“I’m sure.” With that, I shift my hand to the side, spreading the lips of her pussy with my index and middle fingers. She gasps, probably thanks to the cool air in the car. I can already tell just from the sensation of pressing my index finger between her lips, that she’s drenched. Her juices coat my finger in an instant, even more so when I begin to drag it back and forth along the length of her slit, slow and teasing.
Another moan escapes her throat, this one longer, as I circle her entrance with my fingertip.
“You’re so fucking wet, darling.” I smirk down at her, lying beneath me on the leather car seat. “It’s almost like you’re enjoying this.”
She bites her lower lip, and that expression alone is enough to send a fresh jolt of rock-hard desire to my dick. “I… might be,” she admits, breathy with desire.
I push one finger inside her, hard and fast, all the way up to the knuckle. She groans again, bucking up toward me. “Do you want me right here?” I curl my finger inside her, making sure she can feel every inch of it. The tip of my finger pressing hard against her. Then I draw it out slowly, running the tip of my finger over the sensitive skin of her G-spot.
She gasps this time, twisting under me. “M-maybe.”
“You want my cock inside you?”
“Yes,” she gasps.
I pull my finger out with a slick, wet sound, and grin down at her. “Then say it,” I tell her.
Her lips part with surprise. I just watch her, waiting, as I raise my hand to my mouth and slowly lick my finger, savoring the taste of her, salty and a little sweet, a flavor I could never imagine getting enough of.
Her lower lip quivers as she watches me. I wink and bend down to trail my tongue along her body. Lower and lower, until I’m kneeling beneath her, just below the seat, and my tongue circles her navel, dips into it. I gently drag my teeth along the edge of her stomach, trailing my hot mouth down, until I reach her mound, my tongue pressing against her sensitive, smooth skin.
Then I dip between her thighs, pushing them apart just wide enough to press my face between them, my stubble grazing the sensitive skin along her inner thighs on either side of my face, until my tongue reaches her pussy lips. I trace along them, only on the outside, not delving inside her yet.
She quivers, her hands sliding down to run through my hair, and then fisting in my hair. “I…”
“Yes?” I arch an eyebrow, sitting back to gaze up at her, over the plane of her body. I love this view. I love everything about my sexy wife.
I just need her to come around to admitting that she’s mine.
Her throat works with a tight swallow, but I can tell from the spark in her eyes that she’s still trying to hold out on me. “That feels so good,” she murmurs, instead of what I want.
So I decide it’s time to play harder.
I spread her lips with my fingertips and trace my tongue along her slit, back to front, then back again. I let the very tip of my tongue graze her clit, just lightly, just enough of a touch to make her gasp and jerk against the seat. Then I slide lower again, circling her entrance, lapping up her juices.
Her breath comes harder, faster, and her hands tighten in my hair.
But I’m not giving her what she wants. Not yet.
I run my tongue along her clit once more, and smile to myself at the sound of her desperate moan. Then I keep going, trailing my tongue back up her body, until I sit up and lean over her again, her hands falling away from my head. I lie along her body, the hard press of my cock digging into her and push her hair back from her face.
“Well?”
“You’re impossible,” she replies, glaring.
“I just know what I want,” I answer, and I can see the way the words affect her. The dilation in her eyes, the hitch in her breath.
“Fine,” she finally breathes, the word both a moan and a sigh. Her gaze locks on mine, and I focus on her too, my face inches from hers. So close I can taste her breath in the air, as she says it. “I want my husband to fuck me,” she whispers.
It’s the first time she’s ever used that word. It’s the first time she’s called me her husband.
And it is so fucking hot.
“Your wish is my command,” I tell her, reaching down to push my own jeans off. She doesn’t wait, her hands trailing after mine, and she pushes my boxers down after them, eager.
Her hands wrap around the base of my shaft the moment it springs free from my boxers. She needs both hands to wrap all the way around me, and her eyes widen as she takes me in. She traces the length of me, base to tip, her thumb tracing over the soft spongy tip of my cock, collecting a drop of precum there.
As I watch, she lifts that thumb to her mouth and sucks it between her lips, eyes locked on mine, imitating me, tasting me the way I tasted her.
Fucking hell, it’s hot.
“God, my wife is so fucking sexy,” I murmur, as I catch her wrist, and raise one of her arms over her head, pinning her against the seat beneath me.
With my other hand, I reach down to spread her curvy, luscious thighs to either side of my waist. I grasp the base of my cock and guide the tip to her pussy lips, tracing her lips with the smooth, velvet tip of my cock, pressing hard enough to let her feel the hard steel beneath.
I dip the tip between her lips, and trace back and forth along her slit, the same way I did with my finger earlier, collecting juices, teasing her, until the tip glistens with her eagerness.
Only then do I thrust forward, spearing her in one hard, slow motion, my hips driving down against hers as she bucks up against me, moaning wild and low in her throat. “Fuck,” she gasps, as I fill her completely. I can feel her pussy stretching around my cock, tight as a fist around me, so wet it’s easy to draw out of her again and thrust back in, slow but steady.
