20. Ember #2
She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Those perfect tits cupped in pink lace, those wide green eyes, that sinful mouth. Her skirt hugged her curves as she knelt before me, fabric tight across her ass and hips. Those skirts would be my undoing. She licked her lips, and I almost lost it.
Sex had never been like this before. I’d never fucked anyone the way I fucked her. I’d never spoken to anyone the way I spoke to her. She made me crazy with lust, and every time I wondered if I’d gone too far, she took things one step further.
It didn’t seem real. I wondered what I’d done right to deserve this, to deserve her. And when she batted my hands away from the zipper of my pants so she could reach inside and take my cock out herself, I stopped questioning it.
“Do I look prim enough for you?” she asked, blinking up at me, a teasing light in her eyes. “I want to make sure I get this right. Maybe I should wear some glasses?”
“Maybe you should be quiet and put my cock in your mouth,” I growled, watching the blush flood her cheeks with pink. So fucking pretty, my wife. And so very, very dirty.
Made for me.
She licked me from root to tip, drawing a tortured groan from me, and then she took me in her mouth. Those lips I’d dreamed about were wrapped around my cock, and she was wet and hot and perfect. She moaned as I hit the back of her throat, fingers tightening on my thighs.
Her hair was like heavy silk in my fingers when I gathered it in my fist. I watched her eyelids flutter shut, her thighs squeezing together as I tugged on her hair and guided her movements. She liked this. She liked it when I took control, when she didn’t have to be in her own head.
“Take it deep,” I said, tightening my hold on her hair just to watch the flush on her cheeks get darker. I used my other hand to stroke her cheek and tilt her head back, relaxing her jaw so she could take more of me. I ran my thumb down the front of her throat, feeling it bob as she sucked.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me with glazed, trusting eyes. Like I was everything to her. Like this was as true for her, as special for her, as it was for me.
“You know this is real,” I rasped as I fucked her mouth. “This thing between us.”
She moved her head as much as she was able and nodded.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” I admitted, my voice full of gravel. “Never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”
My breathing grew heavier. My gaze skittered to the jiggling flesh spilling out of her bra, the way her thighs rubbed and clenched, the look of dizzy lust in her eyes. She was undone, unmade, unraveled. For me.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled her mouth off my cock and lifted her up so I could kiss her. She clung to me, trembling, and she moaned. Then I spun her around and bent her over the edge of the bed.
That damn skirt stared back at me, stretched tight around her ass. She looked over her shoulder at me, hands curling into the blanket, and arched her back. Needy. Perfect.
I was beyond words. The zipper of her skirt creaked as I ripped it open, and I was pretty sure I’d just ruined the garment.
I didn’t care. I yanked it down to the floor and was presented with the sight of the woman I loved bent over the edge of my bed wearing nothing but a pair of sheer black tights.
Black tights I didn’t have the patience to take off. I grabbed the fabric between her legs and ripped it. Ember gasped, her forehead falling to the bed. She moaned my name.
“You should see yourself right now,” I said, pushing my own pants and underwear to the floor.
I stepped out of them as my eyes stayed glued to the heart of her, framed on either side by the ragged edges of her black tights.
She wore a pink thong that matched her bra, the fabric wedged between her swollen lips, the fabric darkened by her wetness.
“You should see how perfect you look. Dripping wet for me. Ready to take every inch of my cock.”
“Please,” she whispered, and my cock surged. I planted a hand in the middle of her back and tugged the thong free, shifting it over to the side. My tip slipped easily through her arousal, and I was tempted to paint her with my release just like this. Watch it drip down her thighs. Mark her as mine.
But she whimpered, hips grinding against the edge of the bed, and I couldn’t leave her like this. My perfect wife with her perfect, tight cunt.
We moaned in unison as I entered her. Her legs scrabbled beneath me, fingers curling into the blanket until her knuckles were white.
My ring shimmered on her finger, proof that she was mine.
She chanted my name like a prayer, pushing her hips into me.
I snapped my hips forward and was rewarded with a high moan.
Fuck, I loved the noises she made when I was inside her.
“You know you were made for me,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You know this is right. You and me.”
She moaned as I drove myself into her again. “Yes.”
“You know you belong to me. My wife.”
“Jack—”
“Say it. Who do you belong to?”
“You!”
My hand closed around the waistbands of her thong and her tights, using it for leverage as I pistoned into her. And she took it all, every hard inch, because she was mine. My wife. My love. My woman.
She came so hard her scream echoed in the room, and that was my undoing. I couldn’t resist any longer, and I pulled out and marked her. I stood there panting, one hand wrapped around the ripped fabric circling her waist, holding her down so I could watch the way my release dripped down her thighs.
A feral, savage part of me hummed with dark satisfaction. I gathered her in my arms, sat on the bed, and kissed her as she softened against my chest. I wondered if she knew that as much as I claimed her as mine, the truth was she owned every part of me.