But it isn’t just the heat of his touch or the teasing edge of anticipation that breaks me. It’s the way Marshall looks at me, as if every part of me is worthy of adoration. His hands slow and gentle, trace the lines of my body with reverence and hunger, making my heart ache with something deeper than simple desire.
“I want to taste you,” he says as he slides down the bed.
My thighs tremble with the self-conscious temptation to hide myself from him. But curiosity and burning desire give me the strength to remain still as Marshall settles between my legs.
His breath is warm on my wet slit. Chills race down my spine, and goosebumps break out along my legs and arms. I’m paralyzed by want. I need him to touch me.
I want him to lick me.
He doesn’t hesitate to lean in, his fingers parting my folds before his tongue curves through my arousal. Marshall makes a sound in the back of his throat that sounds like a grumpy bear awoken from hibernation early.
Warm and wet his tongue plunges inside me. Thicker than a finger and slick with saliva, it stretches me with ease. Soft and dexterous, its quick movements make me moan as one of his hands slides across my mons. Pressing down gently he keeps my hips pinned to the bed as my back arches and I clutch the sheets in a white-knuckle fist.
He makes low timbered sounds of enjoyment that turns the desire burning my thighs up another notch. The feeling of his mouth on me? Amazing. The vocal proof he’s enjoying my taste? Pure decadence.
I’m hovering on the edge, tingles racing down my arms and neurons in my brain blasting with pleasure when he abruptly pulls away.
“Ah,” he murmurs, wiping his chin dry. “You forgot.”
If my nails were longer, they would rend the sheets. My frustration is palpable, and it only grows as Marshall laughs at my frown.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me.
As he grips my hips, worry is the last thing on my mind. He yanks me to the end of the bed, my legs sliding around him as he lines us up.
“Consider this a warning, wife. Next time you tease me I won’t be so quick to end your torment. We’ll stay on edge for hours until you’re a sweaty over-sensitized mess begging for my cock.”
Yes. So much yes. He leans forward, kissing me with a swift brutality that makes my nipples ache.
As his tongue slips into my mouth his hips punch forward, his cock slamming home. He swallows my gasp at the intrusion, pausing as I adjust to the new sensation. There is a fullness. A warmth. Only the slightest pinch of pain that fades almost immediately.
I’m no longer thinking in complete sentences. Instinct guides my body as I move beneath him, urging him to continue. His dark eyes never leave mine as he pulls back before hammering home.
That first thrust makes electricity pulse through my clit. It throbs as he begins to set a rhythm. Withdrawing and thrusting forward. The hard line of his cock slides against my walls making me writhe beneath him as pleasure bursts through my body with each press of his hips to mine.
“Look at me,” he orders, his voice haggard.
My eyes snap open. I didn't know they were closed. Staring up at Marshall I can’t look away. His dark eyes pin mine in place. The delicious slide of his body against mine is addictive. Each movement pushing me higher.
I’m close, dancing on a knife’s edge.
“Come for me, clever girl,” he whispers.
I don’t hear the words. I read his lips. My blood is rushing through my ears, washing away all other sound as I come with a scream that would make any scream queen proud.
“Good girl,” he mutters as his hips stutter against mine. “Good fucking girl. My perfect little wife. Fucking perfect.”
I’m floating on a wave of warm pleasure, tingles darting beneath my skin as he slams home one final time and coats my inner walls with warmth. It’s an alien feeling, but one I don’t mind.
He falls to the side, careful not to crush me with his weight, utterly exhausted. I’m ready for round two, but eyeing the way he stretches his leg, undoubtedly sore from the strenuous activity I make a mental note to try different positions. Cowgirl is supposed to be a crowd favorite.
Later, Marshall gathers me close, his voice rough with tenderness as he breathes promises into my hair. There is no more doubt. Just honesty, laughter, and the kind of easy intimacy that comes when every wall is gone. Wrapped in his arms, the world falls away, leaving only the two of us, tangled together in the afterglow of something both wild and profoundly gentle.
It's in this moment that the truth finds its home between us. As crazy and wild as it is.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispers, emotion choking his voice. “Never.”
“Are you sure?” I tease. “I might make a terrible wife.”
