I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Not when he’s touching me like this—like I’m something rare and powerful and entirely his. Like he can’t get enough of me.
He lifts me with urgency but also with impossible gentleness and lays me on the bed like I’m made of something unearthly. Something magical. Like starlight.
His starlight.
His storm.
His wife.
His fingers curl inside me, and I know he’s going to make me come any second now.
All I have to do is hold on, and that’s exactly what I do. I open my thighs wider, giving him room, and I pull his hair, loving the way his responding growl feels against my clit.
Then, I come.
“Fuck, Wife. You taste perfect. Wanna keep my tongue buried in your sweet cunt forever. But if I don’t fuck you soon, I might die,” he growls, licking me again.
The way he moves above me, taking his hard, thick cock in hand, he rubs his head on my pussy, coating himself in my slick. Then he presses against my entrance.
“I don’t want you to die, Atlas. I just want you to fuck me.”
“I’ll fuck you, Wife. I’ll never stop fucking you.”
Then he pushes inside me, and it’s nothing short of worship.
We rock together, and it’s so good. Always so good. Somehow, every time with him just feels better and better.
“Because every time I love you more,” he tells me.
“I need you. Need more,” I whimper, clutching at him.
And it’s like he knows what I need. Atlas wraps his arms around my waist and spins us so he’s on his back and I’m astride his powerful thighs.
I sit up, riding him, and he moves with me. His hands covet me, cherish me, and they roam over my breasts, tugging on my piercings.
I could come from that alone, every tug and pull has my pussy squeezing his glorious cock. But he lets go too soon, and I rock harder, faster, chasing my orgasm.
He’s not done, though. My husband is addicted to my body, I can tell by the way he touches me and kisses me, his tongue lashing out to trace every bit of ink he can reach.
Fuck, I love how he loves me.
Atlas doesn’t try to change me. Not ever. He loves my piercings, my body art, all the tattoos and the way I wear my hair.
I see it in the way he looks at me. The way he can’t stop touching me.
It’s like he found and healed every single one of my insecurities without even trying. Like loving me was as natural to him as breathing.
“It is, kardhoúla. It’s easy. You’re my air. My nourishment. I live to love you.”
“Oh God!” I moan.
So close now.
He grabs my ass, pulling me down harder and thrusting up from below me.
He thrusts deeper, gritting out my name like a prayer. I arch beneath him, mouth open on a gasp.
The pleasure builds between us like a tidal wave.
