“Look at her. She’s practically begging you to.”
“We’re at a party.”
“So what? It’s your party,” he reminded me. “If you love her, that’s the way she needs to be told.”
I stared down into my drink for a few seconds, contemplating what he’d just suggested. “You know what? You’re right. I’m an idiot.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Ah, fuck you. But thanks for knocking some sense into me.”
“That’s what best friends are for.”
With an evil grin on my face that was reflected in the window, I thumped the glass on the table beside the bottle. Who needed alcohol when I could have passion with a woman who looked like my wife?
I pushed my way through the crowd of people, taking her by the hand. When she tried to pull away, I refused to allow her, pushing her against the wall when we were outside in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” Her demanding tone had returned.
“Me? Whatever I want.” I pinched her chin with two fingers, keeping her eyes locked onto mine.
“We’re at a party. Let me go.”
“That’s not going to happen, sweetheart, and do you want to know why?” I’d be damned if her eyes didn’t light up with fire.
“Why?”
And I did so love when her voice was little more than a purr. “Because you’re my wife and as your husband, I take what I want. That’s the way it’s going to be.” With that, I crushed my lips over hers.
With the full weight of my body pinning hers to the wall, I cupped her face, enjoying the way she writhed under me. Actually trying to escape.
As if that was going to happen.
With my hand cupping her face, my fingers digging into her skin, I thrust my tongue past her hot soft lips. There was nothing sweeter than exploring her mouth, drinking from her sweet nectar.
She mewed in my hold, the strangled moan heard over the din of the jazz music. Perhaps her cries would draw attention, a guest attempting to intervene. To stop me. Let them dare try. I didn’t care.
Emmeline was my wife and as such, she was mine to enjoy and taste.
To fuck and feed.
And to keep locked away if necessary.
Her hands fisted my jacket, the push and pull exactly what I’d expected. The woman was a fighter, refusing to give in to any man.
Any circumstance.
And so, the kiss continued, hot and wet just like we both preferred.
The moans shifted to animalistic grunts, the push and pull to a desperate need for each other.
Soon, she was ripping at my clothes, undulating her body in a way reminding me of a wildcat.
I was so turned on my balls ached like a son of a bitch. There was no denying the chemistry we shared or the hunger that floated above everything else.
Often including common sense.
We no longer cared where we were or who could witness our sinful crimes. We were too far gone. Too much in need.
