One brush of our tongues and the world and everything in it fades.
As I rake my fingers through Mikhail’s long, silky hair, I drag my tongue along the roof of his mouth before kissing him as if I am starved of his taste. I tug his hair, loving the moan it produces, before I straddle his lap and grind down slowly.
A shudder rolls through me. He’s hard, but I know all too well that we won’t be moving from home plate anytime soon.
Mikhail loves foreplay. Almost as much as me? I truly don’t know anymore. I think I may have risen to the top of the pile after his confession.
The thought sees me rocking against him harder, the friction exquisite. I grind against him on repeat, stroking myself with the hard rod of flesh between his legs. My breathing labors as the tingles of an orgasm surface, but I can’t stop. The buzz is amazing, and my horniness feeds off it.
“Please,” I murmur breathlessly. “I need you.” My nostrils flare as I breathe in his scent, my lungs deprived like we spent more than an hour apart.
“No, you don’t,” Mikhail denies. He adjusts his position, making us more comfortable, before he spreads his thighs wide and arches his pelvis. “You’ve got everything you need right here. Keep going, Emmy. Make me come in my pants like a virgin at a whore house.”
I shouldn’t laugh. His analogy isn’t funny. Mikhail comes from an extremely bigamist family. Whore houses were very much a part of their welcome-to-manhood rituals. My laughter just can’t be helped. I love how wide Mikhail’s berth went when he steered his life down its own path. He skipped almost everyhorrid sacrament. I would like to say all, but unfortunately, not all of them were reserved for adults.
When my rocks slow, my thoughts trapped in the past, Mikhail shifts my focus back to him by rolling his hips ever so slightly. He’s so thick and long, his piercings stimulating my clit seconds after the mouthwatering rub of the crown of his glorious cock. They make me ache, and strip everything back until only the insane need to orgasm matters.
I hug his thighs with my knees as a wildfire blazes through me. My nipples pucker as my breasts grow heavy with need. I can’t stop grinding. Rocking. I take and take and take until Mikhail’s body trembles as ruefully as mine.
“Yes,” I moan, conscious Mikhail’s release is almost as formed as mine. I want him to come with me, to surrender to the power stronger than any man.
And I know the perfect way to achieve that.
I am near mindless with need after a handful of grinds. The tension is blinding, and the friction can’t be matched. My panties slick with wetness as goose bumps race across my skin, but the best is still to come. I just need him closer to the edge so I can force him over it with me.
“Christ, Emmy,” Mikhail hisses between his teeth when my wetness is evident even through layers of clothes. “You make me so hard it almost hurts.”
The need in his tone sets off an avalanche of touches and moans. We make out like teenagers in their parents’ borrowed car, and I love every minute of it.
My vision blurs, my eyes losing their focus, as Mikhail’s deliriously handsome face becomes ravaged with desire. His teeth graze his lower lip as sweat dots his temples, but our pace never diminishes. We’re wild with desire and almost clawing at each other.
Over the next several minutes, we move in sync, dry humping with our clothes on. My pussy aimlessly seeks something to cling to as signs of a blinding orgasm race for the finish line. Every grind, thrust, and moan brings me closer and closer to the edge.
I’m there, on the cusp of riding the wave cresting in my stomach, but it is scary being in the clouds and having nothing to cling to.
“Keep going,” Mikhail begs when the power of my impending climax startles me. It feels intense, like it will be the strongest I’ll ever have, and he hasn’t even removed his dick from his pants yet. “Just like that. Good girl. You’re going to make me come so hard… in my fucking pants.” He locks his eyes with mine, and the love in them places me an inch from the finish line. “But you like that, don’t you, Ember? You love having the ability to make your husband come in his pants.” I nod, unashamed, and it makes him smile. “Then do it,wife. Make me come.”
I thrash against him as an orgasm pulses through me. My core cramps violently as my limbs shake, and Mikhail watches every shudder with beady, lust-filled eyes.
His cock thickens further, but that is the only sign of the excitement roaring through him. There’s no stain on the front of his jeans, no scent of his release, because his wife reference sent me freefalling over the edge before I could force him to join me.
Needing him to feel the connection, I maintain eye contact while brushing my mouth against his. Spasms dart through me when I trek my tongue across his top lip before piercing it between them. I kiss him with everything I have, doubling the rock of his hips.
He spreads my thighs wide as he uses my body and my kiss to find his release. His pace quickens, and after several slamming thrusts, he climaxes with a hiss. I swallow his groan when he growls into my mouth. His orgasm is as raw and emotionally moving as his kisses will forever make me feel.
Chapter 36
Mikhail
As I enter the living room of my luxury penthouse, I adjust the cuffs of my tuxedo. The fabric feels cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that seeped into my trousers earlier today.
After handing me the Pants Jizzer title for the second time in a week, Emerson and I took our antics into the back seat. The confines were tight, but it made our make-out session the steamiest it’s ever been.
I’m hard again now recalling how Emerson worked my cock in and out of her mouth while kneeling on the driver’s seat, and the moans she released when I spilled my load down her throat. How she took control while riding me from above in the back seat and how she didn’t push me away when my hunger to taste her again didn’t have me caring about our combined flavors.
We christened our new car appropriately for newlyweds, and I plan to do the same tonight while we’re chauffeured to my father’s gala in a stretch limousine.
Emerson is sitting on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. She’s engrossed in the user manual that came with theelectrostatic precipitator being installed in her mother’s pub next weekend.