She wraps both legs around my waist, hooked up around me, and I reach down to cup her ass with my free hand, my fingers digging into the soft, pillowy skin of her ass.
“You feel so fucking tight,” I murmur, watching her with a smile. “Wife,” I add, and her breath hitches. She can claim not to want this marriage all she wants, but I can see in her eyes how hot she finds that word. This whole situation.
Her gaze drifts to mine, locks on. And it stays there as I pull out of her and thrust in again, harder this time, faster.
Soon she’s rocking her hips in time with mine, thrusting up to meet me every time I drive into her, her breaths coming in short, fast little gasps as we start to move harder, faster.
“Fuck yes,” she breathes. “Fuck me.”
I still inside her then, and arch an eyebrow, eyes on hers. “What was that?” I ask. It takes her a second to realize what she said. To figure out what’s missing.
Her whole face burns bright red, but she’s too far gone to protest. I can see in her eyes how much she wants this now. “Fuck me, husband,” she growls, and that word sends another pulse of desire through me, making this all the hotter as I draw out to thrust inside her again, again.
She’s mine, and I intend to keep her. To make sure the whole world knows that she belongs to me, no matter what, from now on.
I angle my hips to make sure my thick cock drags against her inner front wall with every thrust, right along the sweet spot that makes her toes curl and her breath hitch. Watching her come undone beneath me is worth every second of waiting, every moment of teasing and torturing her.
Her lips part, her eyes lock onto mine, and I smile at her, knowing that she’s starting to realize it too. “You’re mine,” I whisper, against her throat, before I kiss and suck gently along the edge of her jawline, making her fists clench, her nails digging harder into my shoulders.
“I’m yours,” she breathes, and I can feel her pussy clenching harder around me. This close, she can’t hide the way those words turn her on too—it’s written all over her face, in her eyes, in her every movement, as she pulls me closer, thrusts her hips up into mine harder.
“Come for me, wife,” I tell her, and those big
blue eyes of hers widen. I doubt any man has ever given her such a direct command before. But I keep going, keep thrusting into her, and she keeps arching up to meet me, her breath coming harder and faster. “Come, now,” I say again, putting force behind it, letting her know I mean business.
And she does. She comes undone beneath me, crying out as the full force of the orgasm hits her, hard enough to make her toes curl and her whole body shake. Her pussy clenches and releases around my hard cock, convulsing in a way that drives me closer to my own edge.
I don’t wait for her orgasm to pass. I just keep thrusting into her, again and again, until I can’t hold back anymore. With one last hard thrust and a sound that’s almost a growl, I finish deep inside her, my hands digging into her soft curves as I pin her against me, pleasure flooding my body, lighting every inch of me on fire.
But far from feeling satisfied, when we draw apart again, she only leaves me wanting more. I have a feeling that a woman like her always will.
* * *
I drive Mara back to her place, casting sideways glances at her the whole time. “You’re quiet,” I point out, when we’re near the address she gave me to plug into my navigation system.
“Just tired,” she says, avoiding my eyes. But I notice out of the corner of my eye the way she keeps stealing glances at me, probably when she thinks I’m too busy paying attention to the road to notice her.
She underestimates my ability to multitask. Or maybe she just underestimates how much I notice about her—how everything she does catches my eye, draws my attention. I couldn’t have chosen a better wife for myself if I’d been trying to do it on purpose.
That thought sets off a memory. An unpleasant clench in my stomach. But I push it aside, drive it from my head. There will be time to dwell on all of that when she’s not here. When I don’t have more important things—a more important person—to focus on instead.
I reach across the gear shift to rest my hand on her knee. She leans toward my touch, an unconscious reaction, before she seems to catch herself, and freezes in place. “Relax,” I tell her with a grin. “You can let yourself enjoy this, you know.”
She starts to laugh before she catches herself and clamps her lips together. She inhales, like she’s going to say something, but after a pause, she just shakes her head. “I had fun tonight,” she says. “A lot of fun.”
“I know.” My smile widens.
She rolls her eyes, but she smiles, too. “I just… I don’t know if I want this yet, John. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“I am,” I tell her. “And I’m never wrong.”
She sighs, but she reaches down to twine her fingers through mine at the same time. “For some insane reason, I’m starting to hope you might be right,” she admits, her voice soft and low.
We pull up outside her house, and I lean over to cup her chin, tilting her face toward mine and pulling her into a long, slow, searing kiss. She melts against me, her eyes fluttering shut. But I don’t close mine. I keep them focused on her. On my goal.
I know what I want, after all. And I’m good at getting it.
We draw apart, just as my phone starts to buzz. She glances at it, but it’s facedown, so she can’t see whose name is on the screen. “Do you want to get that?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Later.” Then I draw her back to me, kiss her again, her lips parting beneath mine, melting. I lose track of time, of anything but the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her in my arms.
My hands slide down over her curves, toward her belly, past it. I pause at the hem of her jeans, and I feel her arch up against me, feel her starting to breathe harder in anticipation. But before things get too hot and heavy again, I draw back and flash her a sly grin.
