Page 23 of Sins of Arrogance

I carry her straight into our bed­room and kick the door shut be­hind me. My hands don’t shake, but they should. They would if I was a nor­mal man.

I mar­ried Kara for what that mar­riage would give me. But now I crave her for her own sake. All the damn feckin’ time.

When she put her hand on my thigh, pressed against my cock like she owns it? The howl­ing wind in­side me qui­eted.

Even the mon­ster rec­og­nizes the truth. She does own us.

Some­how, af­ter seven years of mar­riage Kara still doesn’t re­al­ize that though. Not re­ally. Or this af­ter­noon wouldn’t have been the first time she made a move like that.

It al­most makes me want to thank Dier­dre for com­ing to New York.

Kara’s fin­gers trail up my nape, soft and trust­ing. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. She’s watch­ing me with hunger and fear twisted to­gether like silk and barbed wire.

Doubt she even re­al­izes the fear is there. It’s atavis­tic, not con­scious. But the hunger has her arousal per­fum­ing the air around us.

I drop her onto the bed. She bounces once, her tits jig­gling in a way that tells me she’s not wear­ing a bra un­der her sun­dress. Her hair falls across her face like a veil and I want to wrap it around my fist and yank it back.

The flush of arousal pinkens the swell of her breasts above the neck­line of that sweet lit­tle dress. Her nip­ples al­ready hard, cre­at­ing shoals in the fab­ric and beg­ging for my mouth.

I love her tits. So damn lush and sen­si­tive. Nip­ples as big and dark as rasp­ber­ries. I could spend hours suck­ing them, watch­ing her trem­ble while she tries to hide how much she needs me.

But not tonight. My pa­tience burned to cin­ders the sec­ond our son left the apart­ment.

“Ye started some­thing at din­ner,” I growl, pulling my shirt over my head.

Her eyes go wide when they land on my chest.

She’s seen me naked more times than I can count, but it’s the same look of vo­ra­cious hunger ev­ery time. Like just look­ing at me sends her pussy spas­ming.

Our gazes locked, I undo my belt. “And I’m go­ing to fin­ish it.”

Hers drops to fol­low the mo­tion. She swal­lows.

Kara’s breath stut­ters, but she doesn’t look away. “You seemed fine with let­ting her touch you.”

My hands still. “Ye want to talk about Dier­dre now?”

Some­thing not good flashes in her ex­pres­sion be­fore it’s gone, re­placed with un­mis­tak­able hunger. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

Chap­ter 7: My Wife’s Pussy, My Re­li­gion

MICK

Kara shifts up onto her knees and reaches be­hind her neck to un­hook the hal­ter top. Then her hands lower and there’s the soft swish of a zip­per go­ing down.

She lets the dress fall away from her body, re­veal­ing her boun­ti­ful tits, the sweet swell of her tummy, the thin sil­ver lines at­test­ing to her preg­nancy with Fitz. Then she pulls it off com­pletely, toss­ing it to the floor as she set­tles back on her arms, her legs stretched out to­ward me.

No shame. No hes­i­ta­tion. Just all that soft, pale skin and those full tits ris­ing with ev­ery breath.

Fuck me.

I cross the room in two steps, grip her an­kles, and yank her to the edge of the bed. She gasps, but her thighs fall open like they’re beg­ging for me. Mois­ture turns the gus­set of her panties dark, and I haven’t even touched her yet.

“You’re soaked,” I rasp.

“Whose fault is that?”

It had bet­ter be mine. Al­ways and for­ever. No one else touches this woman but me.