Page 49 of Graciously His

“Force has nothing to do with it.” He squeezes my hip, and I let myself lean into the touch. Then he says something that makes me go still. “Ass fucking will be a normal part of our marriage, Grace, and that means we’ve come full circle to preparation. That’s all I’m offering tonight. Want me to fuck your ass rough and dirty while you pretend you don’t want it? Want me to use force back there? You’ve got to earn it.”

It’s such a bizarre thing to say that I laugh. “What does that even mean—earn it?”

He leans down, lips trailing along the curve of my waist as he speaks. “It means I’m going to teach you everything you need to know about letting me in. That includes making it feel so good for you, so deliciously filthy, that you can’t help but beg for it like the perfect girl you are.”

I gasp when his teeth graze my thigh. What he’s telling me is nothing like what I imagined, and nothing like our dynamics last night. Last night he was claiming; tonight, he’s persuading.

“What do you get out of this, Nate? All this trouble and preparation—”

“Such a good wife,” he murmurs, hovering over where my thighs are squeezed shut. His tongue flicks out, probing until I gasp. “So sweet to worry about my pleasure.” He tilts his head, sliding along my pussy until I’m moaning. “I’ve waited years for this. I’ve got two hands, and lots of beautiful places to choose from when I’m ready to come.”

Arousal shoots through me as I picture him over me, his eyes fastened to mine as he pumps his cock in his fist.

“Oh,” I moan, raising my hips when he bypasses my pussy, heading further back. “Oh, fuck—”

“That’s right, love.” His breath fans over my lower belly. “You’re going to love this. So,” he licks me, “fucking,” he swirls his tongue, “much.”

Nate worships me in the least likely place, his tongue sweeping against my resistance, slow and sensual. It’s more pleasurable than it has any right to be.

“That’s it,” he whispers in between swipes, “loosen up for me.”

“W-what i-if—” I stutter, “what if I’m not—”

He pulls back and looks at me, lips wet. “As long as you let me keep track of those basics, you’ll have nothing to worry about when I eat your ass. Now,” he jerks his chin, “hand me that pillow. I need a better angle for what comes next.”

I grab a pillow, then hesitate. “Would you tell me if something weren’t right, back there?”

“I’ll do you one better, love,” he takes the pillow, “I’ll teach you how to keep this ass in perfect order so you can take my tongue whenever you want it.”

He leans to one side, opening the bedside table drawer. I’m almost floored when he pulls out a square of fabric—a waterproof brolly sheet. Lifting my hips a bit, he slides the sheet under me, then meets my gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“If anything happens, we’ll have an easy cleanup. Now, two options here: you can stay how you are or,” his grin widens, “you can put your tummy on the pillow and let me have you from behind.”

Both images are so obscene I can barely speak. “I need, um, to see what—what you’re doing. Please.”

“Such a polite girl.” He reaches for something else—a bottle of lube. “Let’s see how polite you are when I’m stretching you.”

He arranges my thighs to bracket his shoulders and I feel exposed, my hips elevated on the pillow.

“Nate, I’m—I’m not sure.”

“I’ll talk you through it, love.” His eyes find mine, holding my gaze as he tilts me a little further, my lower back supported by the pillow. “I’ll go slow. All you have to do is relax or,” he throws me a wink, “bear down a little if you’re feeling brave.”

I feel like I can’t have heard him right. “Bear down?”

“That’s right. Push just a bit, and you’ll open right up. But I can do the opening for you this time. In fact,” he lowers his face, hands pulling my ass cheeks apart, “it will be my absolute pleasure.”

He applies his tongue in the new position and I almost black out. An unholy sound comes from my mouth. “Fuck—God, Nate… that’s—Jesus Christ—that’s filthy.”

The words pour out as he plies me open in a way that feels perversely gentle. He moans when I grab his hair.

“Why,” I whisper, hardly hearing myself, “why does that feel good. It shouldn’t, God—fuck, it shouldn’t!”

He lifts his head, and I mewl in protest. “It feels good because this is exactly what you fucking need. Say it, Grace. Tell me what you need.”

I shake my head. My body closes up, my breath coming in sharp gasps. He doesn’t seem deterred at all.

“Can’t admit it yet, eh?” He smiles gently. “Well, let’s see if you like what comes next.”