Arranged(47)

I looked at him.

“Undress and wait for me in our bed,” he ordered brusquely. “Don’t touch yourself.”

I couldn’t even hide the shiver that visibly moved my body at those words.

I obeyed.

I’d forgotten I was bare from the hips down until I started to undress. I forgot everything when he put his hands on me. His mouth. Oh God, that mouth.

I lay naked on the bed, pulling the sheet up to my chin. I was shivering, head to toe, but not from cold.

He made me wait a solid half hour before he joined me, a bourbon in hand. He set it on the nightstand.

He pulled the covers to my ribs, smoothing it flat along my skin.

His eyes were dispassionate on his hands as he played with my breasts. He was arousing me like it was his weapon.

It was like a different man had entered from the one I’d just shared dinner with. And dessert.

Abruptly he rose, shrugging impatiently out of his pullover and the shirt underneath. He dragged his jeans and boxers briefs off like they’d personally offended him.

He was fully aroused, his hard dick bobbing with his every move as he dragged my sheet off.

“Get up,” he said, the words cutting out of him angrily.

I stood.

He sprawled out on my bed, his back propped up against the headboard. He grabbed his drink, took a long swig, and set it back down.

He patted his lap, his eyes insolent. “Hop in the saddle, wife. Tonight’s the night you learn how to ride a cock.”

I hesitated, both at his nasty mood shift and his order. I wasn’t sure how to go about it.

He stroked his cock, and in spite of myself I moved closer to watch. Close enough that I was almost touching him. Watching him touch himself got to me. A hot, drenching rush of sensation clamped down on my loins. Even when he was a bastard, I wanted him.

He lost his patience. He grabbed my hips and swung me over to straddle him.

I arched my hips, notching his blunt, thick tip against my cleft. I rubbed on him, coating him in my arousal.

He only watched through heavy-lidded eyes, his hands lightly gripping my hips. Resentment and detachment warred for his expression.

I took him in with a long, smooth glide. Smooth but not easy. He stretched me even more in this position. I felt impaled.

He was virtually silent. All that came out of him was a capital H, an aspiration. I rode him in a slow dance, with full, big movements, dragging him out to the tip before seating myself again. Again. Again. Again. My brain went fuzzy with the mind-bending pleasure of it.

I wanted to go faster, needed it, but it just felt too good to tease him.

He brought his hands to my aching breasts, palming them roughly. I gripped his wrists, fingertips rubbing against his racing pulse.

I rocked my hips, undulating. A timeless rhythm overtook me. There was no reason I should have picked it up so quickly except that it was dance that was as natural as breathing and as old as sin.

His fingers were on my nipples, plucking and tugging at them gently, then harder, rougher.

My hips jerked faster, breaking the rhythm to seat myself on him harder, deeper.

His teeth were grinding together.

I saw how much he liked that and I paused before each lush downswing. Just to rile him.

Finally, at last, he snapped.

He clutched my hips above him and pumped upward into me, jacking in and out just how we both needed. I was on top, but he was setting the pace now. It. Was. Just. Right.

I didn’t know I was going to come until I felt the first tremors of him go off inside me. Actually I wasn’t sure who started first. It was a neat trick. He blew right as my cunt started sucking at him. I couldn’t honestly say which one set the other off.

I was just moving down, seating myself deep on him, watching his face as his body started to erupt and mine started lapping it up, that first powerful instant of climax, when his eyes snapped open and caught mine.

His jaw clenched. His teeth gritted.

In a flash he had me on my stomach, his chest covering my back, his weight subduing me, his twitching cock digging into the flesh of my inner thigh. He was making a hell of a mess. All for the sake of not having to look me in the eye for another unguarded moment.

I understood, but it stung all the same.

“Look what you’ve done to my sheets,” I remarked. It was said lightly. With breathless nonchalance. A defense mechanism.

He didn’t take it lightly. With sudden ferocity, he lunged into me again, rooting balls deep, jarring with blunt force against my cervix. He held himself there, his cock still jerking, still shooting out the last bit of cum.

His lips pressed to my ear. His voice was a deep, furious rumble. “Did you think this room belonged to you? This bed? These sheets? It’s all mine. But most importantly, you are.”





CHAPTER





TWENTY-ONE





My apartment was humming with activity the next morning. I could feel it before I even opened my eyes. It took my sleep befuddled mind several minutes to work out why that was, but I had a very good excuse for that.

I hadn’t gotten much sleep. Hardly any, in fact. I’d drifted off several times, but each time I’d woken up with my husband inside of me, mindlessly fucking again. Like he couldn’t get enough.

But that had been his sole purpose. To get enough of me.

I knew this because at some point in the sin-filled night, he’d whispered it in my ear.