“Wha—” she began, but I turned away from her and to the entire show.
This woman.
This Freja.
I kissed her again, and she pulled me in, returning what I was giving her with fervor. Her temperature ran hot, and I melted into her touches, the heat of her desire. When she melted into the thousand-dollar sheets, rose petals scattered around her like a girl in an exotic painting, I ordered her to undress me.
“Yes. Yes. Pleaseyes,” she moaned. She sat up some, her hairalready a mess, her eyes frantic and hungry, her hands starved, her lips swollen, and her lipstick smeared.
Rosaria whimpered from her seat in the audience when we were both naked, and Freja was painting my skin with her warm kisses. If I had been returned to a state of clay, her hands worked over me as if she were sculpting me by her own design. Her own wicked and passionate fantasies come to life.
Freja looked up at me, her eyes feverish bright, her tongue darting out, before she took my length in her mouth and started to suck. I fisted my hands in her hair, pulsing into the push and pull, as she worked all the blood to the head of my cock. I spoke to her in Italian, telling her what a beautiful mouth she had, what a good woman she was to take me deep into her throat, and how I was going to make her feel like the highest woman on earth when I fucked her in front of my wife.
Perhaps she could understand my words. Perhaps she could not.
My wife could.
And she was almost crying out from a need so violent, she was touching herself, imagining it was me who was doing the touching.
Freja was moaning as she was taking my cock deep inside of her mouth, swirling her tongue, sucking even harder, working to taste even more of me.
“Please,” she breathed against my overheated cock when she stopped for a second, tears in her eyes from how deep she was taking me. I was going past her throat. “Please. In my mouth.”
I growled low and lifted her up, setting her back down on the bed.
“In my bed,” I said, staring down at her writhing body. Her breasts were perfection. Her waist was small. And her legs were long enough to wrap around me while we fucked. “A woman’s pleasure come first.” Kissing, licking, sucking down her body, I had to order her to still. She was mad with need. Starved for it.
I kissed her into another world, where only the two of us existed.
“Daughter of a whore,” Rosaria said in Italian.
I did not even bother to look at my wife again. She was incensed that Freja had taken my invitation and locked her out. All that I was doing to Freja could have been done to her, but instead, she chose to invite another woman into our bed, on our wedding night, because she felt I needed two women to satisfy me.
The all-confident Rosaria was lacking in her own mind, and her assumption was punishing her. She thought she knew my thoughts, my feelings, without even asking me. I was a man, and I needed permission for nothing, but I would have respected my wife’s feelings if she only wanted me. I would have only wanted her.
The anger she caused me went straight to my cock, and as I sucked Freja’s nipples, she moaned, low, deep, long, telling me how I felt like no other man who had ever touched her before.
Before I even made it to her thigh, she opened them for me, like my mouth was a key and herficaa gate. I licked her thighs, swirling my tongue, teasing her. She pushed herfica, her sweet littlefig, closer to my mouth, her sweet juices almost flooding my face, and when I stuck my tongue inside of her, she cried out and clasped her thighs around my head.
I breathed against her, and she writhed and moaned, her hips jutting up, her breasts jiggling, as she cried out my name in a scream. She kept her eyes closed as I stood, stroking my cock, heated eyes on me from the side.
“Hurt her,” Rosaria ordered in panted Italian. “Let me see that big cock hurt her, and the pleasure you get from it. Lose control.”
“Yes,” Freja purred. “Hurt me with that big cock,SignoreFausti.”
She opened her legs to me, inviting me inside, but instead, I lifted her up and pushed her head down. She took my cock in her mouth again, playing with herself at the same time, and started tosuck me like she was a vampire who had a chance to latch on to my neck.
Rosaria whimpered.
Her lingerie had been pulled down around her breasts, and she was twisting her nipple, her hand like a puppeteer to marionette strings as she rubbed her nub, moving her hips against the chair. The motion was violent, almost painful looking, but she was getting off on it. She was getting off on her anger.
The look on Rosaria’s face sent all the blood to the head of my cock, and I pushed Freja’s head forward, her mouth deeper onto my cock, moving her head faster. I pulled out right before I exploded and came on her neck instead.
The look in her eyes told me she was close to finished for the night. But like my good wife said, I was insatiable, and after my scent dripped down her neck, ran down her chest, I went into the bathroom and ran warm water over a rose scented towel. I gently cleaned Freja up, and then laying her down, kissed her slowly, softly, touching her reverently, until she wept.
“I did not know it could be like this,” she whimpered as my hands caressed between her legs, her softficalips, and I felt the heat of her against my finger as I pushed it deep inside of her.
“Tell me what you want, Freja.” I kissed her tears, and she held on to me tighter.
