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“You’re going to swallow all my cum, aren’t you?”

“O-okay.”

Reaching behind her, I grab her dark hair and wrap it around my hand. She cries out when I guide her mouth to my cock and force my length between her parted lips. I push my cock into her mouth, past the resistance of her tongue, until the head hits the back of her throat.

Then I come with a groan that tears from deep in my chest. “Fuuuuck!”

She gags, her eyes watering as I hold her there while I paint her throat with my cum.

“Swallow,” I groan, pressing even deeper.

She gags again, harder, but her throat works around me. I feel the convulsive swallow, the tight heat of her mouth. My hips thrust forward once, twice, fucking her mouth with short, controlled strokes until I’m certain she’s taken every drop.

Then I pull out, and she coughs, a strand of saliva connecting her lower lip to the head of my cock before it breaks.

She looks destroyed. Mascara smudged beneath her eyes, lips swollen and red, my cum dribbling down the corner of her mouth. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. I release her hair and brush my thumb across her lower lip, catching a drop of cum she missed.

“Good girl,” I croon.

She stares up at me, her hazel eyes wide and hazy. Then she opens her mouth as though she wants to say something, but no sound comes out.

Finally, she says what’s on her mind. “I know I should let you fuck me now.” Pausing, she wrings her hands in front of her. “But can we wait until I’ve showered and brushed my teeth?”

“Should?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at her choice of words.

“I meant to say I would like to be fucked after I’ve cleaned up,” she amends. “Please don’t punish me for misspeaking, Domenico.”

Fuck, she’s begging so sweetly. It’s making my cock twitch. Despite wanting to throw her onto her back and bury myself in her, I shake my head.

“Please,” she repeats, clearly reading the rejection on my face.

“What’s the rush?” I challenge.

Her face crumples, just for a second, before she catches herself. The hope that was building in her expression shatters and reforms into something harder, more desperate.

“Domenico, please,” she whispers, and my name in her mouth is a plea that nearly breaks me.

“Tell me why.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Tell me why you’re so desperate for me to fuck you, and I’ll do it.”

“Because… um…”

“Yes?”

“Because we’re married,” she murmurs. “It’s what married people do. They have s-sex.”

She says it with such certainty that I know this isn’t something she’s come up with to placate me. Someone taught her that.

“Do they now?” I chuckle. “Who told you that?”

“Father Joseph,” she breathes. “He said married people are supposed to give themselves to each other.”

So that’s what this is. She isn’t trying to seduce me because she knows what she wants. She’s trying to be the wife she’s been taught she should be. When she doesn’t say anything else, I let my arms fall to my sides.

“Meet me in the kitchen in half an hour,” I order.

I don’t look back as I grab my boxer briefs and quickly jerk them on. Then I leave her on my bed with her tears drying on her cheeks and her body still flushed with arousal she doesn’t understand.

I don’t let myself hear whatever sound she makes as the door closes behind me.