Wait. Wait. Wait.
Argyll clenched his eyes tight.
Not until she finishes.
And with her channel still clenching and unclenching from the force of her surrender, Argyll lost himself on a last, single thrust.
His wife’s cries filled his buzzing ears as she joined him in another surrender.
Daria scoured her fingers over the expanse of his back; her jagged nails sank into his flesh; leaving crescent tattoos that bore her mark.
Shouting and cursing, Argyll emptied himself into his wife’s sweet channel; he came in waves, pouring his seed inside.It isn’t enough. I want more. I want it all.All of her. Gritting his teeth, Argyll dug his fingertips into her hips, anchoring her—anchoring himself as he drove himself deeper into her. As Daria collapsed sobbing and sweat-slicked under him, Gregory’s body gave a final shudder.
Tossing his head back, he called out the only word available to him.
“Daria.”
All the sinew and muscles in Argyll’s body failed him. On a dying gasp, he collapsed; just managing to catch himself by the elbows to keep from crushing his wife. A violent shaking that would not quit, hit his entire sweat-drenched body. It stole through his limbs. He set his jaw hard and sharp to keep his teeth from clacking together.
As Argyll attempted to climb down from the most violent orgasm he’d ever known, blood whooshed in his ears, leaving his head filled with a heavy sensation.
Panting, he dragged air in sharply through his nose and mouth, a futile attempt to fill his lungs.
His elbows gave out.
This relentless hunger that rose up inside came from the fact he hadn’t had it this good in so long. Too long.
Why?
His mind violently revolted from answering.
Gasping, Argyll managed to roll onto his side, bringing his wife with him as he went; he curved his body around hers. While he fought to get himself free of the eddy that’d swallowed him whole, Daria curled up; the crease of her buttocks pressed against his limp cock.
An impossible rush of blood crept back into the insatiable organ.
Argyll threw an arm around her middle, pulling her closer.Needing her…
Needing her…
He went still.
Not needing her. Needing her—again.
They were different that.
Daria rested her fingers, steady when his remained useless, on top of his hand and she lightly stroked him. She traced adelicate index finger along each digit. Her steady, butterfly soft caress conferred a warmth that radiated through him.
Then, Argyll’s wife’s unfamiliar song filled the air.
“…The fox went out on a chilly night,
he prayed to the Moon to give him light,
for a many a mile to go that night…”
The rich shades of her soothing, husky contralto, a balm upon Argyll’s black soul.
Her fingers continued to stroke the tops of his hand.
