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She does as I ask, and I move her hair to the left so that I can have access to the zipper. Unable to resist, I lean forward and press my lips to the back of her neck as I start to help her out of the confines of the silky white fabric. I pull nice and slow, wanting to savor this moment. I’m halfway down her back when I realize she’s not wearing a bra.
Fuck.
“No bra?”
“N-No. It wouldn’t have worked with the low cut of the dress.”
Monroe’s explanation falls on deaf ears because my wife’s tits are bare beneath this thin piece of fabric. I can’t be expected to pay attention under these circumstances.
I keep tugging on the zipper, painfully slow, until I reach the end at the small of her back. A white lace thong with Mrs. Raines embroidered on the band greets me.
Mrs. Legend Raines.
My wife.
How am I supposed to ignore that? How am I supposed to walk out of this room to give her privacy to change when all I want to do is rip this dress to shreds and feast on her?
I settle for placing my index finger at the base of her neck and leisurely dragging it along the line of the zipper I just lowered. Her skin is soft like silk, and goose bumps break out across her skin. I want to trace each tiny bump with my tongue. When I reach her thong, I slide my index finger beneath the band.
“Are these panties for me?” My voice is gravelly. I can’t hide my desire for this woman.
Her chest expands with air. “They were a gift. From the girls at work.”
“You didn’t show me.”
“I-I didn’t think you’d see them.”
“You make them look sexy.”
She turns to look at me over her shoulder. Her electric-blue eyes are dark with desire. “You’re making me feel sexy,” she murmurs.
Abort.
I need to leave this room. I need to walk away and leave her alone. I’m crossing all kinds of invisible lines with this relationship. I have to remind myself that this is all for show. We’re pretending, and apparently, we’re damn good at it, because I can feel the need rolling off her in waves.
“Keep them on,” I say, my voice gruff. “I like thinking of you sleeping with our name on your ass.” I drop my hand and take a step back. My cock throbs against the zipper of my dark dress pants. I want her, but I can’t have her. “I’ll step out so you can finish.”
With that, I turn on my heel and rush out of the room, closing the door behind me. When I’m safely on the other side, I turn and rest my forehead against the door. My hand rests on the handle because the temptation to bust back through this door and ravish her is strong.
It’s so fucking strong.
I force myself to turn and walk away. I stalk toward the extra bathroom and strip out of my clothes. They feel way too restrictive. As soon as my dress pants are down and off, I reach into my boxer briefs and palm my cock. Closing my eyes, I can still feel her soft skin beneath my fingers. Forcing my boxer briefs down over my hard-on, I stroke from root to tip. I’m going to hell for this, but fuck, I need some relief. I can’t sleep next to her without this.
Reaching into the shower, I turn on the faucet, letting the water warm up before stepping beneath the spray. Bracing one hand on the shower wall, I lower my head and close my eyes. Flashes of my wife are all that I can see. That sexy white dress. Her thong with our name on it.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
I begin to stroke as I picture her as she made her way down the aisle to me. Her blue eyes were shining like dark blue diamonds. The way she watched me. The way we watched each other as if we were the only two in the room.
I stroke faster.
Harder.
My cock is heavy in my palm as I let visions of her dance in my mind. The entire day was one long session of foreplay. In my fantasy, she’s splayed on our bed beneath me. Her perky tits, which I’ve never seen but don’t need much to imagine, are on full display as I thrust inside her for the first time.
That’s it.
That’s all it takes.
