It was aimed at her lips, and the sight of her licking them coaxed a roar to build up in my chest.
Without any delay, she wrapped her fingers around my dick and brought it to her mouth. Watching as I disappeared between her lips was the most erotic vision I could have ever imagined. But this wasn’t a fantasy. This wasn’t an illusion.
My wife, the former Cartel princess who hadn’t been appreciated, was on her knees, taking me as far as she could into her hot, velvety mouth.
Sucking hard, she drove me to the brink of coming. Bobbing back and forth, she goaded me to match her rhythm and fuck her wet mouth. Moaning slightly as she stared at me with greedy desire, she demonstrated how she could be defiant yet able to compromise.
As I slid my hands over her head, letting my fingers sink into the thick glossiness of her hair, I tried to pace myself and not come too soon.
Like this, she was irrevocablymine.
I owned her body.
I maintained her loyalty.
Yet, as I reveled in the triumph of possessing her, I had to dismiss the fleeting, nagging insistence that I didn’t haveallof her.
Not her heart.
And as I came, shooting my cum into her throat, I growled and knew that this pleasure she gave me was only the next best thing.
I wanted all of her.
Including this fantasy that she couldloveme.
This isn’t an arrangement.
It hasn’t been one at all.
Her throat worked as she strained to swallow every drop I gave her. Her eyes watered at the stretch of her mouth around my girth.
Before she could get desperate for more air, I pulled out and lowered to guide her to lie back. I was famished for her. I was starving for the sounds of her as she came.
Crawling toward her, I parted her legs and dipped my face down to her cunt, revealed under the lift of her nightgown.
I might not know how to earn her love.
But I could at least show her this—by making her feel good and sated—that she could trust me with her heart.
If she could be brave enough to let me close to it.
18
CARINA
Maksim wasn’t in bed when I woke up.
Thank God.
I hugged a pillow and refused to feel guilty about being glad I was alone.
It was easier like this. Simpler to not endure the warmth and security that I felt when we were in bed and able to sleep in and be lazy together. Cuddling, with him spooning me.
Those episodes of comfort were too intimate, and it threw me off even more.
Sex was one thing. It was a glorious highlight of my life with him.
But anything deeper and more meaningful than that threatened me, forced me to recalibrate who I was here and what I was doing.
