too smart for this shit" part of his brain is obviously losing to the one currently leading the charge south of the border.
“Tell you what, hubby,” I purr, sliding off the bed and onto my knees, watching his cock jerk in his hand as my hot breath dances across it. “I’ll give you the night to think about it.”
Before he can process my words, I wrap my hand around him—warm, smooth, and so damn thick I almost forget my bravado. Almost. How did that thing fit the first time? No wonder I ached and sitting required leaning the day after.
“That looks like it’s gonna hurt if you don’t...relieve it.” I lean in, running my tongue along the side, slow and deliberate. He hisses, but doesn’t pull away. So I continue, purely for negotiation, of course.
For the record, I have no intention of finishing this.
One, because I’m not feeling charitable right now.
Two, because I have zero experience, and that beast deserves a warning label.
I’ll save that particular experiment for when I’m not trying to win a contract dispute and also pack a little more confidence for the trip.
“Good luck with that,” I chirp, patting his thigh and I move to climb off the bed, smugness practically radiating off me, when—
His arm snaps around my waist, yanking me back like I’m nothing more than a rag doll.
“No schedule,” he grits out, eyes wild, chest heaving.
I arch a brow, curling my fingers around him again and giving a firm tug that has his entire body jerking. “Say it, Rico.”
His gaze drops between us, then back to me, pupils blown wide, like it’s just now dawning on him that someone has the audacity to manhandle him. And that he likes it.
For a split second, I wonder if his “therapist” ever got this side of him. The unhinged, desperate side. Then I shove the thought down, because dwelling on that would ruin my very excellent evening.
His eyes flutter closed. “Say what?”
“Oh, you know what.” I murmur, stroking again, feeling every twitch and throb in my palm. My body’s already humming, slick heat pooling low as I watch his last ounce of control wave "later" and bounce.
With a guttural growl, Rico lunges.
One hand clamps around my throat, pressing me back onto the bed, while his mouth descends on my collarbone, trailing heat and teeth down to my breast. His lips latch onto my nipple, already tender from the last time he lost his mind, and the sharp pleasure sends my back arching off the mattress.
Yeah, there are worse side effects.
His other hand shoves his sweats off entirely, but his shirt stays on, and once again, I’m fully naked while he’s still half-dressed like some brooding, hot version of a lazy stripper. How very Rico—always half-in, half-out, even when he’s thrust deep into an argument...or me.
His strong thighs nudge my legs apart, and I gasp when the thick, blunt tip of him presses right at my entrance.
“Take off your clothes,” I whisper, not bothering to hide the challenge in my voice.
His eyes flick up, dark and unyielding. “No.”
Then, without warning—because apparently, foreplay is for people not married to emotionally suffocated assholes—he thrusts into me in one brutal, toe-curling stroke.
A gasp rips from my throat, hands flying to his biceps, fingers digging in like I’m trying to anchor myself to reality. His hand tightens around my neck—just enough to remind me who’s running this show.
Or, at least, who thinks he is. Honestly? The jury’s still out because every time Rico gets inside me, I’m convinced I’m the one holding all the cards. Or maybe we're both fooling ourselves. It’s fuzzy. Like the inside of my head right now.
I grin up at him, smug and breathless, because look at that—second time breaking his own rule. So much for "only from behind."
He pulls out and slams back in, hard and fast, like he's trying to fuck every coherent thought out of my head—and judging by the way my toes curl and my nails rake down his arms, he’s succeeding. No teasing. No build-up. Just raw, punishing need, and hell if I don’t love it.
The headboard smacks the wall in a steady rhythm. Loud enough, I make a mental note to buy a padded one—because apparently, I didn’t just marry a tech god, I married a jackhammer.
His hand slides from my throat to my hip, fingers biting into my skin like he’s trying to leave a permanent mark. Good. Let him. I want proof of this. Of him. Of how good he can make me feel when he stops pretending he doesn’t want me.
“Greedy little pussy,” he growls, voice raw, like it’s scraped from somewhere deep in his chest. “Takes every inch of my cock like she was fucking made for me.”
God, he talks like that and somehow I feel more powerful, not less. Like I pulled those filthy words out of him with nothing more than my body and a tease.
His lips hover over mine, so close I can feel his breath, and for one stupid second, I think he might actually kiss me again. My heart stutters, hope rearing its head like a fool.
But instead, he drives in deeper—hard enough that stars explode behind my eyelids.
“I’m gonna ruin this pussy,” he bites out, every word punctuated by another ruthless thrust. “All. Fucking. Night.”
Oh God.
“You wanna be fucked whenever I want?” he rasps, voice like gravel and sin. “Fine. You’re getting it. All night, wife.”
Wife.
And it’s that word—said like a dirty promise—that sends me careening over the edge. No warning, no chance to brace. Just a full-body explosion that has me clawing at his back, my scream breaking free like I’m coming apart at the seams.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down. He watches me, eyes dark and wild, his face all male satisfaction.
“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough and full of triumph. “That’s what I thought.”
Cocky bastard.
But hell if he didn’t earn it.