Page 89 of Married to Lies

He growled, “Good wife.”

My pussy clenched at the words.

“Pull back your skirt and take off your panties. Let me see you.”

I hurried to follow directions, seeing him remove his cuff links and then unbutton his own shirt. The white fabric fell from his skin, revealing dark, swirling ink that blended with stretch marks on his shoulders and stomach. In my study of his body, I’d stalled in following my orders. He gave me a warning look, and I hurried to cast my white lace underwear aside in a dampened heap.

When I looked up, my lips parted at the sight of his strong body, cock long and hard in his hand.

“Quentin,” I breathed in a reverent tone.

He gave me a look.

“Husband,” I corrected.

With a satisfied look, he lowered himself over me. I thought he might enter me, but he brought his lips to my pussy instead.

“Foreplay,” he muttered. “Can’t forget that.”

I laughed for just a moment before his tongue drew a long, slow line over my slit. “Oh!” I moaned out, surprised at how good it felt. Just minutes in, and I was already strung tight as a rubber band ready to snap.

And then he parted my labia and lapped at my clit, the rough head of his tongue sliding over the sensitive nub in a punishing rhythm.

I reached down, holding his head against me while my hips writhed on the bed, begging for release. And just when I felt my body shimmer with an oncoming release, he pulled back and blew on my exposed clit.

It was like an electric shock to my skin, making me whimper out, stalling my orgasm and making my chest feel tight.

Before I could beg or plead for more, his tongue was back on my clit. His long, thick finger slid into me.

It was better than before, pleasure on the verge of pain. My pussy started to clench around his finger, but he pulled it out, digging his fingers into my hips, taking handfuls for himself. “Not yet.”

“Quentin!” I begged, yelled, cursed.

He looked at me with an admonishing stare.

“Husband,” I moaned.

“Good wife,” he said again before lowering his mouth to my sex. This time, he slid two fingers inside, curling them toward himself and tapping the fingers in a way that made me see stars. I didn’t know how much more I could take and yet couldn’t stand the thought of this ever ending.

Then a wave of pleasure obliterated all thoughts from my mind. I cried out, body convulsing with the force of my release. Tears streamed down my cheeks into my hair, face contorting with every pulse emanating from my core.

As the orgasm eased, I gasped to replace every breath that had been stolen from me. But before I even had a chance to catch up, Quentin raised himself over me, angled the broad head of his cock over my opening. Thank God for IUDs so I could experience him with nothing between us.

Every nerve ending screamed for his touch, begged for more. And yet he was so large, he had to enter slowly, inch by maddening inch.

“You take me so well, wife,” he growled in my ear, like going slow was taking every ounce of his self-control. “Breathe,” he ordered.

I realized I’d been holding my breath. I took a shallow sip of air, but the movement shifted me against him, and I clenched against his cock again.

“Relax,” he ordered.

As I slowed my breaths, I held on to his strong arms, fingernails digging into triceps etched in ink.

He pressed the rest of the way in, and the sensation of fullness was one I’d never felt before. For a moment, he stilled, looked into my eyes with this reverence I’d never seen from anyone before. It made my heart leap to my throat and my eyes sting.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I lifted my head in a nod.