I grin back like a goddamn schoolboy, but the feeling quickly curdles into something devastating and feral and I’m grateful she’s already right where I need her.
“Kneel for me, wife,” I demand, the weight of the title now heavy and absolute. “Kneel for your husband.”
She obeys, moving with a cautious grace, using the edge of the sofa to anchor herself as she sinks to the floor between my thighs.
She leans in, and I hiss as she licks the moisture pooling at the tip. “Good fucking girl,” I rasp, my fingers tangling in her hair. “Now open up. I need to see exactly how much of me you can take.”
She licks the head of my dick once more, then swipes her tongue over her own lips before opening that beautiful mouth. She glides down, using her tongue to carve out more space, taking me in deep.
“Shit! Aspen—”
“Mmmm hmmm…” she moans against me, the vibration of her throat sent straight to my toes. I grip her hair tighter, fighting the urge to rip the back of her throat out with the release already at its edge.
But I’ve only just begun with her.
I tangle my fingers into her ponytail and yank her head back, abruptly pulling myself out of her mouth. The sudden loss of warmth leaves us both panting. “Grab your tits, Aspen. Play with your nipples for me.”
Her eyes go wide, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her face. “Why? I’ve never—”
“Never before? Or never for anyone else?”
“Never for anyone,” she whispers.
“So you play with your tits when you’re alone? When you're playing with your pussy?”
She nods, a frantic, rhythmic movement as she tries to catch her breath.
“Okay then. Allow me to remedy that.”
I lean forward, the movement slow and predatory, and press my palm firmly against her cunt. Even through the damp lace of her panties, the heat is staggering. She’s slick, drenched, and trembling under my touch.
“So fucking wet for me, wife,” I growl, my thumb pinning her through the fabric, pressing until she gasps.
“Once again,” she whimpers. “Only for you,” the confession catching in her throat as I finally hook a finger beneath the lace and dip inside. She’s molten.
I lean back, watching the way her face fractures with pleasure. “I want to take this next phase of our marriage slow. For you.”
She doesn't answer with words. She reaches up, grabbing my face to pull me into a kiss that tastes like desperation, her tongue tangling with mine while I fuck her with one finger, then two.
When she finally pulls away, her lips are swollen and her eyes are glazed. “This…” she pants, “this is what you consider slow?”
I flash her a slow, sinister smile. “You see, Aspen,” I say, my thumb circling her clit with a predatory rhythm while I lay down the new rules of our agreement. “I haven't just been keeping my distance. I haven't simply been avoiding suggestive remarks or keeping my mouth shut about how fucking gorgeous you are.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ve also been withholding the part of me I wasn’t sure you were ready to handle.”
She raises an eyebrow, a flicker of that defiance sparking through the haze of arousal. “Should I be afraid?”
“Maybe.” I lean down, catching her bottom lip between my teeth and tugging until she moans.
“I want to go slowly and allow you to see all of me, bit by bit. And I want to see you. The partsyouhaven’t even seen yet.”
She nods. “That sounds…reasonable.”
“Good. Now, show me. Play with your tits, wife. Let me see what you look like when you’re alone.”
She hesitates for a heartbeat before her hands find her own skin. She grabs her nipples, twirling and squeezing them between her fingers. It’s a private ritual, a secret she’s kept for herself that she’s unveilingonly for me.
