Mikhail groans when I spin too fast for him to respond, propel myself onto my tippy-toes, and then collide our mouths together like I did anytime I was crowned the loser of our argument.
I don’t swipe my tongue across his mouth or force it between his lips as my heart is begging. My kiss is as innocent as my baby sister’s face, the sting of rejection still clinging to my skin too densely to ignore.
You wouldn’t know that from the hardness of Mikhail’s cock, though. It stretches halfway up my stomach and instigates another stint of reckless yearning.
I want to kiss him again—tongue, teeth, and lips this time—but the quickest swivel of my tongue in my mouth to wet it for our embrace announces I can’t.
Although faint, there’s still enough peanut butter lingering in my mouth to cause an anaphylactic response in someone with a severe peanut allergy.
Mercifully, Mikhail’s commentary at the end of our vows announces his mouth isn’t the only place I can kiss him, and he is as aware as I am that the worst reactions occur when the residue comes in contact with the mucous membrane, like the eyes, nose, and mouth.
His cock is safe—somewhat.
That doesn’t mean he’ll act on his desires, though.
He’s too stubborn for that.
Or should I say, he once was. I don’t know the man standing before me. We’re practically strangers—who have an insane sexual attraction that won’t adjourn for anything.
As Mikhail’s hooded gaze burns me at the stake, reading my soul with only a glance, the hand on my chin lowers to my throat to compress my windpipe ever so slightly.
He pins me to the door with a firm yet erotic grip on my throat, sending my senses haywire before he rakes his eyes up my body.
They linger at the apex of my thighs and at my breasts before they eventually land on my face. He stares at me with lusty, fiery eyes while pressing into me deeper, flattening me to the door.
While fighting the urge not to grind against him, nervous energy leaves my body, replaced with need.
I can’t look away. I don’t want to miss a single emotion in his entrancing blue eyes. His hurt. His pain. His fury. They’re displayed for me to see. But there’s also admiration, attraction, and a chemistry no amount of disdain will ever be able to disregard.
My breasts grow heavy as I return his stare, and my clit pulsates.
Mikhail is an ace at poker, so I lay my cards on the table without a word being spoken.
He feels my hurt, my betrayal.My rejection.But instead of offering sympathies for them, he acts as if I don’t deserve a single apology.
He treats me like a whore, and I’m too bound by lust to pretend I don’t love his arrogance. “Since you seem to be having a hard time understanding what being a wife means, perhaps I should remind you.”
The roots of my hair sting when the hand on my neck skates behind my head, and he makes a fist. He waits for me to protest, to knee him in the balls. When neither occurs, he uses his grip on my hair to lower me to my knees.
Everything happens so fast. I fall to my knees as Mikhail’s belt slides through his belt loops; the hiss of his unzipping pants echoes the sound I make when his cock springs free.
A gasp leaves me during the latter. I forgot how big he is. His cock is throbbing with want and way too large for me to handle with one hand.
My pupils dilate to the size of saucers as I drink him all in. The piercings, the veins, the droplet of goodness pooling at the top. I take them all in as if it is the first time I’ve seen them before I lose the fight to hold back for a second longer.
I lunge for him, desperate to taste him again.
Air whistles between Mikhail’s teeth when I track my tongue over the slit at the top of his cut penis, but that is as far as his praise goes.
He’s trying to fake disinterest like he did earlier, but he can’t fool me. The veins in his impressive manhood throb too much to misrepresent his interests, and although faint, his hips rockforward enough to pierce the head of his cock between my lips with every timed thrust.
Determined to bring him to heel and resolute to replace the disdain in his eyes with attraction, I circle my hand around the root of his girthy shaft and then jack it up and down several times in a row.
He’s heavy in my hand, and each calculated pump encourages more pre-cum to pool at the tip.
I flutter my tongue over his cut crown, moaning when my licks lure more salty goodness.
While pumping him at the base of his thick cock, I pay dedicated attention to the vein feeding his magnificent manhood. I lick his shaft from the tip to the base multiple times, bunching his thighs and coating my cheek with his manly scent when I rub it against his balls resting on his thighs.