“Think of me tonight when you’re touching yourself,” I tell her. “Tomorrow, I’ll want details.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t protest. Then I kiss her once more and hit the button to open her door. “Goodnight, John,” she says, her voice hitching on that last word.
“Sleep well, wife.” I have time to catch the tail end of her smile, before she turns toward her house. I watch to make sure she gets inside safely. Before she closes the door behind herself, I notice her check back over her shoulder, looking at me one last time.
That only makes my smile widen. I know she’s into this. She may not know it yet, but she wants this marriage every bit as much as I do.
If perhaps not for exactly the same reasons.
My phone starts to buzz again, and I frown, shutting my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose for a moment. I ignore the call, letting it go to voicemail, preferring to text rather than talk. I did what you wanted. I’ll bring her to meet you next weekend.
The moment it finishes sending, I shut my phone off, unwilling to deal with the inevitable fallout that will no doubt cause. Then I heave another deep sigh as I pull away from the curb, Mara’s house vanishing in my rearview mirror, and wonder if I’m doing the right thing.
8
Mara
After a week of working together, I’m still not sure how I feel about… well, any of this. But I love my work, and I’ve been really enjoying getting my hands dirty in the shop every day. Not to mention, training Daniel has been fun—he’s a fast learner, and ever since his first mishap with the machinery, he’s been good about asking me for help when he tries out any of the machines for the first time.
I can’t deny that it’s been nice to get to know John better, too. Most nights of the week, I stay late, and he stays in his own office until the whole place clears out. Only when there’s nobody else in the building—per my request, since the last thing I want people thinking is that I’m just some bimbo who slept her way into a job—does he come and find me, usually working next to me at the bench until I’m satisfied my work is done for the evening.
Sometimes we do other things on the bench, after the work is finished. More reasons I don’t want any of our coworkers to know the exact nature of our relationship.
But I still haven’t taken the ring off. And neither has he, I’ve noticed.
It’s raised more than a few eyebrows around the office. But at least I haven’t seen any media leaks about it yet. We seem to have lucked out in terms of avoiding the paparazzi’s attention. Part of me knows it’s only a matter of time before someone sees us together or notices John’s ring finger and starts to ask questions.
But for the moment, I’m just trying to do what John suggested after that first night out together—our first date, kind of. You can let yourself enjoy this. And I’ve been trying to.
The sex, at least, has been off the fucking charts. He seems to know my body even better than I know it myself. He’s able to draw out my desire, taunt and tease me until I’m practically screaming to come, and when he finally gives me that release, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
Last night, for example, bent over the workbench where I’m working dutifully now… The memories are hot enough to make my face flush.
“Is it too hot in here?” Daniel calls across the room, making me blush again for an entirely different reason. “I can turn the air up.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I mumble, and turn back to my work, trying my best to stay focused on it, and not on memories of how good it felt when John knelt at the edge of the table and ran his tongue up my inner thighs, one after the next, teasing, tasting, until his tongue finally reached my pussy lips, parted and explored them slowly, until I was gasping so loudly I’m surprised the night security guard didn’t hear.
Clearly focusing is not working well today.
My phone buzzes, and I glance at it, then startle out of my seat. It’s an unknown number, but the area code is Las Vegas.
I’ve been calling and leaving voicemails at the Vegas town hall for days, after my online research into how to annul a marriage proved worthless. Everything I read told me I’d need to go back there in person, which is out of the question, at least for now. I’m
too busy trying to get this big project for Pitfire out the door—it’s the first one they’ve entrusted to me. The last thing I want to do this early on is look like a flake or ask for time off—especially if I’d be taking that time off because I accidentally eloped with the CEO.
But maybe there’s a way to have this marriage annulled by mail. It won’t hurt to call them back.
I excuse myself and step out into the stairwell, which I’ve already learned is soundproof through some seriously thorough research with John, late on Wednesday night, him pinning me against the wall. Once the door shuts after me, I dial back the number, holding my breath.
“Las Vegas town hall, Valerie speaking,” answers a prim voice on the other end, and my stomach plummets.
“Hi, this is Mrs. Walloway,” I say. “I left some voicemails—”
“About the annulment process, yes. It’s quite simple, ma’am, I understand not everyone can file in person. There’s a form on our website you can print out…”
I scramble in my pocket for a piece of scrap paper and a pen to jot down notes about what she’s saying. I write down the website address, the specific form, but then her voice makes me hesitate.
“You’ll just need to mail it in to us within the next two weeks, during the the grace period for a simplified annulment. After that, I’m afraid things will get a little bit more complicated.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Two weeks. My stomach flips again, much less settled than it was earlier today. Before I knew there was a ticking clock over my head. A timeline to decide…
What? There’s no decision to be made here, not really. We made a mistake, and we need to fix it.
But part of me isn’t so sure anymore. Part of me can’t stop thinking about how good it feels when we’re together. When John has his hands all over me, his mouth on my body, his cock inside me. My cheeks flush with heat, as the lady on the other end of the phone continues to explain the process. I’m only half listening.
The rest of me is wondering if I’m starting to lose my mind, or if this really is starting to sound like a possibility.
Marry Me Now: An Arranged Marriage Collection Page 30
