Then the cold butter met my asshole and I froze completely.
I stared at the carrot.
“Vadim,” I whimpered.
“What’s wrong, Iskra?” he hummed pleasantly, as though he were asking about the weather, as though his finger wasn’t currently pushing butter somewhere it had no business being.
I clenched down hard and squeezed my buttocks together with everything I had.
“You don’t want to do that,” he said, his voice carrying the patient tone of a man explaining something reasonable.“Not when I stick the carrot up your ass. Imagine going to the hospital if it breaks off inside your asshole.”
He chuckled.
“Oh God,” I cried.“What iswrongwith you?”
He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear.
“Everything,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
Breathed.
And deliberately relaxed my muscles, allowing him access.
Like I had a choice.
Chapter 17
Vadim
It was official. She was driving me crazy.
The knowledge didn’t stop me. If anything it encouraged me to do worse—which was how I had arrived here, pushing butter into my wife’s asshole in my own kitchen at this hour, entirely focused on keeping her on the edge of whatever she was currently experiencing.
The butter had begun to soften with her heat. I pressed a second finger in alongside the first, working past the tight ring of muscle, feeling it yield reluctantly around me.
She began to pant.
I pushed the remaining butter inside her.
“That’s it,” I murmured, easing both fingers in and out, the slick warmth making the movement easier with every stroke.“Now hold yourself open for me.”
I stroked her flank with my spare hand, feeling the tension running through her, and twisted my fingers slowly.
“What are you going to do the next time your husband messages you?” I asked. I kept my eyes on my fingers—the rim pressing inward as I sank in, hugging tight as I withdrew, her body doing exactly what bodies did when given no alternative.
“Message you back?” she cried.
“Is that a question or an answer, Iskra?”
“I don’t know.” A pause, broken by her own breathing.“I can’t think when you’re doing that.”
“Doing what?” I asked, and pushed as deep as my fingers would go.
Her legs began to tremble beneath her.
She was far too sensitive for her own good.
