She steps out of the slacks, graceful even now, and I rise again, towering over her in nothing but her bra and a scrap of lace that barely covers her pussy.
My cock strains, aching to be buried inside the woman who walked into that study tonight and turned the tide of everything.
I reach behind her and unhook the bra with one hand.
The straps gently slip down her arms and her breasts spill free—full, perfect, nipples already taut.I groan at the sight.“Look at these breasts, wife.Made for my mouth.”
“Moretti…”
She’s blushing, and her breaths are shallow.
This woman is not immune to me.
I capture her wrists in one hand and pin them behind her back, arching her toward me.She gasps, body bowing, and I take full advantage, closing my mouth over one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the peak until she writhes against my grip.
Then I switch to the other, teeth grazing just enough to make her moan, then I intentionally soothe her with slow, wet pulls.
Her skin tastes like salt and woman.
She’s mine.
I feel every tremble, every tiny catch of her breath, and it feeds the beast in me.
She’s wet already—I can smell her arousal, sweet and heady—and I haven’t even touched her pussy yet.
I release her wrists only long enough to strip the last of her lace down her legs.Then I pin her hands behind her again, tighter this time.“Keep them there,” I order, voice thick.“You don’t get to touch me until I say.Tonight you’re going to feel every single thing I do to you.”
I back her toward the bed, guiding her down until she’s sitting on the edge.
Deliberately I kneel between her spread thighs, shoulders forcing her legs wider.My mouth finds her pussy without warning—tongue parting her folds, licking deep, tasting how soaked she is for me.
“Moretti!”She bucks, a broken sound tearing from her throat.
“So fucking wet for your husband already.”I growl against her clit.“This hot little pussy knows who it belongs to.”
Then I suck her clit into my mouth as I slide two fingers inside her tight heat, curling to stroke that spot that makes her thighs shake.
I work her relentlessly—slow drags of my tongue, fast flicks, fingers pumping until her walls flutter and clamp.“Don’t come yet,” I command, lifting my head just enough to lock eyes with her.“Fight it off.Hold it for me.”
“But…”
“You can.Youwill.”
She whimpers as her head falls back.Her lips are parted and her chest is heaving.
I feel the battle in her body—the way she tightens, trying to obey while pleasure claws at her.
Deliberately, wanting her to acknowledge the truth, I add a third finger, stretching her, sucking harder.“Good girl.That’s it.Feel how full I make you.”
When her walls start to spasm anyway, I pull back completely, denying her.
“That’s…” She cries out, chasing my mouth with her hips.
“Not yet.”I grin against her inner thigh.“You come when I tell you to.”
I rise, stripping my own clothes with quick, efficient movements—jacket, shirt, slacks, gun—until I’m naked, cock heavy and leaking for her.
I sit on the bed, back against the headboard, and pull her onto my lap, straddling me.
