I shook my head as I toyed with my clit. “… Your fingers,” I whispered, and he chuckled.
“Mmm, I bet you’d beg me to finger-fuck that little cunt, huh? I bet it’s fucking begging me to stretch it…”
I moaned as I plunged my fingers deeper.
“Beckham…” I whispered breathlessly.
“Fuck, you’re pathetic,”he whispered degradingly, and I whined as my fingers went even faster.“Fingering your little cunt in the bathtub. Thinking about another man fucking using your pussy. You know your husband can’t make you feel this way… you know the only way you’ll cum is if I fucking let you.”
“Beckham… don’t stop,” I whispered.
“You think you’d have a fucking choice? You fucking stop when I tell you,”he practically seethed.
“Okay, okay.” I whispered with tears in my eyes. I could faintly hear him unbuttoning his pants.
“Keep fingering your little cunt… tell me what you want next… come on… tell me how you want me to use you.”
I moaned loudly as I imagined him fucking me deep.
“I can’t… It’s too much.”
“It’s never fucking enough, Flower. Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you.”He moaned as tears escaped my eyes.“I fucking own your cunt. You’re my little whore.”
“I’m your little whore,” I whispered, and his breathing quickened.
“Fuck, I want to cum so deep inside your little cunt. Make you fucking take it until you can’t anymore. Fuck, fuck…”He groaned, the sound of him forcefully stroking his cock filling my ears.
I felt my release come in full force as I whimpered into the phone.
“That’s it… let it out of that tight little pussy. Let me hear you beg for fucking more,”he groaned into the phone as my legs shook at the overstimulation. He let out one final moan as I assumed he came undone as well.
Lying back in the tub, I tried to catch my breath as he let out a small breath of relief.
“What time does Gavin get home?”I could faintly hear him grabbing his keys in the background.
“Was the phone sex not enough for you, Mr. Garcia?” I asked playfully as a small smile came to my face. Hearing him close a door through the phone, I listened as he got situated in his car.
“That doesn’t answer my question. What time does your husband come home, Flower?”
I sighed as I glanced over to my burning eucalyptus candle.
“Usually, when it’s past eleven, he stays the night on one of his buddy’s couches.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
I didn’t say anything as he ended the call.
Gazing up at the ceiling, I thought to myself.
The pampering, the attention, the sex, it was all turning me into an addict—an addict who craved the fix of the flawed and imperfect man who knew nothing of boundaries.
Maybe this was all simply mindless addiction to sex. That would be a better explanation or justification than me openly admitting that I was slowly but surely falling for him.
I would give you everything, Flower.
A highly dangerous statement to make to a woman currently in the midst of a mid-life crisis and failing marriage. It was tempting to give in to it… but Beckham was dangerous and tempting, too. And as much as I wanted to believe he would have feelings for me… it was difficult for me to accept that an emotionless man all of a sudden found a way to love.
What would happen when the spark or the flame under us died out? Would I be left in the same circumstance that I am right now? In a marriage that’s practically hanging on by a thread?
