“Fat chance,” I said, but made no effort to stop him. My legs opened for him.
He disappeared under my dress. Fingers trailed up my thighs. I sucked in a breath when they brushed between, yanking my underwear to the side. His breath billowed hot against the same sensitive skin. His wooly cheeks finally touched my inner thighs.
My hips flinched, legs pressed together, against his head and the briar patch on his cheeks. He chuckled, billowing more breath. A finger probed my folds. My legs finally relaxed, and the tormenting hair started tantalizing as advertised. Maybe the beard wasn’t all bad.
“I can feel how excited you are for me,” Ian said, muffled under my dress. Another probing finger joined the first. “You’re so wet.”
“Probably pee.” I wouldn’t admit how right he was so I chose sarcasm.
A chuckle reverberated between my legs. Ian’s breath heated up, closer to the source. His wonderfully tickly beard tantalized higher up my thighs. I sucked in a breath when his tongue lapped my folds.
His lips joined, the beard and mustache enhancing every sensation. His fingers pressed deeper. His tongue licked up to my clit, tenderized already by that pokey hair. I tried to keep hating the beard, but it had one big benefit. Ian kept pressing his case. I enjoyed every moment.
Everything must end. All at once, the sensation stopped. Tickly hair faded down my thighs; fingers, tongue and lips disappeared. I opened my eyes and found Ian standing over me. His fingers worked the buttons of his shirt but my eyes focused higher at his matted beard.
“Now I hate the beard again.” I shook my head and giggled.
“You want another kiss?” He licked his lips.
I cringed, playing it up.
“I think I want a divorce.”
He barked a laugh and pulled his shirt off. It fell to the floor behind him. The skin-tight tank he wore left little to the imagination. Earlier, he’d carried me away from the gang, running the whole way. I’d pressed against his muscular shoulders and chest, I wasn’t seeing anything I hadn’t known was there, but I still stared.
“Before I’m done with you, you’re going to beg me to make our fake marriage real,” he said.
“Sure.” My head fell back against the table as the laugh took me. “But in that one in a million chance, you still owe me £15,000.”
“Deal,” Ian replied, hand on his belt.
He tore his pants and underwear down. I stared at where he swayed between our legs and forced a frown onto my face. Ian already had a swollen head, metaphorically and more. Best to try and keep him humble.
“I don’t know if you can handle me.” Ian tugged the shoulder of his tank down. An inch-long scar marred his pale skin. “Old girlfriend of mine. She became addicted to me. Snapped when I broke it off.”
“Maybe she stabbed you because you wouldn’t stop talking and fuck her,” I barked.
My legs snapped around his back. He stumbled against the table. His hands slapped against it to my sides, shaking the whole thing. His cock brushed between my legs. He recovered and guided it closer. I opened for him.
“Is that what you wanted?” he asked, pressing inside me.
“You’re… still… talking…” I said between breaths.
Ian grabbed my legs and pressed forward. The table skidded across the floor an inch at a time with every one of his thrusts. Sex wasn’t a place for the rational mind, especially when lost in such a swirl of pleasure. Still, niggling thoughts surfaced in the sea of lust.
That he topped the list of my most exciting partners worried me. I tried to blame it on the money. The £5,000 in my purse, the promise of another £15,000 in the future had my motor revving on all cylinders, not my fake husband.
His rhythm sped. My errant thoughts sank under the rising tide. The table kept moving toward his kitchen. A chair clattered to the floor as we pushed past it. Finally, the other side of the table hit his kitchen cabinet.
“Now, there’s no escape,” Ian barked.
He snatched my ankles and held them high and wide. With half lidded eyes I gazed up at him. His own, wide and energetic, drank me in. His intensity had my shoulders shivering. It was all too much, overwhelming.
I rode a spasming orgasm. My head fell back on the table. Ian kept chugging, even faster than before, frantic. His laptop danced on the shaking table. His thrusts slowed but hit harder. He gave one final, pounding push before letting out a groaning breath. His hold on my legs loosened. They dropped off the edge of the table.
“Oh fuck,” Ian hissed, “I didn’t even think about protection.”
“I’m on the pill,” I replied and pushed myself up to my elbows, “and even if I wasn’t, we’re married, aren’t we? At least the kid won’t be a bastard like me.”
