I reach around and wrap my hand around her throat as I thrust into her, squeezing the sides. Her pussy clenches around me in response and I nearly come right there. She’s so soft and gentle and yet she loves the way I fuckher, rough like this, with my hand around her throat. The trust she has in me makes me nearly lightheaded with ecstasy.
As my hand wraps around her slender, delicate neck, a powerful wave of affection surges inside me. The pleasure of possessing her like this, so completely, is nearly overwhelming. Pleasure at her trust in me, her acceptance of my brutal side, flows through me as strong as the liquified heat flooding my veins.
But churning within it, like sand caught inside an ocean wave, comes the anxiety and desperate fear she’ll disappear. That this happiness will vanish like a mirage and I’ll lose her forever.
My hands find her hips and I pull her back to meet me, changing the rhythm, harder now, deeper, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to leave marks.
“This,” I say low against her neck, my hand sliding around to her stomach and pressing flat. “Is mine. I’m gonna fill you up with my cum over and over until I get you pregnant. You want that, baby?”
She trembles, nodding. I don’t know if she’s saying it to make me happy or she really means it but either way, I can’t stop the words pouring out of me. I’m now obsessed with the idea of making my wife pregnant. It’s primal, beyond logic or reason, and I can’t stop.
“When my baby’s in you, I’m gonna keep fucking you,” I murmur in her ear, my tongue tracing the delicate shell between thrusts. “I want to feel your belly get big. Feel your tits fill up with your milk. All these curves I love and I can’t wait to feel more of them.”
I mean every word of it in a way that would have baffled me six months ago. I’d never wanted commitments, never even wanted to fall in love. But the truth, the one I’m onlyunderstanding now with her body against mine and the words still in my mouth, is that I just hadn’t met her yet.
Lila is the one.
I want us to make something that can’t be taken back. Something that outlasts any contract or agreement or plan we ever made. I want us tied together for life.
My hips drive forward. As I fuck her, my hand slides lower to find her clit. I circle slowly, obscenely slowly given how hard I’m pounding into her, and she makes a broken sound and her knuckles go white on the shelf.
“This,” I say, fingers gliding along her pussy. “This is mine. Mine to fill, to make you come. Only me. Forever.” I groan against her neck and thrust deep and hold there, buried to the hilt, grinding against her, my fingers working her clit in tight circles, and I feel her start to fall apart around me.
The trembling starts in her thighs first, working its way up through her whole body. Her grip on the shelf is slipping.
I hook my arm around her, hand closing around her tit and squeezing as I pull her flush against my chest. It changes the angle, lifting her slightly onto her toes as her body arches back into mine like she’s trying to get closer, deeper,more.
I fist her hair and pull her head to the side, then put my lips to her cheek and press hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, her neck. I bite and suckle her soft skin between my teeth, knowing I’m leaving marks.
Good.
My fingers on her clit don’t stop. My hips keep moving. My arm keeps her locked against me, her back to my chest, and I feel the moment she shatters, the full body clench of it, her inner walls locking around me, her head dropping back onto my shoulder as her whole body trembles.
I hold her through it, both arms around her now, keeping her upright while she comes apart.
I last about three more seconds.
It hits me hard and low and total, the pressure releasing all at once, my face burying in her neck, her name in my mouth, my hips driving forward one last time and staying there as pleasure rolls through me in long waves.
Pure bliss. Every thought whited out. Every dark thing from the last hour gone.
The bar thumps on outside the door. Muffled bass and laughter and the clink of glasses, the whole world continuing on completely indifferent to the fact that everything just shifted in here.
“You feel better?” she asks breathlessly.
I press my lips to the back of her neck. The warm skin there. Feel her shiver.
“Yeah,” I say. “I feel better.”
She laughs softly. Turning her around, I cup her face in both hands and kiss her. I kiss her with everything I don’t have words for yet: the gratitude and the desire and the feeling that’s been building inside me for months.
When I pull back her eyes are soft.
I help her put herself back together. Smooth her skirt down over her hips, my hands running over the fabric, making sure everything is as it should be. Straighten her sweater at the shoulders. Then I turn her gently and brush her hair back from her neck with both hands, working through the tangles carefully, and she stands completely still and lets me and watches my face in the dim light with those dark eyes that I suspect always see more than I know.
“I can’t believe I just fucked my wife in a dive bar storage room,” I say with a heavy sigh.
“I liked it.” She gives me that flirtatious smile, the one that has been making it difficult to think straight since about the first week she was in my house. “In your truck, in a dive bar storage room.” She ticksthem off on her fingers. “I want to fill out the full bingo card.”
