AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How are you feeling?”
My eyes widened as I pressed my legs together and struggled to keep from panting. My hands gripped either side of the table.
“H-how am I feeling?” I asked between clenched teeth. “I feel like I’m about to be Meg Ryan from When Harry Met Sally, only I won’t be faking it!”
Malcolm sat back and laughed. I shook my head shook frantically when he picked up his damn phone. I stared at him. He wouldn’t dare turn them up.
With a wicked gleam in his eye, he winked, and the vibrations got stronger. I stuffed bread in my mouth to stifle the moans. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I forced air through my nose. My back was a straight rod, and my head hung down with my eyes squeezed shut. The more I squirmed the worse it got. My heart hammered against my rib cage, and I needed water but feared I’d drop the glass. The consistent stimulation pushed me closer and closer. Even the removal cord vibrated and my squirming had maneuvered it so it rested against the sensitive flesh of my labia.
I managed to look up at my husband, ready to plead for him to stop. The lustful wonderment on his face slammed a new burst of desire into me. His lips parted, one hand missing, hidden under the table, and his breathing was nearly as ragged as my own.
The sight of him was the final straw. My hand flew to my mouth to cover the sound, and my eyes fluttered at the release of the orgasm he’d denied me earlier. I hooked my feet around the legs of the chair in hopes of keeping my body from shaking too much. Last thing I wanted was to draw any attention from the tables around us. I’d already gotten a few glances. The internal vibrations stopped, but I didn’t. My climax seemed to drag on forever.
I let out a long, slow breath as the final shockwaves died down. My hands still trembled when I reached for my glass of water and took two large gulps. I looked up to meet Malcolm’s eyes. His chest rose and fell with deliberate breaths.
He stuck his tongue out and licked his lips. “Baby, that was fucking beautiful,” he whispered in a raspy tone.
I bit the corner of my lip. His reaction wiped away any embarrassment and replaced it with a surge of confidence.
I sat forward, glanced around, then whispered, “I can’t believe you made me do that.”
A laugh bubbled free as the total weight of what just occurred settled on me. My heart rate remained elevated and my walls continued tiny clenches around the toy.
“All I can say is thank god for this table cloth right now, because…” He cast a quick look down to his lap and back at me. “This might have backfired on me in a major fucking way.”
I covered my face and took a deep breath. My poor husband. Though part of me wanted to say that’s what he got for the stunt he’d pulled. The bigger part of me—the part that had my body temperature rising again at the thought of him full mast under the table—had the wanton desire to crawl under the table and suck him dry.
He pulled the blue pouch from his pocket and slid it across to me. “Not gonna lie, baby, I was mildly offended at the idea of you wanting toys. But after that display… I have been converted.”
He took a sip of his wine and while I could only imagine the other toys he’d want to try, instead of being worried, I was aroused and eager to find out.
I picked up my own wineglass. “Sounds good to me.”
9
Mistress Ginger
Calida
I fought hard to keep a straight face as my manly husband stood before me wearing the most ridiculous pair of sparkling silver Speedo–type underwear that barely contained him. They didn’t stand a chance once that thing was at full mast.
I feared this whole idea of me being in charge would be a recipe for disaster. And I sure as hell thought he’d give me a major hell no when I showed him what he had to wear, but like the good boy he said he would be, he put them on.
Letting my hands glide along his warm skin, I took my time touching and massaging his muscular arms. They clenched and flexed under my fingers. I moved upwards, at a slow, languid pace until I reached his shoulders. Even in these ridiculous thigh-high boots, he stood taller than me, so I tilted my head up to look at him.
A small internal battle raged as I fought to keep upright and not melt into a puddle of weak-kneed horniness. I arched a brow and slowly pushed down on his shoulders. He gave a little resistance before he submitted to the silent command.
“I believe you said something about kissing my boots and calling me Mistress.”
Malcolm’s eyes darkened and his full lips pulled to the side in a delicious smirk. “That I did. Mistress.”
The look combined with that one word was a one-two punch to my core, and the rapid beat of my heart matched the pulsating throb between my legs. I swallowed the dry lump in my throat and let out a slow exhale. When he touched me, I couldn’t stop the shudder. The cocky bastard winked before lowering his eyes.
I watched with bated breath as he began. Small circular motions at the back of my knee, while his thumbs simultaneously rubbed the front, then he leaned forward and kissed the top of boot. He shifted so he balanced on one knee and the other leg was angled to act as a makeshift stool. A protest sat at the tip of my tongue when he placed my heeled foot on his thigh, worry that the spiky point would injure him, but he didn’t appear bothered.
The warmth of his hands seeped through the layers of material, or it could have been the jump in my own body temperature in reaction to his touch. Either way, I was acutely aware of each meticulous squeeze and caress to my calf. Another kiss, this time to the center of my shin.
How in the hell was I supposed to survive this? He was stealing my breath and kicking my resolve’s ass by making kissing my boots this fucking sensual. I couldn’t take it.
