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“Next time,” she says, her lips just inches away from mine, running a hand over my chest, then pinching a nipple. “I’ll bring my ball-gag and gag your mouth, then tie you to the bed and fuck your tight man ass with one of my vibrators. Would you like that? Me fucking your ass with a vibrator while I’m sucking your dick?”
My asshole clenches. I smile, my lips curving against hers. “Yeah, baby, I love the sound of that.”
My hips move fluidly, my dick sliding in and out of her body, pounding her pussy into multiple orgasms, with dirty thoughts of creeping out on my wife again, and having my P-spot under siege.
Wet Pussy Gone Wild
Have you ever wanted something so bad, you couldn’t imagine not having it?
Well, there are only three things in my life that I’ve ever felt that strongly about: being married to my husband, Sebastian; giving birth to my two sons, Dillon and Jacob; and now…deep breath—Kyree.
He’s dangerously handsome, with thickly lashed eyes draped around light-brown, almond-shaped orbs that hold specks of amber when the light strikes them just so.
Six-foot-three.
Strong arms. Rippling washboard abs. Thick eight-inch, two-toned dick with a toe-curling, sheet-clutching curve. That I love sucking, that I love feeling stretching inside me, that I’ve fallen so recklessly in love with. Mmm. My mouth waters and my panties moisten every time I think about his delicious dick.
Kyree. Kyree. Kyree.
Dammit.
Just look at him, his beautifully hard and defined body on display for my pleasure. Goddammit! How did I ever let this nineteen-year-old, sexually aggressive man-child charm his way into my head, my mouth, and in between my quivering legs?
Everything about him screams trouble. However, here I am.
I hate the way the sight of him takes my breath away. Yet, love the way he makes me feel sluttier and sexier than I’ve ever felt. Everything about being with him is such a contradiction. My unnerving guilt overshadowed by demanding need. My emotional torment eclipsed by burning desires.
I stare at him, stretched out in the center of the bed, hands bound over his head and his legs splayed, his wrists and ankles tethered to the bedposts with silk scarves. He welcomes boundaries being pushed, which is why he’s tied to my bed. His idea.
Besides having me, another fantasy of his.
My gaze dances over his muscular body, marveling over every inch of him; my mouth watering until it is as wet and juicy as my pussy.
Kyree grins at me, then licks those sexy, toe-curling lips of his. “Yo, c’mere and suck this dick.”
My heart stutters a bit as I keep my gaze on him, lusty-eyed and trembling with unbridled need. He makes me feel so unanchored and out of control; yet, alive.
God help me.
When I’m with Kyree, I am so carefree and unapologetic—his youthful masculinity brings that out of me. I’m always so wet and wild and wanton. Every time he comes over—to hang out with my nineteen-year-old son, Jacob—wearing nothing but a crisp white wifebeater and basketball shorts with the waistband of his boxers showing, my skin flushes with heated need. Every time he steals a glance at me and winks slyly or licks his lips, heat blooms inside of me.
And all I want to do is be fucked by him. Bent over. Grabbing my ankles. Ass cheeks spread open, wide and ready. Kyree grabbing me by the hips.
But then I come to what’s left of my senses, and I feel so shamelessly dirty. So, so, scandalously perverted. Fucking someone almost twenty-six years younger than me.
And, yet, I keep letting him crawl back between my thighs, plunging his hard, horny dick deep into my wet, trembling cunt.
Lord, help me.
I’ve always been a flamboyantly sexy and beautiful woman comfortable in her own skin, confident and seemingly carefree. And although, I am way much closer to forty-five that I am to ever being thirty-five, you’d never know it. And, yes, I’m about fifteen pounds heavier than I was ten, fifteen, years ago, but thanks to Pilates and a slew of yoga classes, I’ve painstakingly maintained my curves in all the right places. Despite the stretch marks that fan out over my stomach, I have a body better than some of the young women half my age.
And the way Kyree and the rest of the young men his age drink in the sight of me—with hot, hungry gazes—every time they see me, confirms what I already kn
ow. Like any man, those young horny boys are enthralled with big, bouncy asses, beautiful breasts, powerful hips and lots of wet pussy.
I briefly allow my mind to roll back to when it began. When I’d first discovered it. Felt it. The temptation. The stirring between my legs that undeniably made me feel weak. The looming desire that seemed to balloon from out of nowhere.
It was the week following the Memorial Day weekend. Both of my sons were home from college, and my husband, Sebastian, had flown out to Toronto on business earlier that morning and wasn’t expected back until the following week.
