I think she’s going to make me work for it. No way it was as easy as that—but that’s when Haven tosses the notepad to the foot of the bed. The pen follows. And then, to my fucking amazement, she shifts until she’s at my side.
She has her hoodie on. The maroon one that’s her favorite. Rolling up her sleeves, lifting up the bottom of the sweatshirt, she shows me her panties. She didn’t have pants on; she usually doesn’t when we’re in the panic room together these days. The hoodie is more than enough to hide her from me, but Haven… she’s not hiding anymore.
My body jolts to see what she’s showing me.
Fuck me. It’s the white panties with the little red hearts on them.
I told her I was going to jack off into them and Idid.Countless times, but, at some point, they must’ve gotten mixed up with the laundry that I send out to be cleaned. They must’ve come back with the bag designated as my wife’s—and, whoa, do I feel bad for whoever had to wash the comerag it had become—because she has them.
She has them, and she’swearingthem.
Her face twisted into a look of pure concentration, she straddles me. Scooting away from me so that the backs of her legs meet the fronts of my thighs, she adjusts her position until my erection is right beneath her pussy.
Fuck me. Her panties aresoaked. That’s all I’m thinking in the split second before she starts rocking against me, the wet material the only thing separating the heat of my body from hers, and then I’m not quite thinking at all.
No. That’s not true. I’m thinking about how Jason Michaels convinced Haven to do something just like this while her parents were out at an Owed gala. I’m thinking about how I had my first murderous urges when I watched him bounce on top of Haven from my perch in the tree outside of her bedroom. I’m thinking about how she just lied there, and when he tried to convince her to let him stick it in, she shoved him off of her and he landed in a thump on her floor, his naked ass on display while she giggled.
She’s not giggling now.
Oh, now. Mywifeis panting softly, using my body to chase her orgasm, and I’m the lucky fucking bastard who is letting her do it.
I’ll let her do anything, and when she finds it, stretching out on top of me trustingly as though she justknewthat I’d let her ride me without me trying to push her to do more… I wish she’d uncuffed me first so that I could hold onto her right back.
I was close.So fucking close.
All I had to do was tuck my cock under her wet and hope that I found the entrance to her pussy. One firm shove and I’d have been seated inside of her. Another and I could finally discover what it’s like to have her glorious heat wrapped around my length.
But if I did that, Haven would never trust me again. And I’d much rather let her tease me, let her touch me, let heruseme however she wants than risk all of the progress we’ve made over the last seven months.
I’m playing for forever here. I don’t want to fuck her once. I want to fuck her for the rest of my lives, and if that means I have to keep on waiting for her to trust me enough to let me inside of her that way, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
For the next month, I don’t push it. Mainly because I want to trust myself, but I came so close to an ‘accidental’ slip that I don’t any more. Mostly, I’m following Haven’s lead. Whatever she wants, she gets, and if she wants to touch and tease and play before falling asleep, curled up in my arms… that’s so much better than me sleeping on the couch outside of the locked-down panic room.
There are times when I sense she’s so close to saying ‘fuck it’ and, well, fucking me. Others when it’s like she opened her eyes and is realizing that, while I’m her husband, she still thinks of me as her captor.
Those are the bad days. When they happen, she stays away from me for days at a time, but as though she’s addicted to my touch as I am hers, eventually she points at the bed, gestures forme to strip, and places the handcuffs on my hands once I stretch them over my head for her.
Just like now.
There’s something different about tonight, though. Haven’s been unusually quiet all day. And, yes, she’s selectively mute. I’m used to Haven being quiet, but this was different. Only someone who knows her as well as I do would be able to tell, but when she walked me into the panic room a few minutes ago, gesturing that sheneedsme… I pushed all of my concerns aside because damn if I wasn’t going to give Haven what she wanted.
But then she shocked the shit out of me by doing the one thing she hasn’t since our free use agreement began: she took off her pantsandher underwear.
The moment I see her damp curls, already soaked with enough juice that my mouth fuckingwaters, I think I know what’s going to happen tonight. Haven’s finally decided she’s ready. I know I’m more than ready to find out what it’s like to fuck my wife… but there’s something in the way she climbs on top of the bed, focusing on a spot over my head instead of looking me in the eye.
I clear my throat.
Almost reluctantly, she looks down at me.
I see lust. I see need. I seewant. But I also I see pain… and I see a darkness in her stormy grey eyes that will always be there.
And though I want to kick myself in the own ass for even trying to talk her out of what is so clearly on her mind, I find myself warning her: “You can fuck me like you hate me, but don’t fuck meifyou hate me.”
Haven pauses for a moment as if thinking over what I said. I thought it was pretty obvious. I will take whatever I can from this woman, but she’s my wife now. I’ve gone past just settling for her hate. I crave her love, and even if I don’t have that yet, Idon’t want our first time consummating our marriage fully to be tinged with hate.
She can’t hate me anymore. Not completely. The way she touches me when she has me where she wants me… there’s some affection there. Maybe I’m mistaking it for lust, too, but that’s better thanhate.
So when Haven slowly begins to sink down on top of me, feeding my clock inside of her as slowly as she can without driving me fucking out of my head, I want to believe that she agrees with me.
