Page 41 of The Spare

‘Oh God,’ I whimper. It’s so obscene, the idea of my being stretched around Ben’s cock, the idea that he can see it—that he can watch himself disappearing inside my body over and over again—even more so.

I feel so full of him. He slides both hands down my back and over my hips before gripping tightly, and I brace further, knowing what’s coming, knowing my husband is about to plough into me. I saw the amount of girls eyeing him over lunch. It was outrageous, all those gorgeous little ski bunnies shamelessly eye-fucking him and tossing their hair in his direction and giving him come-to-bed smiles as they sauntered past, showing off their incredible figures in skintight designer skiwear. The whole of bloody Chelsea is here this week, it feels like.

Yet here I am, bent over for him, wearing his family’s ring as he promises me that no one else will ever get to do this to me. It’s me who’s got him this hard, me he’s apparently been fantasising about for years.

God, I’m a lucky bitch. For all the shit I’ve endured these last couple of months, I absolutely did not envision myself bent over in the shower for the youngest de Vere brother when I threw this very ring back at Xavier on Boxing Day.

The universe is a wonderful, fucked-up thing.

‘I am going to split you in fucking two,’ Ben tells me, dragging himself out of me slowly. It’s as ominous as the cautious ascent of a rollercoaster before the vertical drop. ‘I can’t even— Fuuuck.’ That’s the broken sound he makes as he ruts back into me, and he sounds like I feel, because holy hell.

He finds his rhythm.

This feels different.

Yes, my clit is swollen and needy, and my nipples are furled tight, and my skin feels like it’s on fire, but the main ache is so far inside me, and at this angle it’s deep enough that it feels as though he’s hitting my womb. It’s less surface-level, this need, and it’s primal. It feels as though it’s the very reason Mother Nature gave men dicks: to fill their women up like this.

I drag my forehead back and forth over the back of the hand gripping the rail. ‘Feels—so—good,’ I manage.

‘Yeah?’ His long fingers massage my arse as the water sluices over me. ‘Feeling full of me?’

‘Yep.’ Understatement of the century.

‘You’re about to feel a lot fuller.’ Before I can ask him what he means, he removes one hand from my hip. Next thing I know, he’s wedging it between our bodies and jamming a finger up my⁠—

Oh my God.

I let out a yelp of shock, my entire body going rigid. ‘Ben!’

‘Anyone ever been up here before?’ he enquires, the cheeky little shit. It feels ticklish and invasive and weird.

‘Categorically not,’ I huff, and he lets out a pained laugh.

‘You see, when you’re all high and mighty like that, it makes me want to fill every hole you have. Relax, baby. Just give it a sec, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I say before sighing out a big breath. He must only have got one knuckle in, because he pushes further, and even though it feels deeply unnatural, I can appreciate that the torrent of water must be making his job easier.

‘And…’ he says, driving his cock fully back inside me until he’s bottoming out.

I gasp and stand stock-still as I acclimatise to the feeling. It feels… not awful.

‘Good girl,’ he says, and warmth floods my insides. Am I really so validation-obsessed that I’ll accept praise for letting him stick his finger up my arse?

It appears the answer to that question is yes.

‘Fuck, you’re tight here. You’re going to let me fuck that one day.’

‘Yeah, not happening,’ I gasp, and he chuckles.

‘Baby steps. Feel how full…’

He can’t finish the sentence, but another thrust has him bottoming out in me again, and fuck, he’s right.

I’m so fucking full down there I can’t think straight. I feel as though I’m teetering on a knife edge. On one side, overstimulation the like of which I can’t handle, and on the other, what I suspect is pleasure the like of which I can’t handle.

For a moment, I’m not sure which way I’ll fall. Not sure if I can handle this. I’m sweating under the heat of the water, struggling to catch my breath amid all this steam.

Then he moves again, shunting into me like a freight train as the finger back there presses down on my front wall, and oh my Lord, the pressure is heavenly. Heavenly. I let out an involuntary moan that has him making a noise of pleasure, too.