Arranged(33)

God I was a little drunk. Whether it was on him or the various shots I’d done, I wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. My mind was awhirl and lucid all at the same time, making it ripe for picking unwanted truths out of my own brain.

I was becoming obsessed with my own hostile husband.

My only excuse was that he was an easy man to become obsessed with. Effortless. The perfect line of his stubbled jaw, the spark in his gorgeous eyes, the lush curve of his mouth, the playful fall of his dark hair, every inch of his hard body—all of these things haunted my dreams whether I willed them or not.

I’d reassured myself repeatedly that my obsession was superficial, and that at least it was not affection. But that night those reassurances were shattered straight into dust.

It was so easy to like the him he was with his friends; warm and easy. Laughing and joking. Charming and fun.

The way he touched me was the first cut. That night was the second. The barrier inside of me was being bombarded. And he didn’t even have to try.

I needed to snap out of it. I needed to rally. I needed to stop the feelings I was feeling before this all got out of hand.

The agony of feeling something for my own husband needed to be avoided at all costs.

And forget about the L word. That was straight up out of the question. I blamed the liquor that it even came into my brain. Love was always a heavy burden, but loving a man like him would drag me down into the dirt, of that I was certain, and my head wanted no part of it.

Unfortunately my body didn’t agree, and my heart kept trying to pound its way out of my chest, kept trying to bring real emotions into this fake marriage.





CHAPTER





FOURTEEN





Our small booth was in a corner, and he moved behind me suddenly, tugging out curtains that I hadn’t realized were there.

A light dawned. I glanced around. “Is this some sort of a sex club?” I hadn’t asked the question loudly, but I was close to his ear.

He heard me, glanced back, and smirked. He leaned over to my ear to answer. “No. I know of a few in the city if you want to check one out, but this is just a regular club with some perks for the owner and his friends.”

He pulled the curtains out until they encircled the entire booth, leaving us in near darkness.

A heavy breath shuddered out of my enervated, trembling body.

An instant later I felt his hands on me, his breath panting against my lips.

He shoved my crop top up to my collarbone and snapped open the front of my bra.

He cupped my breasts and fondled them. Flattening out his palms, he rubbed my nipples in circles.

A moan escaped me.

He tugged at my nipples, rubbing them harder.

I moaned louder, but the sound was drowned out by the noise of club.

He bent down to my breast, drawing the tip into his mouth. He sucked it while his fingers rubbed my other nipple. He did this thoroughly, moving from one side to the other.

The sensations overwhelmed me. I clutched at his hair, holding him to me, and didn’t bother to hold back my moans as he sucked my nipples until my eyes rolled up in bliss.

I squirmed, my hips moving, seeking something, anything, just more.

Could he make me come with just his mouth on my breasts? I didn’t think so, but I had a genuine moment where I thought he just might.

The question left my brain as he moved down my body, dropping to his knees on the hard, dirty club floor.

I was shuddering like a leaf. In anticipation. I had already learned that when this bitter man put his mind to pleasuring me it was oh so sweet.

He shoved my skirt up to my waist and tugged my panties down to my ankles. I stepped out of them, and he casually thrust them into his pocket.

He pulled one of my legs over his shoulder, burying his face against my sex. He inhaled me.

I nearly came right then, but he was only getting warmed up.

His fingers softly parted my folds, and he burrowed his face deeper against me. His tongue fluttered whisper soft over me as he teasingly licked my cleft.

I clutched his hair and held on for the ride. It was all I could do to stay upright.

He rimmed my trembling slit with the tip of his tongue, taking his time at it, moving slow as dripping honey.

My heart was stuttering wildly, my wet tongue kept licking at my lips as though that would make my throat less parched as I cried out in quick, breathy pants.

He kissed my pussy for a very long while, going at it like it was romantic, like he was in love with it, like he was making out with my mouth instead of my sex. His head moved back and forth with his movements, kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling.

I’d thought he was good with his hands. He was an artist with his mouth.

Finally, after all the drugging tastes and teases, his tongue speared into me, shoving as deep as it could.

I screamed in pleasure. The club noise drowned it out the second it hit the air.

I knew he heard it because the second he did, he went wild. He started fucking me with his tongue, fucking with the concentrated purpose I’d only ever seen him use when he was trying to get the bottom of a glass of straight bourbon.

He was making these exquisite little noises as he ate at me, noises I felt more than heard, hungry noises like he was licking the bowl for the last spare trace of cream.

I loved it, loved the way he made me feel, the way he made me come alive under his hands, his mouth.