Call me the cock liberator.
I wrapped my hand around him more tightly, moving up and down his shaft.
“Tell me what you like.”
“Your touch. Your taste.” He kissed me, licking into my mouth, exploring with his tongue.
“I mean this.” I picked up the leaking pre-cum at the crown, used it to ease my way from root to tip.
“You do it, I like it.”
So I did it. Fell to my knees and assessed the beauty before me. Thick, veined, powerful, and all mine. My husband was a very fine man.
The salty taste of him coated my tongue as I sucked on the crown, then inched my way down, taking him in more and more with each stroke. He cupped the back of my neck and held me still, his fingers gripping my hair and pulling just enough. Enough to feel his power yet assure me I was in charge. Of his pleasure. Of my own.
The deeper I sucked him, the wetter I got and the stronger the urge to touch myself. To travel this journey with him. I slipped my hand inside my sweats, and that first touch … Oh, we both felt it. My moan vibrated around his cock, and when I looked up, I found his eyes locked on me, urging me on as I sucked and fingered, determined to make him lose so I could win.
I so needed a win.
His neck muscles contorted, his powerful chest strained with the effort not to lose control. I wanted to feel that victory all over me. I released him with a pop, then unzipped my sweatshirt jacket, revealing a pretty blue, lace-trimmed bra that showcased my tits perfectly.
Continuing to stroke his cock, I peered up through the veil of my lashes and said, “Come on me, husband.”
The first splash of heat landed in my cleavage. The next was a creamy spurt across the swells of my breasts. By the time he was done, I was a splotchy canvas painted with the evidence of his desire.
Still on my knees, one hand inside my sweats, I met his feral gaze.
“What do you think you are doing?” he gutted out.
“Finishing the job,” I murmured as my hand continued to stroke between my thighs. I was close, and the sight of him, looming over me like a ravenous wolf was giving me all I needed to get there.
It seemed Alexei Nazarov had other ideas.
Within seconds, he had me on my back in the hallway and had yanked my sweats to my ankles.
“Show me, zhena.”
“What?” I whispered.
“Everything I have missed.”
Trust him to bring emotions into it. As much as I wanted to ignore those pesky feelings, I was with him on that score. I wanted to feel everything. I wanted to remove the barriers I’d erected to keep him at bay, starting with the heart beating between my thighs.
I widened my legs. The throb in my aching pussy was almost painful now.
He ran his hands down the inside of my thighs until his thumbs found my sensitive flesh and separated it, making me squirm.
“Hurry,” I whispered.
The bastard went slower. Searching with his fingers, swirling my wetness around, staying clear of where I needed him most. Impatient, I stroked my clit. Never send a man to do a woman’s job.
He pushed my hand aside and replaced it with his tongue, then a suckle of the swollen bundle of nerves. I came immediately, moaning loudly, arching my back and pushing up into his mouth as he continued to lick and suck and feast.
Finally, he relented and lay down beside me, one hand in a possessive clamp over my breast. As we both panted to catch our breath, he used his wicked index finger to draw patterns on my skin above my bra cup.
“Are you …” I looked down, trying to make it out. “Drawing hockey sticks in your cum on my tits?”
“Hockey sticks and …” he finished with a flourish. “A heart.”
