Something is wrong here, and it’s not just the dangerous curve of his smile or my now-open bra. It’s the heat pooling between my thighs. The deep, aching throb in my core, sharp, needy, unfamiliar in its intensity.
I fumble behind me and rehook my bra. Miraculously, it closes on the first try. This time, I don’t let Matleon get behind me. We circle each other, slow and deliberate. I strike again. He dodges again. I’m not holding back, because I know I can’t hurt him.
In the next attack, he grabs my waist and pushes me to the ground. My back and ass hit the rough forest floor with a jolt. He falls on top of me, pinning me under his weight.
He releases my wrists holding the knife and pushes my bra up. I scream, pressing the blade against his neck. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he grabs my breasts, pressing them together, and dips his mouth over one of my nipples.
“Get away, Matleon, or I’ll kill you!” I warn, voice trembling yet loud.
He moans softly, almost taunting. “Do it, Angel,” he murmurs, looking into my eyes as he squeezes me. “Kill me.”
His tongue flicks across both nipples in maddening strokes, sending shivers racing through me. A loud moan tears from my throat.
Then he takes one nipple into his mouth, biting lightly. The ache between my thighs spikes, unbearable. I clench and unclench, desperate for relief, but I can’t even press my legs together with him between them.
He finally leaves my breasts. I press the blade against his neck again in protest, my hands shaking. I know I’m doing exactly the opposite of what I should. Hesitating, I loosen the grip just enough so he doesn’t notice.
Without warning, he grabs the waistband of my shorts and panties and pulls them down. I cry out in protest.
“What are you doing, Matleon?!” I scream, the sound echoing through the forest. It feels freeing, yelling at the top of my lungs, because no one else can hear me, and the only man who could doesn’t seem to mind.
He answers me by forcing my legs wide apart, so wide that my outer thighs are pressed against the earth. My center aches unbearably, a deep, pulsing need that makes me want to do anything to relieve it. I glance at the knife in my hand, almost tempted to use it to demand help with this ache.
But I don’t need to, because he is already taking control. He dips his mouth there, licking me from tip to down my ass.
“No!” I cry in a loud moan.
He groans against my wetness. “Use the knife if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding.
I pull the blade slightly away from him as he takes my clit between his teeth. My head is spinning, barely holding onto consciousness, and I don’t want to hurt him accidentally because of it.
He moans against me, devouring me completely. My body shakes violently, and a wave of orgasm crashes over me, liftingme off the ground before I collapse back with cries. It takes him just two licks and three sucks to make me come, so easily, so violently. The aftershocks linger far longer than the peak itself.
I regain full awareness when something wet falls onto my still-spread thighs, soaking my well-used center. I open my eyes and see Matleon’s massive dick in his hand, groaning as he releases his semen onto me. Is it normal to feel aroused again immediately after such an orgasm, especially from seeing the man Ihatecovering me with his cum?
My head falls back, thoughts still hazy. I refuse to feel guilty about this experience. After all, he is my husband. I have every right to take pleasure through him. Yes, I return to my mantra: I’ll take whatever I want, selfishly.
The sound of his zipper closing interrupts my inner TED talk.
“You made a mess on me,” I mutter, voice a mixture of exasperation and awe.
He cleans me with something I have no desire to see. My body feels boneless, heavy with exhaustion, sleep tugging at my limbs.
“It’s called making a masterpiece, Angel,” he hums. “Masterpiece on masterpiece.”
He rubs my center two more times, slowly, and my thighs flutter helplessly in response.
He dresses me in my shorts, then pulls my bra back down into place before hovering over me.
“You are fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “I’ve never seen anything this beautiful.”
He presses the words onto my lips in a soft kiss. I don’t respond, but I don’t stop him either.
He rests his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry.”
I chuckle, more amused than affected. “Now what, were you again in a dream, flying above clouds?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for saying all those things to you. For hurting you. Please forgive me,” he whispers.
