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I guide him back with confident steps, forcing his over six-foot frame to sit down at the center of the circular sectional that takes up most of this lavish living room. There’s heat in his eyes and muscles clench where my fingers touch, but he does so without complaint.
“That’s a good husband.”
“You’ll pay for that.”
“I know.” Bending at the waist, I lay a tiny kiss on his forehead, the tip of his nose, and then the smirk on his lips. “But right now, this is about me. What brings me pleasure.”
His eyes tell me that he’s taking this as a challenge.
The need to pleasure—to make my body sing for him—is nearly overwhelming, but he remains seated. Clenched hands are at his sides. Thighs tense where he remains seated.
“What do you need from me? Tell me and it’s yours.”
Instead of answering, I stand to my full short height and take two steps back. Because those words are the nexus of our predicament; my needs are always above his own, but he forgets that for me, his come before mine.
“Watch me and you’ll see.” Taking in a deep breath, I bring my hands back to the open waistband of my skinny jeans and begin lowering them, shimmying to a sensual beat that’s playing in my head. Each gyration is a promise. Each inch of skin uncovered to his eyes is a gift, and the hungry way he watches is a heady sensation.
It feels like a caress.
Like a stamp of mutual ownership.
When the denim falls to my feet, I step out of them and bend at the waist to pick them up. Fold them. Place them beside his head on the back of the couch.
“Gem.”
“My beautiful British bastard.” My rightful place is always with him, and I step between his parted thighs; my lingerie is a flesh-colored lace bralette and panty set I knew he’d like. It’s see-through and soft and molds to my flesh like a thin layer of second skin that hides nothing and exposes everything.
Nipples. Labia. His initials low on my right hip.
“Just watch and tell me what you see.” At my request, he nods, and when I lower myself to my knees before him, heavy-lidded eyes become darker. They smolder, causing my body to almost sway in pleasure, but I anchor myself to this moment with a single hand on his thigh. “Promise you’ll hold nothing back from me.”
“I’ll never hold back where you’re concerned.”
“Thank you.” Leaning down, I kiss a trail from his knee to the button of his trousers and pull, popping the button with my teeth. The zipper follows the same fate, all the while my eyes remain on his, seeing the desire and palpable yearning I feel reflecting back at me. His muscles tense right before I kiss—lick the path from hip bone to hip bone as I tug the expensive dress pants off. “Lift.”
Casper does, rising just enough that I can remove them and toss the pair somewhere behind me with ease along with his shoes. His shirt follows a second after, and not once does he complain or say anything; not yet, but the silent warning is there nonetheless.
He’ll have his retribution for whatever I’ll put him through, and I am thoroughly looking forward to it.
My eyes traverse his body from head to toe, taking account of every inch of skin I own. I’m filled with pride and hunger. I’m wet, and when I pause at his cock, the hand not on his thigh slips between my parted ones. The fabric of my panties is wet, soaked, as the very tips of my fingers press against my clit. It throbs, the pulsing making my fingers jump to the cadence of its aching ardor.
“Motherfuck, Gem. Is that pretty little mouth of yours hungry?” Voice gravelly, he fists himself and begins to pump. Once, twice...a third time, but tonight that’s unacceptable. Not at all. “Or is it that you want me to stretch your pussy almost to the point of pain and then coat your lips with my come? Fucking fill you with my seed and then watch it spill out slowly, staining this couch and ruining it.”
I do. God, I do, and I plan to buy this and take it back home to Boston.
“Quiet.” It leaves me on a hiss, my eyes narrowing as anger licks at my veins. “Today, you’ll do as you’re told.” I’m almost angry at the way he touches himself. Jealous at the small jolt of pleasure he receives from anything that isn’t me. He only needs me. “Hands palms down at your sides and don’t move.”
“No.” Another pump; Casper twists his wrist on the downward stroke and then rubs a thumb across the wet slit on the engorged head. The tips of his fingers glisten a bit, and when he tries to rub it across the taut skin, I capture it between my teeth and lick his essence. He shivers. Grunts.
“Do as you’re told.” I’m pushing him. Come on, baby. See my desires. Give me what I need.
There’s fire in his eyes. Understanding, as if he heard my thoughts. “You’re playing a dangerous game, love.”
“I’m in love with danger.” There’s no mistaking my words and the weight behind them. Casper is danger and fire and everything I swore I’d never want but can’t help but need. I fought so much to not feel as I do when we met, but this wonderful man never gave me a choice in the matter. He stole my heart. He owns my soul. “So much so that I married the physical embodiment of it.”
“Aurora...motherfuck,” my husband hisses through clenched teeth, his head falling back against the couch as I take the bulbous head of his cock between my lips. I flick the tip with my tongue, laving his flesh with kisses, and hollow my cheeks before taking another two inches into my mouth. The sky behind us has darkened and the evening sky creates just the right amount of shadow on his face as the sun begins to set.
Christ, he’s beautiful. Casper’s eyes are the color of priceless jewels, and right now, he’s watching me through them as if I were his favorite meal. His jaw ticks with each caress of my tongue, his right hand now gripping the back of my head, not controlling but enjoying the rhythm of my movements as he sees the truth in my own heated orbs.
