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Only a wicked husband barely allows his wife to recover from one orgasm before ravaging her again. And I am that wicked husband.
But the way she creams on my face, I know there’s more pent-up passion bubbling under her rigid exterior.
She wants a ride on this beard? She’ll get one.
“Darling,” I say, stroking her thighs where a moment ago my fingers had been locked onto her flesh, “If you want me to take a break, then you can sit on my face.”
I roll to my back and switch on the night table light. I want to see the scandalized expression. More importantly, I want to look up between her thighs while she takes my face for a ride. Her flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and messy hair make me feel proud knowing I did that to her.
But I need to do so much more.
Divorce pact or no divorce pact, I want to absolutely ruin her for anyone else.
The heat radiating from her body matches the fire in her gaze. She climbs on top slowly, still shivering from her release, letting my eyes take in every bare inch of her body.
Kala hauls herself over me with little help, clutching the headboard.
My god, this view. She hovers over me, then slowly lowers her sweet, dripping pussy over my mouth.
I watch her gaze turn from heated to wild as I pleasure her with my mouth once again. I reach up to toy with one breast, teasing her pert nipple. She moans as she creams my face and beard, moving over me, adding pressure as she sees fit.
Her squeezable hips roll as she looks for just the right friction.
I knew it. I knew she’d love being in control.
I roll that nipple between my fingers while I destroy her pussy with my face, letting her get off on my beard.
This moment feels so hot I can’t stand the ache of my untouched cock anymore, so I reach down with my other hand and grip my length. It’s not enough. I need to feel her surround me. I want her to milk me dry.
Instead, I let go and reach for her face.
“Suck my fingers,” I rasp.
My obliging wife does as I ask, sucking each of my fingers into her mouth, one by one. The swirling tongue and the slight scrape of her teeth might make me lose my load.
But her mouth isn’t enough. “Come up a little, baby.”
“Am I hurting you?”
“I’m perfect. You’re perfect. I need your cream, darling.”
Without asking why, my sweet Kala comes up on her knees, allowing me to bathe my hand in her sweetness. I must be doing it too vigorously because she cries out, another release shuddering through her.
“Gods, you’re beautiful when you come, Darling.”
“Etienne,” she rasps, gushing all over my hand.
“What is it, love?”
Her gaze locks on mine.
“Do you need to stop now?” I ask.
“No,” she grits out like a she-beast, even as her orgasm pulses through her. “Feels too good. Your beard…your mouth…your everything…oh my gods…”
I let go of her breast and pet her hair. “I know. I know exactly what you mean.” I am at a loss for words, too.
Kala makes herself at home once again, granting me the gift of her soft, tender center.
