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But I could let myself feel this, this moment in time with a gorgeous female warrior in my arms taunting me to sin. I could give in to the desire that stalked me every single minute of every goddamn day knowing she was so close but untouchable.

We deserved it, her and I, like conquering Vikings on a battlefield high off their victory.

I took her mouth with mine and fed her the keen edge of my gratitude.

She moaned around my tongue, instantly climbing me like a jungle gym until her arms were twined around my neck and her legs around my waist. I palmed the sweet curve of her ass, kneading it with one hand while the other fisted the length of her ponytail and cranked it back so I could plunder that sweet, plush mouth with tongue and teeth.

Adrenaline stripped me of all civility, leaving only a primal need to take in its wake. I dropped to my knees on the carpet floor and pressed her back against it, covering her with my body, grinding my hard cock into the apex of her thighs. She thrust against me, writhing as she panted into my mouth and used her nails against my scalp.

“Do you think you deserve my cock after that, my sweet little doll?” I asked her, between sucking fierce kisses into her neck, biting and soothing the thin skin in equal turn until bruises blossomed like a necklace made of violets around her throat.

“I think I deserve ten orgasms and your cum,” she declared, pushing my head down her body so my breath wafted over her covered groin.

I could smell the sweetness of her arousal through the fabric and groaned as I buried my face there, huffing deeply until I felt drugged by the scent of her pussy.

“Hurry,” she gasped, half in demand and half in benediction as I sucked hard through the fabric.

I was frantic, too, more inspired to fuck than I had been since I was a boy losing his virginity. I wanted to sink deep into this new version of my wife, lay claim to her ferocity the way I’d already claimed her innocence so many years before. My thick fingers broke the zipper on her pants, but I didn’t hesitate to wrench the fabric and panties down her hips, the tight jeans pulling at her calves and sticking on the ends of her boots. I left them there and pushed at the bottoms of her thighs until her pussy was bared to my gaze, smooth and glistening in the low lamplight. She smelled like musk and honey, the fragrance undercut by the tang of blood pooling across the floor from the body we’d killed together discarded in the corner.

It shouldn’t have been arousing, maybe, for most people.

But I wasn’t an average man.

I’d made my first kill before my voice dropped.

Violence was like fine Amaro, bitter and potent on my tongue. I thought it would taste fucking brilliant chased by the sweetness of my wife’s wet cunt.

She shouted, hands spasming in my hair as I dove into her folds, sucking harshly at her clit, plucking at her labia with my teeth, nibbling the edge of her entrance before thrusting inside it with hard drives of my tongue. It was pleasure edged in pain, a heady combination I knew Fiammetta was addicted to. In minutes, she was grinding up into my face, fisting my hair to pin me against her greedy pussy.

My cock was wet iron in the confines of my trousers, a damp spot spreading rapidly.

“I need to fuck you,” I growled even as I continued to feast on her, loving the wet sounds of her leaking sex and my devouring mouth.

“Yes,” she agreed, tugging at my hair to pull me up her body so I blanketed her, so that the heaviness of my weight conformed to her lush curves.

The rough rasp of our panting breaths and the metallic click and shush of my belt undoing and zipper wrenching down were the only sounds in the room. My eyes were fixed on Fiammetta’s, a magnetic lock that felt impossible to break. Mostly green, a pale, verdant color like new spring shoots interspersed with golden brown like amber honey. I avoided her gaze when I could, unable to bear the bewitchment of her vivacious nature shining through those multihued orbs.

And now, even after years of ardent self-control, I couldn’t force myself to look away as I pulled my cock from the damp confines of my boxer briefs and notched it at Fiammetta’s drenched entrance. The sight of my thick, veined shaft slapping against her tender folds was mouthwatering. I looked almost ugly, a blunt-force weapon against the delicate skin, and it made something animal in my brain rear up and take over.

In one brutal thrust, I seated myself balls deep inside her tight hole.

Fiammetta threw her head back with a crack as she shouted her pleasure to the ceiling. Without thinking, I moved one hand into the back of her hair to cradle her skull against the hardwood and used the other to press the fabric caught between her calves back down toward her chest so that she was bent nearly in half and impaled on my pulsing cock.

I wanted to bend her into shape, fuck her into submission, blind her with lust until all she saw was me. Not those assholes at the dojo, not the old bikers who made her smile, not even any of the female friends who called her at all hours to chat, Fiammetta walking around the house with her cell glued to her ear and a happy glint in her eyes.

They all made her happy, something I was not allowed to do.

All I could allow myself was this.

A rough fuck beside a dead body in the dark of night in a lonely office.

All I could give her were mind-bending, gravity-unraveling orgasms.

I gritted my teeth, pulled slowly out of her clenching cunt until only the broad tip of my shaft pierced her pussy, and then drove forward on a victorious grunt.

Her eyes slammed shut as she shuddered around me.

Yes.