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He presses the last few inches inside, grazing my clit with his abdomen, and I am full. Our movements are electric. I’m so intimately connected with him, I can’t think straight.
Jesse takes my legs and places them over either of his shoulders. He kneels, grabs me by the hips and fucks me hard.
“Please,” I choke it out. “It’s so good. Jesse, please.”
He’s a fucking beast. His shirt hangs open, his muscles tensing as he thrusts, his defined abs rippling as he pounds into me again and again.
“My. Fucking. Wife,” he says, in between thrusts. “Nobody’s going to touch this pussy again.”
My eyes shut, senses overwhelmed.
“Look at me, Angel. Look at me.”
I find him.
“I’m going to leave this pussy gaping, begging for more,” he says, and shifts so that I’m nearly folded in half. He captures my throat with a strong hand, the other finding my clit. Jesse’sstrokes are long and hard, and I struggle to stay with him, because my third orgasm has arrived, and I scream his name through it.
Jesse grunts his way through his climax, his cock impossibly hard.
After, he lays me down and presses a kiss to my forehead then one to my lips. He releases me from the cuffs, goes to the bathroom and cleans up, then brings back a moist towel. Carefully, he washes me, parting my legs, taking care of me while I watch him through sleepy eyes.
And then, finally, he gets into bed and curls my body toward his, whispering sweetness in my ear.
Twenty-Nine
JESSE
I wakeup in the dark with Marci’s body wrapped around mine. One of her legs lies across my abdomen, her arm is draped over my chest, and her hair is a mess. I ache to roll her over and bring her to the brink again.
The memory of her moaning for me has me hard, but there are things we’ve got to do before we go down that road again.
I get out of bed and head to the bathroom, then slip out into the living room. Mr. Skitters peers at me from the recliner, those little yellow eyes curious. He gives the tiniest of meows.
“Oh yeah?” I whisper. “Now you want to talk?” I grin at him. “You want a bite to eat? I’m feeling pancakes, personally, but I might have a poached chicken breast in the refrigerator with your name on it.”
Another meow.
I haven’t touched Mr. Skitters yet, but I’m willing to be patient. Good things take time, and relationships are a lot of work. I’m not expecting Mr. Skitters to come running over to me, purring and affectionate. I’m willing to take the scratches.
The wooden clock ticks high on the cream kitchen wall—it’s past four in the morning. There’s no way I’m going back to bed.
I busy myself preparing Mr. Skitters’ breakfast and the pancakes for us.Us.
There’s no us. We’re married, but it’s a sham, and fuck me, but I don’t want it to be any more. I don’t like to think of Marci leaving, but it’s selfish of me to want that because she doesn’t want to be loved, and I don’t know how to love or be loved.
I think about it as I shred the chicken and place it in a bowl.
“What do you think love is, Mr. Skitters?” I ask.
He gives me a “cattish” look. Namely, one that says I’m insane for asking him.
“Are you good?” Marci appears in the doorway, one eye squidged closed.
She’s changed out of her ruined dress and underwear into a pair of panties and a tank top. No bra.
I swallow.
“Now, I am.”
