"Fuck." His fingers dig into my flesh. "So tight."
I’m so incredibly full of him, and immediately I love the feeling.
He pulls back and thrusts deep, setting a brutal rhythm that has me crying out with each stroke. The vanity rattles beneath us, the mirror reflecting my flushed face, my parted lips.
The collar catches the light with each movement.
“Keep your eyes on me, Sugar.”
I look up so our eyes meet in the mirror. His pupils are blown wide, and he’s gripping my hips as he slams into me.
"Such a good girl." His hand wraps around my throat, fingers pressing against the pearls. "Taking my cock so well on our wedding day. Tell me,wife,how much you love being my dirty little girl. I want to hear it.”
I'm floating, lost in sensation. Nothing exists except this—his body claiming mine, the praise falling from his lips, the pleasure building again. I’m not sure I can even form a sentence, but when I don’t respond, Asher’s hand lands on my ass with a crack.
“Fuck!” I hiss, but it turns into a moan.
“Answer me,” he demands, not slowing his pace as he thrusts into me over and over.
“I l-love it,” I choke out. “Being your dirty little slut, Sir.” I should be ashamed of the words leaving my lips, but I’m not. I do love it. More than just the killer orgasms, I love the way my brain shuts off, the way he takes control, and I’m just here for him to use as he pleases. There’s still that part of me that thinks I should find it dirty and shameful, but when he holds me and soothes away his degrading words with praise and worship, that part of me drifts away.
“That’s my good girl.” Smoothing his hand down my neck and to my breasts, he toys with each before going lower. As his finger finds my clit, pressing on the bundle of nerves, a bolt of electricity zings through my body. I’m still so sensitive from the vibrator, I can barely handle his light touch.
"Asher— I can't?—"
"Yes, you can." His voice is steel and silk. "Come for me again. Show me what a desperate little wife you are."
The dual sensation is too much. I hear my arousal as he takes charge of my body. His cock stretching me, hitting something deep and perfect, alternating between grinding and pounding into me. All it takes is a few swirls over my clit, and my inner walls are clenching around him, every muscle in my body tensing.
This orgasm rips through me harder than the first as I scream his name. He groans, hips stuttering as he follows me over the edge, spilling inside the condom with a muttered curse.
We stay frozen, both panting, my body still trembling with aftershocks.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, pressing a kiss to my shoulder and trailing more up my neck and to my cheek. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
When I sag against him, he lifts me up and settles me in a plush chair before fetching a washcloth to clean me.
“You did so good, Sugar,” he murmurs softly, pulling me onto his lap and holding me there. I’m not sure how long we stay like this, him drawing circles on my back while I listen to his heartbeat and slowly come back from subspace.
After, he slides me back into my dress, fixes my hair, and wipes away my smudged mascara.
And then he walks me back out to our guests as if he didn’t just fuck me into oblivion.
31
ASHER
The photographer positions us for at least the hundredth shot in the last hour. Grace's smile remains fixed, perfect, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders. The way she shifts her weight.
She's sore.
Good.
"Just a few more, Mr. Caine." The photographer adjusts his lens. "Turn toward your bride, hand on her waist."
I comply, fingers settling where I gripped her earlier. The memory of her bent over that vanity as I?—
"Perfect! Hold that."
