“Congratulations,” he repeats. “You’ve come a long way in a year. That little gym of yours must be good for you.”
My jaw ticks as the beer in my stomach goes warm.
“The difference in your physique is incredible. You won that class by a mile. Are you coming to my event in a few weeks?”
Amy glances to me and shakes her head. “No, Terry and I have plans for New Year’s Eve. He’s been very patient these past weeks, attending every competition available.”
“Oh, but you must,” he insists and places his hands on her shoulders.
I step forward, and he removes them but doesn’t move out of her space. “It’s the biggest event of the season. And there’s a fantastic party afterward.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “I’m sure your other half won’t mind changing the plans to allow you to compete.”
“Husband,” I correct. He shrugs. I blink at the arrogant asshole standing in front of me. Did he really just try to rebook our New Year and flirt at the same time? “As my wife said,”I emphasize the wordwife,“we have plans for the new year. Perhaps next time.”
He narrows his eyes, then his gaze roams to my feet and back to my face, hesitating on my stomach. Thick lips twist in a sneer.
No, I’m not a fucking bodybuilder, just a regular guy. The kind ignored in this world of carb counting and yoga mats.
“Shame,” he says. “You’d walk it, Amy. You really are on point.” My blood heats. His words are laden with sexual innuendo. He knows exactly where to press.
“Thank you, Ivan,” Amy mumbles, her cheeks the color of beetroot. She looks up at him from underneath her lashes. If I concentrate, I’m sure I can hear her heartbeat. “Perhaps next year.” He smiles, takes her hand, then kisses her knuckles before turning to me and shaking my hand again.
“Nice to meet you, Jerry,” he says before walking off.
“It’sTerry,”I hiss at his retreating form. Amy touches my elbow, and I turn. Wide, nervous eyes stare back. “Let’s go,” I snap and stride off toward the exit. My belly wobbles uncomfortably over my belt. That’s changed since last year?it’s bigger, I admit to myself.
Amy throws her gym bag in the trunk of the car before carefully laying her trophy beside it. I sit in the driver’s seat and watch her in the rearview mirror. She reaches up and stands on her tiptoes to grab onto the trunk lid. The blue cropped t-shirt she’s wearing lifts, exposing the bottom of her breasts. She’s taken her bra off?she always does as soon as she can, hating the restriction. We spent a small fortune a few years back on her breast augmentation, and she walks taller because of it.
“What do you want for dinner?” she asks as she climbs into the passenger seat. “Actually, I’ll drive. You’ve been drinking.” I roll my eyes but don’t argue with her. We clamber back out of the car to swap places. As we pass each other, her hand swipes across the front of my jeans and quickly squeezes my cock.
“Behave,” I warn her, raising my eyebrows.
“Make me,” she mouths, and I harden. “Let’s try something different tonight,” she says as we readjust ourselves in our seats.
“Food first, then you can tell me what you’re thinking,” I say. “Judging by the look in your eye, I’m going to need all my energy to keep up with you.” She giggles but doesn’t confirm or deny. With a turn of the key, our car splutters to life, then we head off in search of sustenance.
Winning the competition undoubtedly heightens Amy’s libido. On our return home, she drags me to our bedroom and blindfolds me. I stand in the center of our room listening to her every move.
The sound of drawers sliding open and items being placed on hard surfaces intensifies my excitement. “Are you ready?” she purrs, and I nod enthusiastically. I feel her circle me, then her hands lift to the back of my head, and she unties the scarf covering my eyes. It falls to the floor silently.
“Keep looking ahead,” she orders. “Don’t move until I tell you to.” She strolls over to our bed and sits on the edge; I watch her in awe.
Her blonde hair is plaited, then wound up on top of her head. She’s wearing a fitted black corset with silver buttons decorating the front. Her panties are red lace and barely visible, but when she opens her legs wide, I get a full view of the crotchless panel of her underwear. I blink at her, gobsmacked by her confidence.
Once, that confidence would’ve turned me on without a thought. Now it stings my ego. Every step forward she makes is a reminder she doesn’t need me to prop her up anymore. Each day, she becomes the one more in control, and I’m paddling to keep up, watching the gap between us stretch.
“Like what you see?” she says, smiling sexily. “Thought I would give you a bit of a show. Come closer and kneel in frontof me.” I do as I’m told, walking over to her and dropping to my knees. “Don’t touch,” she warns, “until I say you can.”
She picks up a bottle of lube sitting next to her, cherry flavor, and squirts some on her finger, then places the tip on her clit. Slowly and gently, she massages the sweet spot. Her breathing immediately quickens as her chest rises and falls. My cock strains against my jeans, desperate for attention, and my hand immediately moves to release it.
“No,” she barks. “Watch until I say otherwise.” I drop my hands to my sides and watch my wife pleasure herself. She shudders before me, her lips shimmering with her juices. “Now,” she whispers, “fuck me now.”
It is carnal, desperate, and blinding. Ripping the clothes from my body, I push her back on the bed and climb on top of her before thrusting inside in one smooth motion. She squeals. I circle my hips to stretch her out.
My cock thrums inside her slick walls. “All in tonight, baby,” I mumble. “No foreplay, no softness. I’m going to hold your legs in the air and pound you until you convulse.” The rest we already know by heart. Raw, hungry need for one another.
She whimpers then, and I get to work with long, powerful thrusts that find her G-spot every time. She teases me, but I’m in control for now. I am taking my wife.
The next morning, she appears next to me with a towel wrapped around her, fresh from the shower.
