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In a nanosecond, I shed my clothes, climb into bed, and slide a hand between her thighs. Silky paradise. “Baby, were you playing with yourself when I was getting dressed?”
She rocks up into my fingers, so eager, so ready. “I was. I want you.”
My chest rumbles. “My wife is so fucking horny.”
She gasps, parting her lips, her head falling back onto the pillow.
“You love it when I call you that,” I observe, stroking her as she turns wetter and hotter. I dip my face to her neck, murmuring up to her ear, whispering hotly, “My wife.”
“I do like it,” she says, arching her hips, seeking more of my fingers. “Do you like calling me that?”
This is just a game. A word game. A sex game. And still, I play it, taking her hand and curling it around my cock. I’m steel right now. “That’s how much I like it.”
“Gage,” she moans. “Fuck me.”
I can’t deny her. I love teasing her hot, wet pussy with my fingers. Driving her wild with my touch. But I relent, giving in to her gorgeous demand.
I let go of her then smack the side of her ass. “Get on all fours like a good wife.”
With a naughty grin, she gazes at me from under her blonde hair, then shifts to her hands and knees. Taking her time. Getting in position.
“Is this how you want me?” she asks, so innocent, and yet not at all as she offers me her beautiful body.
Back arched. Ass up. Hungry eyes on me.
Dear god. She’s fucking incredible. All soft and warm, aroused and eager. As I kneel behind her, I run a hand down her body. My fingers are electric from touching her. “Just. Like. This.”
I rub the head of my dick against her slick heat, then sink inside.
“Oh god,” she gasps, then thrusts a hand between her thighs.
Holy fuck. She’s so damn ready.
Before I can even fill her to the hilt, she’s stroking herself feverishly, using me to get off, and I can barely stand how good this feels.
The heat of her pussy.
The smell of her desire.
The strength of her want.
I drive into her, gripping her hips mercilessly as she plays with herself, getting closer and closer then arching her back.
Soon, she’s groaning, almost too loud. “Quiet, baby,” I warn.
But she can’t seem to help herself. She can’t stop moaning. I slide one hand up her chest, coasting over those bouncing tits, up her throat, then I cover her mouth.
Her breath stutters against my palm before she mutters a strangled “coming.”
Seconds later, I am too, the morning blurring into pleasure, then I collapse onto her, holding her close, wrapping her in my arms.
Her heart beats against my hands. It’s addictive. Just like her. I don’t want to leave.
“You need to go,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say reluctantly.
But first, I head into the en suite bathroom, grab a washcloth, and return to clean her up. When I’m done, I kiss her goodbye. “Thanks again,” I say.
