I push in deeper as I feel the flutter of her tongue along the underside of my cock, enjoying her little gag before I pull out and do it again, harder. “Breathe through your nose.” I force in another couple of inches, her throat muscles tightening as she tries not to gag, tears collecting at the corners of her eyes. “Just like that. You’re so pretty when you cry.”
Pushing my hips forward and yanking on her hair, I feel the tip slide into her throat, her muscles tightening against it but she refuses to pull back, arching her neck and trying to make it easier. Her hands flutter up to brace against my thighs as I slide my other hand down the smooth line of her throat, feeling myself throb under her skin. My cock thickens and I grit my teeth. “It’s good,” I growl. “It’s too good but I’m not coming yet. You’re going to have to work for it.”
I pull out enough to let her catch her breath, shoulders heaving as she sucks in enough oxygen to keep going as I push back down her throat, again, and again. It’s messy, her spit, the shower raining down and mixing with my precum glistening on her skin. Her teary gaze still stubbornly holds mine.
Afton should be pushing back against my thighs, coughing, it should be too much. I’m rough, loving the feel of her gagging, her throat gripping me, her tongue…
“Fuck!” I pull out and she falls forward onto her hands and knees, coughing. “I’m not coming in your mouth.” Yanking herup, I push her face-first against the cracked tile, kicking her legs apart. Cupping her pussy, I chuckle. “I can feel how wet you are already, slick, and eager, even after I fucked your mouth. What proper lady gets wet while her husband’s shoving his dick down her throat?”
“I guess I’m not a proper lady then,” she says, her voice raspy. Grabbing the soap, I lather up my cock again before bending my knees, fitting the tip inside her.
“It’s good that I like bad girls,” I say. “Hold on, baby.” She shrieks as I drive myself into her, all the way inside in one vicious stroke. “This hot little cunt, taking every inch of me. I’ve missed this.”
“So have I,” she moans, hands slipping on the wet tile, trying to hold herself up as I pound into her. I'm not careful. I’m not gentle. And yet, my wife pushes back, up on her tiptoes, trying to keep up with me.
The water rains down on us, the slick sound of my hips slamming against her ass echoing around the shower, her moans getting louder and when I reach around to pinch her clit, she shatters, slapping the wall and gripping me like a silk and velvet fist.
“I’m not done.” I bite her shoulder, “You’re going to come again with me.” I’ve got one arm crossed over her chest, squeezing her breast and keeping her still while my other hand spreads her wet lips, feeling her channel struggle to take me and my thumb circling her clit.
“I don’t think I can,” she gasps.
“You can.” I thrust hard enough to shove her back against the shower wall. “I’m going to keep fucking you until you do.” Her head’s lolling back, resting against my shoulder, as I slam intoher harder. She makes a choking little sound and I bite her again.
“Does it hurt, baby? I think you like that.” One of her hands flails out blindly, reaching back and grabbing my ass, nails digging into my skin, trying to ground herself. “You can always say your word, but I don’t think you will.” Hoisting her higher, I hammer into her, hard. “I’m not stopping until you come or say your word. Because you’remine.You came here. You refused to be shocked and horrified by me. I’m not letting you go.”
“I’m not shocked,” she says in a scratchy little voice. “It makes sense.”
Her pussy’s rippling against me and I know she’s close. I slap her ass, her wet skin making it sting worse. She tightens down on me and I slap her other cheek, admiring the bright red marks left by my hand and I bury my face in her neck. This time, I slap her clit and sheexplodes.
My pretty wife screams and arches her back, clamping down on my cock and milking me. I’ve never come this hard, my cock getting squeezed like this and my vision whites out for a moment, thrusting mindlessly and hearing her cries echo around the shower.
Her warm little body sags against me, her legs no longer holding her up and I tighten my arms around her as the water streams over us. Both of us, trying to catch our breath as I kiss her shoulder over my bite mark, telling her how beautiful she is as the hot water runs out.
***
It’s impossible to miss her flinch when Afton pulls her clothes back on. There was a smear of red on my cock when I pulledout of her, rinsing us both quickly under the cold water. She still turns to me with a smile I don’t deserve.
“You didn’t do anything that I didn’t ask for,” she says, rising on tiptoe to kiss my jaw. “Though I might need a hot bath when we go home.” She steps back, looking painfully vulnerable. “Am I going home with you? Or back to-”
“You’re coming home,” I interrupt her. “Where you should be.”
Chapter Thirty-One
In which we meet Dark Mason.
Afton…
“When did you start fighting? Like this, I mean.”
I’m half-dozing against Mason’s shoulder as Vincent takes us home. Michael and Talon were standing guard outside the dressing room and when we emerged, they escorted us quickly out the back door. Michael gave me a brief smile and a pat on the shoulder, looking enormously relieved at whatever he’d seen in Mason’s expression.
“I was sixteen,” he says slowly, as if saying anything about himself is an effort. “My father saw… something in me. Something violent that I kept contained, even as a child. My parents put me into sports - football, rugby, martial arts - it wasn’t enough. I respect my father, but I’ve never wanted to be like him. My cousins and uncles would joke about it, waiting, they said, for ‘the savage to come out.’ I refused to be that way.”
“What way?”
“Unhinged. Manic.” He gives a bitter chuckle. “‘What happened with Mason?’ they’d say. ‘We were expecting a Lachlan clone. He’s so buttoned-up. Are we sure he’s a MacTavish?’”
“It must be infuriating, having everyone expecting you to be a mini-me of your father,” I say, trying to sound matter of fact, not cloying and sympathetic. Mason would hate that, and Idon’t want him to stop talking. “What changed when you were sixteen?”
