Lifting my right hand, I brush her hair out of her face, trailing my knuckles along her cheek. “But you do, don’t you?”
Her eyes close. And quietly, so very quietly, she says: “I always have.”
I smile down at my wife. It’s slow. It’s dangerous.
It’shungry.
“Good.”
Letting go of her, relying on her aroused yet boneless state to keep her right where she is, I crouch down. A hand on each side of her leggings and, whoops, there they go. I get them around her ankles before I lift up her right foot, slipping off her shoe. Settling back on the grass, I grab her left foot, getting rid of that sneaker. Doing the same thing again, I take off her leggings. Another grab and her panties are off, tossed into the darkness behind me.
I stay low. Curving my hand around the back of her calf, I stroke her silky soft flesh, smiling to myself as she shivers. Oh, love. I’ll give you something to shiver about. In one quick motion, I lift her leg up, settling it over my shoulders, baring her pussy to me.
I bury my face in it, nuzzling her curls, dipping my tongue in between her folds, warming her up with my mouth.
She gasps, falling forward enough to cling to me, fingers threading through my hair as I lap at her cunt.
“God, Annaliese…” I breathe against her. “You don’t have any idea what you do to me.”
Her answer is a keening cry as she goes up on the tiptoes of her other foot, rocking her pussy against my mouth. I guess the small gap I put between us to speak wasn’t good enough for my wife. I blow a warm breath out, enjoying the way her cry sharpens, how her fingers tighten in my hair, tugging,yanking, urging me back where I was.
“Please,” she gasps. “I need…”
I nuzzle her clit. She chokes. I smile. “I know exactly what you need, love. You just let your husband give it to you.”
She doesn’t answer me.
Hm.
I don’t think I like that.
One hand is clutching the underneath of her thigh. My other hand moves in front of me. I lift my hand, slapping the top of her mound with enough force to have her squealing. I wasn’t going for pain. Nope. That was all about giving her a jolt of pure pleasure before I demand, “Who am I?”
Annaliese digs her heel into my back. “Seb—Sebastien.”
Wrong answer, wife.
I slap her again, then take one finger, dipping it inside of her. She’s so hot, soslick, I know that she’s ready for me. Her pussy sucks at the digit, trying to swallow me whole, and I oblige by working a second finger in there.
I fingerfuck Annaliese as slowly as I can. The way she’s squirming… the way she’s untangled her fingers from my hair, throwing her hands up over her head as she clutches at the tree… my cock wants to take the place of my fingers desperately.
Down, Bad. Not yet.
I use my thumb to pluck at her clit. I’ve gotten to know her body intimately over the last couple of weeks. I can play it like it’s a fucking violin, and way she’s panting for me is music to my ears.
But, my love, we can do a little better than that.
I increase the pace, prepared to let her come on my hand if that’s what it takes. But though I have every intention of fucking her—and it’s just such a boost to my ego that under her breath, she keeps on panting ‘fuck me’ over and over again—not until I get the right answer to this question.
“Let’s try this again. Who the fuck am I, Mrs. Reynolds.”
She’s close. I can tell. I know her so damn intimately, it won’t take much more to have her exploding. I jam my fingers in her, and she squeals. “My husband!”
That’s my girl.
“Am I fake?”
“What?”
