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Because, yeah, call me a pansy but Aoife was fucking home, and she was fifteen miles away. That was fourteen miles and just over seventeen hundred and fifty nine yards too far.
Jesus, her sitting on my sofa across the other side of the room was too much distance between us. I wanted us skin to skin, and only that would do.
The minute she heard my groan, her breathing increased. “O-Oh God, Finn, I wish I could suck you down, I wish I could feel you inside my pussy.”
Dirty words coming from my angel’s mouth?
So wrong, but so right.
“Tell me more, angel,” I half-purred, needing to hear my sweet Irish girl be filthy for me.
“I’m so wet, Finn. So wet. I want your mouth on me. I need it. I need your tongue sucking on my clit, I need you to tap my pussy when I get too greedy. I-I want you to slap my ass if I’m—”
My eyes flared at that. “I want my hands all over your ass, Aoife. I want to slide my cock inside that tiny little hole and make it mine.”
“I-It is yours, Finn. All yours. Are you jacking off, baby?”
“Of course, I am,” I ground out, closing my eyes as I leaned back and began to use my pre-cum as lube. “I wish you were doing it for me.”
“Come home,” she breathed. “I will.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, regret lacing my words. “Tomorrow. I’ll be there tomorrow.” I hoped I wasn’t promising her something I couldn’t keep, but I’d try my damn hardest even though I knew we couldn’t do any of the things we were talking about. Her body wasn’t healed enough for that.
“I dream about you,” she whispered. “A filthy dream. I’m in the kitchen, making dinner, and you come in, you grab me and kiss me. Fucking my mouth like you’re about to fuck my pussy. You make me melt, make me forget everything I’m doing. Then, you slap my ass. You tell me I was a bad girl, and you bend me over the counter and pull my pants down.” She gulped, and I heard a thwap-thwap sound, could fuckinghearhow wet she was. Jesus. “Then you grab my hands and drag them behind my back, and you keep my pants high on my thighs so I couldn’t move. So all I can do is be fucked by you. Then, you slip your cock out and push inside me.”
“And I’d fuck my beautiful angel,” I grated out. “I’d fuck you so hard that you’d feel me inside you all day, and my cum would be buried in you while you cooked, because I’d make sure you didn’t shower, that you stank of me, and us, and what we did all day.”
Her breath hiccoughed. “Will you let me come?” she pleaded, the words high-pitched.
“Do you want to?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the view ahead of me. The Hudson didn’t deserve my scowl, but my wife did.
“P-Please.”
“Beg me, Aoife,” I ground out.
She whimpered. “Please, Finn. Please.”
I licked my lips, loving hearing my name on her tongue like that. “Not enough. I don’t think you deserve to,” I said, my tone purposely cruel.
Her fingers didn’t stop, I could hear the slick slide in the background thanks to the mic, and the prospect of fucking my fist when I could be fucking that tight little snatch about blew my brains.
She’s injured, she’s healing,I told myself, repeating the words until they were a litany.
She needs rest.
Rest.
Rest, goddammit!
I ground out, “Stop touching yourself, Aoife.”
At my bark, she mewled but there was silence.
“Lick your fingers. Tell me what you taste like.”
She hummed and I heard a slurping sound as she sucked the digits clean. “Salty, I guess. A little sweet. Clean.”
“Wrong,” I informed her. “You taste like mine.”
