Page 38 of Adrian

Four.

Now, I can stop holding back. After releasing her clit, I prop up on my elbows, tuck my palms under her shoulders, and hold on to her as I thrust in and out.

Heaven. That’s how I describe my wife’s pussy. Pure heaven.

I hate that I’m going to orgasm prematurely again. I’d like to languidly fuck my wife for an hour. I will. Many times in our lives. But not tonight. With one final thrust, I arch my hips deeper and let my release wash through me.

Blair is breathing heavily and stroking my back gently.

When I’m finally able to see straight, I set my forehead against hers and smile. “We’re married.”

She giggles. “Yes, we are.”

Thirteen

Blair

* * *

I have clothes now. Adrian’s brothers brought several of my suitcases and boxes into the house this morning. I could rummage through them and find silk pajamas, but I like wearing my husband’s T-shirt. Not a fresh, clean one from the drawer. No. I prefer to wear the one he took off because it smells like him.

I’m sitting on the kitchen table, my ass barely covered, my legs spread. Adrian is in the chair in front of me, keeping my knees wide and my shirt pushed up so he can see my pussy whenever he wants.

He’s feeding me pieces of dark chocolate in between sips of champagne. We have no idea if we’ve paired the correct chocolate with the right bubbly, but we don’t care. We make the rules now, and tonight I was craving chocolate and champagne. Let the bubbly-wine police come and arrest me.

He’s grinning. I am, too.

We’re also sharing a glass. I thought we could just drink from the bottle, but Adrian was afraid one of us would end up breaking a tooth, so we filled a flute.

After a sip, I set my hands on his broad shoulders and say, “Tell me about yourself.”

He chuckles. “Too late to find out my secrets. The ink is already dry. We’re married.”

“Do you have any good ones, though? Secrets, I mean.”

“Mmm.” He kisses me. “Let’s see… Apparently, I’m boring. I can’t come up with any.”

I slide my hands into his hair. “What does your average day look like?”

“Before I met you?” He grins.

“Yes.”

“I’m in charge of security, so I usually spend way too much time staring at cameras and updating the equipment.”

“That sounds really boring.”

“More boring than counting out tiny pills and putting them in a brown plastic bottle that no adult could possibly open?” His face lights up, and he continues, “By the way, is that a job? Does someone secretly work for the pharmaceutical companies behind the scenes, trying to develop increasingly more difficult lids?”

I laugh. “To answer your first question, remember, I’m not a pharmacist. I’m a biologist. I’ve never counted pills. My parents had big dreams of me developing a new drug that would cure, or pretend to cure, something random. But I could just as easily apply my degree to splicing the DNA of radishes in order to develop a new vegetable that makes them green or somehow more nutritious.”

His eyes widen. “Brilliant idea.”

Giggling is apparently my new thing. It feels good. “And, to answer your second question, I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents secretly owned a side company and employed people to make it impossible to open pill bottles.”

Adrian kisses me again and then feeds me a bite of chocolate, followed by a sip of champagne. I can’t recall a time when I’ve been this relaxed. I should be in a total panic. I got married to a man I don’t really know, and I haven’t even told anyone in my family. If they could, they’d probably declare me mentally incompetent and have me committed.

“Why exactly do you and your brothers need such high-tech security?”