Page 77 of Married to the Devil

We grind, pinned in union. His mouth on mine, on my tits, on my neck. I dig fingers into his muscular, tattooed back. My ankles wrap around his hips. He thrusts in, deeper, deeper, harder, making me bite down on his arm to keep from screaming.

“Look at you, my fucking wife, my beautiful fucking wife, taking all of my big dick between her legs. You’re such a lovely, filthy thing, and I want to ruin you, June, I want to fucking ruin you.”

“Then keep going. I’m so close.”

“I want to see you come for me, dirty girl. You filthy fucking girl. God, you feel so good.”

His tone trembles, the notes of it warbling with how much he needs. I grind into him, so close I can barely think.

“God, yes, please,” I beg, incoherent.

“June, baby, I can’t—“ He moans, stroking in deep. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to come⁠—“

That kills me. This man, this monster, this perfect paragon of control, suddenly losing himself between my legs, because of me.

I finally shatter, the explosive orgasm like a bomb in my skull. I feel his warmth, feel him stiffen, coming inside my pussy and it only makes me crumble to dust. I grind, gasping, moaning, unable to think as I’m set on fire. He whispers my name, stroking into me, as I slowly, agonizingly slowly, come back down. His mouth kisses mine, eagerly, hungry, and soft.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

“You feel good.” My eyelids flutter and I’m grinning like an idiot. “Why was I resisting that again?”

“You’re stubborn.”

“Hm, I thought it was something about you forcing me to marry you?”

“Can’t be it.”

I laugh, stretching, and gasp when he pulls out. His dick is so big and slick. It’s shiny with me. On impulse, I hop off the desk and lick him clean. His eyes go wide as he watches my tongue flit and lap.

“There, all better.”

“You’re too much.”

“This is what happens when you make me happy.”

We dress together, teasing and making small talk. “The room’s a mess,” he says.

“Are you complaining?”

“Only making an observation. Not going to apologize this time?”

I flick his shoulder. “Like hell. You wanted that.”

When I try to flick him again, he catches my wrist. “God damn right I did,” he says, tugging me close to press his lips to mine.

“I think I should get you a new lunch.” I help him straighten his desk. Unfortunately, the grilled cheese didn’t survive.

“I’d like that, but only if you promise to stay and eat with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

A flutter rushes in my stomach and I smile shyly. Why are my cheeks flushing? We just had rough, amazing sex—so why am I blushing now that he’s inviting me to eat lunch with him?

“Alright… I think I’d like that too.”

He kisses me before I hurry out, grinning to myself, wondering if this is good or if I’m spiraling in the wrong direction, but not really caring anymore.