After what felt like an eternity of this savage pounding, Richard hauled me up again. He stood and pulled me with him, then pressed my front against the door. My palms were flat against the cool surface. He kicked my legs wider apart, bent me slightly at the waist, and drove back into my soaked pussy from behind in one brutal, claiming thrust.
I cried out loudly, raw and desperate. "Yes, fuck, right there."
He started railing me with deep, powerful strokes. The door creaked faintly under the relentless force. His chest pressed hot against my back. One hand reached around to pinch and roll my swollen clit while the other wrapped lightly around my throat, holding me in place. My pussy clenched and fluttered nonstop. Another devastating orgasm was building fast inside me.
"You are mine," he growled hotly against my ear. He thrust harder, and his cock slammed into me over and over. "This cunt is mine to fill. I am going to pump you so full you will be dripping for days."
The filthy words sent me spiraling. I moaned brokenly and pushed back to meet every savage thrust.
That was all it took. He fucked me even faster. The wet squelching sounds were obscene as my juices coated us both. My walls started contracting hard around his thick cock as Icame again with a shattered wail. My whole body shook violently against the door, and my pussy milked him desperately.
Richard groaned deep and guttural. He buried himself to the hilt inside me. I felt the first powerful spurt of his hot cum explode deep in my womb, followed by thick, heavy ropes pulsing against my cervix. He kept thrusting through his release, grinding deep and making sure every drop flooded me completely.
Afterward, I lay on the cool sofa in the dressing room, wrapping myself in Richard's suit jacket that he'd tossed over casually. The fabric still carried the scent of his cologne, and now that I'd cooled down, it actually turned my stomach.
Richard stood in front of the mirror, tying his tie with deliberate slowness, as if what we'd just done wasn't some wild, tearing fuck session but a boring conference call.
Yeah, I tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Once you're out of bed, who bothers with extra feelings for a fuck buddy?
This marriage had sunk to this pathetic point, and it made me want to laugh at myself.
"About Olivia," Richard said, his back to me as he fixed his cuffs, his tone flat and cool, "I'll have David go apologize tomorrow. You don't need to show up."
I froze for a few seconds.
Of course. That fuck had been good enough to make Richard step in and handle Olivia for me.
"Fine," I said.
"Mr. Winston, the clothes you wanted are here," David knocked timely.
Richard cracked the door open just enough to grab the bag.
Inside was a beige dress, so conservative it reminded me of my grandma's church choir uniform.
"I don't want to wear this."
Richard finally shot me a look.
"Natalie."
He used that tone again, like he was too lazy to argue with a kid. I hated it.
"I said no. You wear it if you like it." I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled like jelly.
Richard stared at me for a few seconds, then sighed and walked over, picking up the dress. His tall frame cast a shadow that nearly swallowed me.
"Arms up."
"Richard, I said I don't—"
"Natalie," he cut me off, his voice dropping low with that "I'm counting to three" threat, "I don't have time for your games."
Games.
In his eyes, all my emotions, all my resistance, were just games.
