When in our home, Owen usually wears the stainless choker chain collar that was his first day collar, and it’s locked around his neck with a small padlock.
I take that collar from him now and set it on the dresser before I grab his tie and pull him in for a kiss. I want to do this as Owen and Susa, not as Ma’am and boy.
I need to remind him he means far more to me than merely being my property, even though that’s all he wants to be.
I need to remind him he’s part of my heart, part of our marriage. That I consider him my husband every bit as much as Carter is.
His arms slide around me as I press my body against his, releasing his tie so I can drape my arms around his neck. At six-four, he’s a good six inches taller than Carter, but Owen’s body is every bit as familiar to me as Carter’s is.
Finally, his hands slide down my back, to my ass, and squeeze as I feel his cock harden against me in his slacks. Carter always rescinds the no-underwear rule when we have to deal with my parents. Today, I chose panties.
Owen, however, is always our good boy, and did not. I grind against him, feeling his kiss intensify, the hunger growing there as I rock my hips against him. Not until I hear the soft, needy sounds he’s making, borderline whines, do I reach down and unfasten his belt and slacks. My gaze, however, remains fixed on his sweet green eyes. When we’re like this they always get darker, hints of steamy jungle colors coming to mind, fertile and verdant.
I almost think he’s not going to release his grip on my ass so I can sink to my knees, but he finally does. When I go down on him, swallowing him all the way to the root, I never break my gaze with him.
Now he’sgone. His hands tangle in my hair, finding and unfastening the barrette holding my hair in a loose bun. He tosses it onto the dresser with his collar and runs his fingers through my tresses, fisting my hair as his hips begin to rock in time with my movements. I slide his slacks down his thighs and cup that firm, gorgeous ass of his and hold on tight.
Sometimes, it’s difficult to coax Owen to take control. He’s always happy to be the bottom, to beonbottom, or to default to doing what he’s told.
Today I want him to remember he’s not a passive piece of furniture—he’smine.
Ours.
The fact that Carter hasn’t joined us yet is further proof the bastard extraordinaire is completely right.
Owenneedsme like this, right now.
I hear his breathing become more ragged even while his taste begins to spill over my tongue as he grows closer.
“I love you, Susa,” he grits out. I sense him trying to hold back, wanting to make this last, and I don’t rush him. I don’t know if he’s going to finish like this, or bend me over the bed, but it’s his choice right now and he knows it.
When he slows his thrusts moments later, my heart races because I know what he’s chosen.
He grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet, immediately pushing me back and onto the bed, where he shoves the hem of my dress up.
Off come the panties, discarded on the floor. I think he’s going to plow me hard and deep but he surprises me. He trails sweet, gentle kisses from the inside of my right ankle, all the way up my leg, to my inner thighs. Then he skips completely over my pussy and down the inside of my left leg, to that ankle.
My shoes stay on as he drops to his knees and pulls me forward so he can bury his face between my thighs.
I’m…undoneis the only word to describe it. My boy’s technique has come a long way since the first time he ate me out back in college. While Carter might still be better at sucking Owen’s cock than I am, Owen is better at eating my pussy than Carter.
Not that I have complaints about Carter’s technique, it’s just a subtle difference in the motivation, perhaps? I don’t know.
What Idoknow is that with my legs over his shoulders and his hands clamped around my thighs to keep me from squirming free, Owen’s sweet mouth quickly sends me to heaven time and again. No vibrator can compare to the wet heat of this man’s oral skills.
Twenty minutes later, whenhe’ssatisfied he’s made me come enough, onlythendoes he pause to toe off his loafers before he climbs onto the bed and shoves my legs back. My legs are still draped over his shoulders, and now my thighs are pressed against my chest while his cock slides inside me, filling me. He cages me with his body and his fingers lace with mine. I’m practically bent into a pretzel—thank you, yoga classes—and he slowly starts grinding.
Wow. A sweet, sexy smile fills his face. In this position he can last a long time, and I can’t exactly complain because hejustgave me joy.
Like this, Owen knows he can eventually fuck one more orgasm out of me, because his body rubs against my swollen, throbbing clit with every stroke.
In this way, too, my men are different. Carter has his favorite position that he enjoys grinding on me like this, on our sides, facing each other and with our legs scissored together, one of his arms wrapped around my waist.
I taste myself when Owen slants his mouth over mine. Ilovekissing him. In the early days, I loved sitting on his lap, facing him, fucking him and kissing him. I could kiss him for hours.
Although there were times I sat on his lap like that and kissed him for hours with us both fully dressed, just to tease and torment him.
Hey, he admits he’s a masochist in several different ways. We both are, or we wouldn’t be with Carter.
