“So, you just take what you think is yours?” I accused breathlessly, barely holding on to my sanity.
He didn't answer, just rolled his hips against mine enough to pull a broken, hungry sound from my throat.
My nails dug into his shoulders automatically.
“Targen, please…” I begged, edged to the point of madness.
“Please what?”
I turned my face away because suddenly I couldn’t stand how needy I sounded. He grabbed my jaw gently and made me look at him.
“Tell me.”
My entire body trembled beneath his hands.
“I need to cum. Please let me cum.”
“I'on know,milaya. Does my stubborn little wife get to cum? Hmm? You been so bad. You think you deserve to cum on your husband's dick?” he crooned, tilting his head like he was really thinking.
He knew just when to stop, fucking me mercilessly, then withdrawing until the highs he brought me so close to receded. He held me tightly by the waist, pressing the beaded chains into my flesh as he refused to let me fuck myself onto him. My ruthless husband only filled me when he wanted, no matter how I struggled and pleaded. Just when I’d give up, he’d start all over again, fucking me somehow slow and hard. And as if the feelings weren't enough, the knowledge that the room’s filthy, wet sounds were evidence of how deeply my husband was penetrating my captive, ravenous pussy entirely on his terms intensified my arousal.
“Targen…”
“My poor little baby,” he taunted, fingers teasing my nipples into painful peaks made worse by his sinful lips capturing them in the heat of his mouth.
For long minutes, our sweat-slick bodies slipped and slid together, the friction its own erotic turn on. His hold on me tightened, seeking a firm grasp on my damp skin. Targen had me bound by one hand on my wrists and another holding the back of my thigh, keeping me open to him. No matter how I twisted and turned, I couldn't get away. I didn't want to, even as I tried.
I pleaded with him, cried for him, until my voice became little more than an endless moan. But my husband, more intent on victory than I was, didn't relent. He filled me over and over.
Methodically.
Diabolically.
And somewhere between the frustration and the heat and the way he kept looking at me like I really belonged to him, the fight finally left me.
I looked up at him light-headed and overwhelmed and whispered, “Targen... please... ask me…”
He picked up his pace, hips slamming into mine, his dick stretching me, filling me beyond capacity. I felt him everywhere,everywhere... oh, God...
“Huh? What's that?”
His hand twisted in my hair, lifting my head as he leaned down, pretending he couldn't hear me.
“Ask me... please... ask me…” I chanted the words, my body ensnared in the rhythm of his.
“What's your name?” he complied, his voice raw and rough. Despite his facade of control, he was clearly affected, too.
“Theory... Grace... Miller?—”
He stopped.
I didn't. “Jones-Sidorov.”
A satisfied smile lifted his lips as he teased between my thighs.
I gave him the name.
But it was his name that I screamed as he indeed let his very stubborn, very bad wife cum on his dick.
