I bite the gasp threatening to escape, flashing him a panicked look.
Smirking, he pushes the thong to the side and slips a finger inside me.
“Oh my god,” I breathe out.
“So fucking wet for me,” he says, teeth jabbing into his bottom lip, making him appear even more alluring than he is.
Who am I kidding? If my husband wants me to come, I stand no chance. He shatters my reticence as skillfully as he breaks me apart, one orgasm at a time.
“Tristan,” I say, my toes curling in my flats, and I bite into the fork just to gather myself.
People are looking in our direction. Keeping my composure while he rubs my clit demands incredible acting talent.
I am about to press my legs together when he leans into me, saying, “I wouldn’t do that, wife. First, you’ll come on my fingers.”
I blink at him, the sexual haze slipping over my head. No wonder I can’t think straight, so I give in, opening my legs wider. “You’re cruel.”
“Sure, baby. Now, be my good girl and let yourself fall. Come for me.”
My ears ring with the rush of sensations. It takes everything in me to act normal while he plays my body into sweet delirium—his fingers too proficient at playing with my folds and rubbing my clit with the perfect amount of pressure, undoing my resistance.
This exhibitionism, knowing anyone could catch us at any moment, only adds to the sexual experience making me a wanton mess.
The sun has nothing on how hot he makes me feel, burning up from within with the need to explode.
I lift the napkin to my mouth, moaning behind it to salvage appearances, before he comes in for a kiss, and I let go, tripping straight through release’s door.
He removes his fingers from within me, sucking both his index and middle ones while my eyes bug out, not believing I just came like that.
He shrugs. “Don’t give a fuck about etiquette. They didn’t have something sweet enough for me to match my wife’s pussy.”
I throw my head back and laugh, high on endorphins and drunk on him.
No worries. No troubles. Just pure contentment.
On our way back home, I rest my cheek on his arm, strolling down the pavement without a care.
“Did you like my wedding dress?” I ask in a playful mood.
The corners of his mouth curl into a smirk. “I had eyes only for you.”
“Wasn’t the veil too much?”
He chuckles. “No, it was a bold statement. I enjoyed the secrecy of being the only ones who knew the truth. I took your virginity, but I could never fuck your purity. I might like to corrupt you and dirty you up, but my goal is to bathe in your glow, not bring you to my dark side.”
I bite my lip, loving to play with fire. I guess I like to burn. “So, you didn’t want to rip my dress off?”
He arches a brow, slanting me an intense look. “I thought about it just about a million times. You have me in a twist, and you know that, wife.”
I lock my hand around his arm, beaming. “I love that.”
“Of course you do, you minx.”
Once we’re back in the penthouse, I say, “Give me a few minutes.”
I rush into the walk-in closet, picking up the second wedding dress I didn’t get to wear. This feels like a beginning, one I wish to celebrate accordingly.
It’s an ivory satin mermaid dress with spaghetti straps. It flows down to my ankles in minimalist elegance, and the open back adds a touch of sexiness.
