Chapter 57 Phoenix
Phoenix
While the desire to pummel his face repeatedly until my fist goes through his skull with each passing day, I can’t deny I'm horny.
The familiar heat stretches throughout me like molten metal.
My cock twitches beneath the thin cotton of my boxers, aroused and throbbing against the zipper of my pants.
I'm up for recreational games. But watching Roni tilt her head back, her throat working as she chugged one of my beers, then bringing herself to an epic, back-arching orgasm with the cold glass bottle was not on my bingo card.
And now he wants it. He wants the sweet, creamy cum she caught with it.
He's probably not aware of it since the tip still hasn't come over, the transaction frozen on his end, but I could see she agreed with a single, almost imperceptible nod.
It's interesting to me, too. She can't see much of him. She saw Simon's hands. And, there was a moment where she got a screen full of his cock, veiny and flushed and angry red at the tip.
Something about him has been bothering me since he showed up on my wife’s page.
Something eerily familiar. Like we’ve met.
Which likely means we share a connection to The Sect.
Nobody with his kind of money and gall is unknown to them.
I've installed several deep-fake programs for my clients recently. Programs that blur jawlines. Widen noses. Change eye colors in real-time. Most of my clients have voice modulation software installed to prevent being recognized during calls. I’m starting to think it may be one of them, and if so, it cannot continue.
She told him about the jetty. I know exactly where she means.
The secluded stretch of barnacle-crusted rocks where the waves crash so hard they spray thirty feet into the air.
But it bothers me she's never told me about this fantasy herself.
It'll be a revelation for later. Right now, I'm done for the day.
I've seen all I need to. He still can't get to her.
Not here. Even if he is going to be gargling her essence.
When I get to our bedroom, I find Roni in bed, her dark hair splayed across the pillow like spilled wine. But I'm still thinking back to what I've seen. To my wife dressed in pink and white, with tall heels and a fucking choker. Things she hasn’t even worn for me.
It's crazy, but the only other thing on my mind is just how horny I am. I’m spiraling at the thought of Simon having too much access to what’s mine. But I’m also jonesing for my Little Temptress. The sensual cherub I want to use like her followers do.
My pulse throbs in my temples and groin.
I walk over to her side of the bed and gently stroke her hair.
It’s impossibly soft between my fingers.
I snag the corner of the covers hanging off her side of the bed, soft white Egyptian cotton sheets on a down blanket, and draw them back.
Of course she's naked underneath. Her sleek skin glowing in the dim light from the hallway.
If it were up to me, she'd be naked all the time. It would just be the two of us, no clothes, fucking like rabbits day in and day out until we collapse from exhaustion. We’d curl into a ball together and recuperate, only to rise once more and fuck even harder.
I rub her chest gently, mesmerized by the soft rise and fall of her breathing.
The delicate blue veins visible beneath her porcelain skin.
I can't help it—can’t fight the surge of hunger inside me.
I strip down to nothing, my clothes dropping to the hardwood with dull thuds, and slide across the cool sheets until the heat of her body radiates against mine.
My left hand trembles slightly as it reaches out to cup her breast, feeling its perfect weight.
I trace lazy circles around her nipple, watching it harden under my touch while her face remains peaceful, unaware, her dark lashes casting feathery shadows on her cheeks.
My right hand travels down my abdomen, past the coarse hair below my navel, until my fingers wrap around my cock, already throbbing with each heartbeat.
I stroke myself, feeling every ridge and vein beneath my palm, my eyes never leaving her parted lips.
Each upward motion sends shocks through my bones.
Every downward pull tightens something in my chest. The rhythm builds like an approaching storm, and it hits me with sudden clarity.
I've never craved possession like this. Not of anything.
Not of anyone. She's mine now. She's mine still.
She's mine always. The thought of strangers claiming pieces of her, buying fragments of her intimacy, twists in my gut like a serrated blade.
I have no right to forbid her choices. But tonight, in our moonlit room, I'll mark her as mine.
Blinded by a toxic cocktail of rage and lust, my fist becomes a crankshaft, pumping harder and faster until my legs tremble like saplings in a hurricane.
Liquid heat trickles up my back, raising the hairs across my shoulders and arms in a wave.
I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to puncture the delicate skin, the metallic tang of blood flooding my mouth as my abdominal muscles clench like a vise.
My release erupts in hot spasmodic swells that pool in my cupped palm.
Despite my throbbing hardness straining against my grip, I manage to capture most of it, though a rebellious rivulet escapes between my fingers.
Finally, with my glutinous fluid coating my hands like warm glue, I kneel beside her sleeping form.
I press both palms against her cheeks, feeling her soft skin yield beneath my touch as I slowly glide them together, painting her face with my cum.
My thumb traces a possessive path under the delicate curve of her chin and down the elegant column of her throat, past the hollow between her collarbones, massaging every last molecule of myself into her skin as she sleeps on, her breath coming in gentle puffs, utterly oblivious to my possessive marking.
“You are fucking mine, Little Temptress,” I whisper like a vow.