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Shit.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I silently plead with the Good Lord, or whoever will listen, that he isn’t going to do what I think he’s doing. Metal clinks together as if he’s trying to find something, and then the drawer is slammed closed.
This doesn’t mean I forgive him, nor does it mean that I’m not going to ask questions about what his play on this was. This means I need sex, something to tip me over. Having Bryant walk around me shirtless, knowing I can ride on him at any time that I want, is like a needle being flashed in front of a junkie all day.
Eventually they’ll crack.
His fingers sprawl around my chin, just as I hear music spill out from somewhere in one of the other rooms. I know it’s Devon and part of me wants to know what he’s doing playing Marilyn Manson midday, but I can almost guarantee that it will include alcohol. Right now, he’s reaching for something, anything that will get him off. I feel for the poor person who dares walk up in there while Devon is in a mood.
“We’re going to play a game.” Bryant flashes me a crooked grin, flicking a knife in front of his face.
I shake my head. “Pass.”
“It’s cute that you think you have a choice. Up.”
I stand to my feet, just as his hands slide beneath my armpits and he lifts me onto the counter. Placing the knife down beside me, his hands are at my thighs in a flash as they slowly slide up. I want to squeeze them closed to feel some kind of pressure down below as my skin burns to life beneath his palms. I watch as the tattoos on his tanned hands disappear beneath my pale silk gown.
My lips browse over his teasingly as his finger presses against my clit. At the connection, my head swings back. Pleasure ripples through me at his simple touch.
“Still so fucking needy.”
He lifts my gown and I push up, allowing him to untuck it from under my ass.
“Don’t act like you’re not hungry.” I flash him a smirk. “Have at it.”
He dips his finger inside of me while his other comes up to my hair, releasing my long locks from the top knot it was in. Tilting my head back, I’m grinding against his finger when I feel the warmth of his mouth cover my pussy.
“Bryant,” I moan, biting down on my bottom lip.
“Mmmm, not loud enough…” he growls, each syllable being spelled out over my clit. His tongue flicks against it roughly, igniting a deadly fire that for sure will burn us both down if not tamed.
My insides solidify, my hips bucking in their search for more as the stubble on his jaw scratches the inside of my thighs. I can feel sweat drip down my face as my body yearns to spill over the top of the mountain Bryant so expertly carried me to, only his hands clamp down on either side of my hips, holding me captive. Marilyn Manson screams about “Say 10”, and I bury my hands in Bryant’s hair, twisting the ends as he flicks, sucks, and assaults my pussy the exact same way that he does my heart. My body jerks around my release as my orgasm screams like a desperate bitch, after scratching and clawing her way up my throat. The animalistic sounds of Bryant sucking all of the evidence up like a starved beast distracts me briefly before he stands to his full height.
When my eyes meet his, I’m thrown by how devilish he looks. Dilated pupils, hair disheveled, and the glossy moisture that coats his lips. They’re all part of the elements that create Bryant’s wild energy when it comes to fucking. He snatches my soul every single time he takes me and then shoves what’s left of it back inside of me when he’s done.
Slowly, he pulls his belt off, and I watch as he raises it to my mouth. “Bite and drop to your knees.”
Sweat drips down my sternum, but I do as I’m told. Opening my mouth and biting down on the strap. The rich scent of leather slaps me across the face as the sweet smell from his cologne clings to the back of my throat. He continues to wrap it around my head before pulling it tight, creating a DIY gag with his belt. Stepping back, he lifts my silk gown up above my head and throws it onto the floor. Now I’m sitting naked on the kitchen floor, gagged with my husband’s belt in my mouth. Classy.
If this doesn’t sum up our marriage, then I don’t know what will. All that’s missing is a murder or two.
Hooking his arm around my back, he lifts me from the ground and walks me toward the dining room table, obviously changing his mind about the kitchen floor fantasy. His hand is at my throat, my ass pressed into his crotch as he kicks my legs wide. I groan as his finger dips inside of me, my fingernails scratching the tabletop. He circles inside of me, pulling out while tugging on my hair, yanking my head back.
