His nostrils flared, the dark maelstrom of his gaze churning her insides with trepidation and excitement.
“It would be my pleasure, my sweet wife.”
Adam knew that he was playing with fire.
His initial plan had been to remind Gabriella of his claim via a pleasant afternoon bedding. Having calculated the odds, he’d decided that the deviation from their usual schedule was acceptable. After all, even proper couples on occasion engaged in marital activities outside of nighttime.
Then he’d seen his wife in the light: all her charms displayed in lush, trembling splendor. Her sweet uncertainty had caused an odd constriction in his chest, and he’d had the desire to reassure her. To protect what was his. Yet when she’d obeyed his command to not hide herself, her small, white hands curling around the dark poster, his desire had morphed into another sort altogether.
With startling swiftness, their love play had veered into the territory of his deepest fantasies.
Dark, erotic games flashed in his head. The kind of temptation he hadn’t indulged in since his marriage. Never would he despoil his innocent Gabriella with the depravity of his old life. He knew the price of being governed by passion, and he would never expose Gabriella to that risk.
Yet his wife was naked, her flame-colored tresses tumbling over her shoulders, her pretty blue eyes bright with need. Her creamy tits beckoned with each luscious rise and fall, their pomegranate tips calling to his tongue. Not to mention, she’d asked him so nicely for her pleasure.
Animal instincts warred with logic.
As long as you stay in control, there’s no harm in having a little fun,he reasoned.Don’t let things get too far; keep it suitable for the marital bower.
Satisfied with his decision, he cupped his wife’s breasts, enjoying their firm heft. Bending, he kissed the rounded tops; her skin flowed like silk beneath his lips. He sampled her generous curves, hiding a smile as her breaths turned fitful. He spiraled his tongue slowly toward the peak of one breast, teasing her nipple into plump ripeness but not yet tasting the fruit.
“Adam,please,” she begged in a breathy voice.
Christ, she made him hard.
He toyed with the idea of playing with her some more, but his pounding erection convinced him otherwise. He drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking with firm pressure. Her cries of pleasure heated his blood, seed swelling in his stones. The wet friction of his tongue made her moan and squirm delightfully against the bed pole. He switched his attentions to her other breast, licking and flicking, while also enjoying the view of the twin he’d left behind, the rosy nipple so wet and stiff.
Her moans rose in that familiar but no less delightful cadence. His wife’s responsiveness was more powerful than any aphrodisiac. When they made love, her nervy energy turned into a sweet, feminine passion that tested the limits of his restraint. He put a hand between her soft thighs, a growl of approval rising in his throat.
She was drenched. Dripping with honey.
He wanted her even wetter.
He stepped between her legs, widening her stance while keeping her trapped against the bedpost. Claiming her mouth in a searing kiss, he fondled her pussy, his thumb finding her love-knot. He circled the slick bud—once, twice, then she went off like a Roman candle. She let out a keening cry, and he consumed the sound, its reverberation pushing a spurt of pre-seed from his cock.
Lifting his head, he stared at his wife’s passion-flushed face, her adoring eyes—and lust darkened his vision, forbidden images flooding his mind.
Of her against this bedpost, her wrists bound above her head.
Of her on all fours upon the mattress as he took her hard from behind.
Of her kneeling at his feet as he fucked her sweet mouth.
Stay. In. Bloody. Control.
With force of will, he locked away his dark urges.
“Be a good wife and lie on the bed,” he said.
She obeyed, her fingers nervously twisting the silk coverlet. She likely had no idea of the picture she made. That juxtaposition of innocence and wanton decadence. Her dreamy eyes paired with those flushed, surging tits. Her prim white stockings and garters framing her spicy cunny wet with spend.
She was Venus, and she was his.
He began to strip, not giving into haste. Gabriella was watching him, her accelerated breaths conveying that she liked what she saw. When he removed his trousers, her eyes widened as she took in the extent of his arousal. He couldn’t blame her: his cock was incapable of discretion where she was concerned. He was monstrously erect, the crown fat and swollen purple, the vein bulging on the underside of his long, thick shaft.
When she wetted her lips with her tongue, he nearly groaned.
Rein it in. She’s your wife, for God’s sake. Bed her properly—not like some damned animal.
