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I was going to call her ‘my wife.’
But she’s not.
That’s what I was supposed to tell her. The part I was trying to say before she sucked my soul out with her lips and tongue. The right thing to do would be to tell her now. Clear things up before we take this irrevocable step. There’s a reason annulments can’t happen after a marriage is consummated. Not that this is a marriage. Just a pretend one. Just one she’s already told our boss about and gotten his stamp of approval for. His congratulations. His fucking check. I pull back.
“Tristan.”
“I need you,” she breathes against my mouth. “Please, Vic.”
My conviction falters.
“Wait,” I say, “Hold on,”
She shakes her head, trying to pull me back in.
“I don’t want to wait. I’ve been waiting for you for ages, Vic. Please.” Her legs are strong and she draws me right back into the heat of her. I’m lost. If there’s a Hell, it’s being this close to Tristan Grant when I shouldn’t take advantage. I hope if there’s a higher being out there, that they’re seeing the effort I’m putting into slowing this down. Slow us down. Just until I can tell her about that night.
“Tristan. In Vegas… we didn’t—”
“I know,” she smiles up at me, sweetness and light, and a devilish gleam I already know is bad news… except… what?
She knows?
“You—”
“Yes,” she says, “It was obvious.”
I think I should fight this more. I think there’s something still getting lost here, but to be honest, there’s zero blood in my brain right now. I don’t even know how my body is continuing to function without it. I think it must be some sort of reflex, like a chicken without its head.
She works my pants down with her feet and then my erection is between us, hard and leaking right against the bare skin of her pussy. I’m shivering, my teeth chattering out of my head as I hold back the urge to press forward and bury myself to the hilt.
“Fuck me Victor.” She presses a kiss over my heart and I’m losing it. I can’t hold out. The wet heat of her brushes my cock head and I jolt like I’ve been struck by lightning. ”Please,” she says and rocks her hips forward, wedging me against her entrance.
Fuck it.
It won’t change a damn thing, not after what we’ve already done. Not after what everyone already assumes. I have to believe that. I have to, because if I don’t have this woman now. Right now. Now. Now. Now. I might have an aneurysm. A stroke.
She slides her hips along the counter again and I push in another fraction of an inch. She hisses and I groan. I want her mouth. I lean down to get it and we have a problem.
I can’t kiss her without arching my back, a move that will pull me out of her cunt. I’m not willing to do that, but I need her mouth, her lips, her tongue on mine. Our height difference is massive. I knew this, but I didn’t think about the potential pitfalls. I liked the idea of being able to hold her, protect her, carry heavy objects for her.
I meant to draw this out. I promised to feed myself into her, but desperate times and all that. I scoop her forward, impaling her on my dick. Her pussy contracts and she moans at the sudden stretch. My vision goes hazy. She’s tighter than compression shorts made three sizes too small, her walls pulsing as we pant against each other.
“Sorry,” I mumble into the top of her head. I slur the word, my brain sluggish. What was I doing? Her head lolls back, lips parted, and I lean down to fasten my mouth to hers, only to slide back out a few inches. That’s right. I can’t kiss her like this. Not if I want to stay inside her glorious cunt.
“Vic,” my name is a wail as the head of my cock slides over the slick inner walls.
“Hold on to me, baby.” I say and slide my hand under her ass, lifting her off the counter. Her couch isn’t too far.My fingers brush the place where we’re joined and I falter, my knees going weak at the visceral reminder that I’m here. Inside Tristan Grant. The woman I’ve been dreaming about for months. Years. Possible eternities.
She winds her arms around my neck, and the move pulls her up and off me before she slides back down until I’m seated fullyinside her again. We might not make it to the couch. I could just lift her and kiss her every time I pull out.
“You’re too big,” she pants against my chest and that’s the bolstering I need to regain my composure.
“I’ve got you Tristan. I’ll always have you. Give me one second and I’ll make it better.” I’m pressing promises into her hair.Forever. I’ll take care of you forever. Just let me. Please let me. Marry me. Don’t let anyone inside this pussy, but me. Please Tristan. Please. Please. Please. I lo—
I let myself sink back into the purple velvet of her microscopic loveseat and pull her knees to either side of my hips. She’s squeezing me tight, deep inside, and the woman must do pelvic floor exercises morning, noon, and night because I’m hanging on by the barest of threads.
“So good,” she groans, finally able to reach my mouth. She bounces on my lap, as if gauging how far and fast she can move. I grit my teeth as my balls draw up tight, willing myself to relax. I know I said three pumps max, but I don’t want those pumps to have been on the stagger to her couch.
