“You taste like fucking heaven, wife,” he mutters, his voice muffled, slurping loud and obscene.
He sucks my clit, tonguing it hard, while a finger teases my entrance, stretching me just enough to burn. He takes his time before adding a second one, pumping them in and out, curling them until I moan, my hips rocking against his hand.
“Please!” I scream, my mind a hot mess…wanting to run, but my body is lifting for more, my hands digging into the couch cushions, the coolness of the leather contrasting with the fire exploding in me. Nikolai pulls back and slides his fingers out, bringing them to his lips, sucking my taste off with a groan. Eyes wild, hair disheveled. Looking as gone as I feel.
“So fucking sweet,” he rasps out, then dives back in, his tongue thrusting deeper, fucking me until I’m trembling. He works me over and over, sucking my clit, licking my folds, until I’m a quivering mess. My orgasm hits like a fucking bomb…pleasure tearing me apart, my back bowing, thighs clamping around his head. I scream his name, my voice raw and broken, as my pussy pulses, soaking him.
He doesn’t stop licking me through it, then he brings back his fingers, pumping faster inside me, curling them until I’m sobbing, another climax ripping through me.
“Good girl. So fucking good for me,” he growls, pulling back, his face slick with me. He rises, gripping his huge cock, rubbing the head against my clit, slow and torturous, the hot, wet tip sliding over my sensitive nub. “Feel that?” he mutters, grinding harder, making me whimper, my body, putty in his hands. He keeps going until I’m shaking, a third orgasm building, my hips jerking against him.
Only then does he push in, stretching me, and I scream, my nails raking his arms. He groans, feral, “Fuck, so tight. Perfect little pussy choking my dick.” He thrusts, wild and hard, filling me until I’m stuffed, his balls slapping against my ass. His handsgrip my hips, lifting me, his hard thumbs digging into my soft flesh. “Take it,” he roars, pounding me deeper, harder. “Take my fucking cock, wife. Paint my rod red with your virgin blood. Gonna fucking breed you, fill you until you’re round with my kid.”
His filthy words and thumb rolling my clit push me over, turning the pain of my first time, his enormous cock spearing me, into wicked pleasure. And another orgasm tears through me, my walls clenching him impossibly tight. He roars, slamming faster, and I feel him explode…hot, thick, flooding me, marking me as his. Then he collapses, still inside me, his breath ragged against my neck, growling, “Mine. All fucking mine.”
6
Nikolai
I wake up to the sight of my wife curled against the far edge of my king-size bed, as far from me as she can get without falling off the fucking thing. The morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows hits her skin, making her look like a fucking fantasy.
My fantasy. My wife. Mine.
Zara’s in my bed.
She’s still asleep, breathing deeply. Her dark hair is spread across the white pillowcase. The sheet’s slipped down, showing the soft curve of her shoulder.
My cock stirs as I remember how she felt, how she sounded when I made her come over and over. How tight and perfect she was, how she cried my name when I claimed her.
She’s gonna be sore as hell. The thought sends heat straight to my dick. She’ll feel me with every step she takes today, a constant reminder of who fucking owns her.
I check my phone, 7:30. I got shit to do, meetings. But first, I need to take care of my wife.
I slide out of bed carefully so I don’t wake her, pull on pajama pants, and head to the kitchen.
When I return to the bedroom, Zara’s awake, sitting up against the headboard with the sheet clutched to her chest. Her eyes are wide and wary, like she’s ready to run. And she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Morning, wife,” I say, setting the tray on the bedside table next to her. Coffee, scrambled eggs, fresh berries, and toast with honey. Freshly made by my chef.
She doesn’t say shit, just watches me. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, probably trying to figure out how to escape.
“Brought you breakfast.” I sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch her but holding back for now. Giving her a little break after the intensity of our night. Shit, I had to carry her to bed half-unconscious.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yeah, you are.” I pour coffee into a cup, adding cream and sugar. “Especially after last night.”
At the reminder, Zara looks away. I smirk thinking about how much I fucking love that she’ll never be able to hide much from me.
“Here.” I hold out the cup.
She hesitates, then reaches for it with a shaky hand.
“Good girl,” I murmur, and watch her cheeks darken. Fuck, I could sit here just staring at my wife all day.
“We need to talk,” I say when she finally takes a small bite.
Her body tenses. “About what?”
