Sinners at the Altar

by Olivia Cunning

“We can ride up and down until someone comes in the elevator,” she said, still rubbing her thumb over his most sensitive flesh.

  “Can I be the one who comes in the elevator?”

  She laughed and pressed her hand against the hard ridge in his pants, holding his shaft against his lower belly. “If I can ride up and down.” When he began to seep pre-cum, she spread it over his exposed cockhead in gentle circles.

  “The way today is going, I’d probably get arrested for public indecency and spend my honeymoon in jail as Big Bart’s bitch.”

  “I wouldn’t let that happen. I’m the only one who’s gonna fuck you up the ass tonight, Master Sinclair.”

  His cock twitched in her hand. Did that idea excite him?

  Interesting.

  “Has anyone ever done you that way before?” she asked.

  “N-no,” he said breathlessly.

  “Not even Trey?” She really needed confirmation on that.

  He shook his head. “He was the bottom. Have you ever? Fucked a guy?”

  “No,” she said, “but I’ve always wanted to.”

  “You know I’ll try anything twice. With you? Three times.”

  And that was one of the many reasons she loved this man. Most guys talked the talk, but if you got too kinky with them, they backed down. Brian never baulked at a sexual experience and never made her feel like a whore for pushing the limits.

  When the elevator door opened on their floor, they stared into the corridor, anticipating someone entering the car to watch how naughty they were being. They waited. Brian hit the button to hold the door. No one appeared. Myrna sighed. They exchanged looks of disappointment.

  “Do you want to go down and try again?” she asked.

  “I want to go down all right, but we won’t need the elevator.”

  “I’m going to shave my pussy tonight so you can suck, lick, and eat every inch of it, inside and out. Would you like that?” She certainly would.

  He made a sound of torture and pressed her hand over his partially exposed cock to conceal it before dashing off the elevator.

  “Suitcase!” she protested. She had a full arsenal of kinky fun packed in that thing.

  Brian backtracked for the suitcase. He looked at the keycard in his hand, then at the suitcase on the floor, and then at the hand he had pressed over hers. “I don’t have enough hands,” he complained.

  Myrna carefully tucked his cock into his pants and stepped away. “Now you do.”

  “That was my favorite occupied hand though.” He picked up the suitcase.

  She laughed and tugged him down the corridor toward their room.

  When he tried the key, the light on the lock flashed red. He checked the room number. “It’s the right room.”

  The rattle of a cart echoed down the corridor. Myrna smiled at the young man who was pushing it in their direction. Their room service had arrived just in time; she couldn’t let her husband go hungry. He needed his stamina.

  Brian’s second attempt to open the door worked. “Hallelujah,” he said. “I was thinking we’d just have to go at it in the hall.”

  The suitcase slid across the floor of the marble entry, and Myrna found herself jerked into the room by one arm.

  “Wait, our room ser—”

  “No more waiting,” he said and drew her against his body.

  He removed the clip from her sloppily styled hair and tossed it aside. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and he buried both hands in it before lowering his head to kiss her. The door hit the room service cart with a loud bang.

  “Um... room service,” the server said in a loud whisper.

  “Argh. Get out of here,” Brian said as he tried to close the door with one hand. The large cart got in the way.

  “Sweetheart, just let him leave the cart inside the door. It will only take a second.”

  Brian dropped his hand from the door and squeezed her ass. She inched him away from the door so the server could push the cart inside the entryway—a lovely entryway, she noted. Myrna assumed the rest of the suite was spectacular, but she doubted she’d get a chance to see it before Brian lost complete control. Performing live always got him worked up. As did being felt up in elevators.

  He shoved her against the wall, capturing her hands on either side of her head. Staring at her as if he wanted to telegraph his desire directly to her thoughts, he rubbed the hard ridge of his cock against her mound until she began to gyrate with him.

  He released one of her wrists and grabbed her hair. “Let me out of my pants,” he growled into her ear. “I’m going to fuck you right here against the wall.”

  Her pussy pulsated with the first tease of orgasm. If he kept talking to her like that, he wouldn’t have to fuck her to make her come.

  Her hands moved to his fly, fumbling with the buttons to unleash his huge cock. Oh God, she wanted it. She held it in both hands, and he thrust into her loose grip repeatedly. His broken gasps made her whimper with need.

  Someone cleared his throat. Incredulous, Myrna peeked around Brian’s shoulder to find their server standing there with a hand out.

  “He needs a tip,” Myrna said as Brian tugged her tight skirt up her thighs.

  “I’ll give him a tip. Get the fuck out of here and close the goddamned door. There’s his fucking tip.”

  “Just add a twenty percent gratuity to the bill,” Myrna said.

  The cart rattled again as the server pushed it out of his way. The door closed. Alone at last.

  Brian rubbed the head of his cock against Myrna’s hot, needy opening. Her entire core pulsed and ached, begging to be filled. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his intoxicating scent. She loved the way he smelled after a concert. The blend of excitement and the exertion of performing live added some pheromone to his sweat that pushed every one of her fuck-me buttons. She sucked the saltiness from his throat, delighting in the rapid surge of blood through the pulse point she palpated with her lips and tongue. She nipped him and rubbed her pussy against the head of his cock, which he still hadn’t buried deep inside her the way she wanted.

  Fighting her tight skirt, she lifted her leg to rest her thigh against his hip. That was enough to move him, and he surged up into her body, filling her with one deep thrust. She tore her mouth from his throat and released a breathless moan. He clutched her suit jacket as he pounded into her and rubbed his open mouth against her throat and jaw. She loved when they took their time and made love for hours, but there was something unequivocally hot about this man losing all control and fucking her senseless. He sucked a path to her mouth and kissed her deeply. When he tore his mouth from hers, her eyelids fluttered open. Their excited breaths mingled as they stared into each other’s eyes. She was so lost in him. So lost. She never wanted to be found again.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “Myrna.”

  “Yes, Brian,” she said, her breath hitching with emotion. She wasn’t an emotional person. She internalized. She knew that. With him? With him, she felt safe. She could show him everything within her heart—good and bad—and know he’d treasure it because he loved her and understood how hard exposing her deepest emotions was for her. Or how hard it had been. Opening herself to him was becoming easier by the minute, because he made it easy.

  “I love you.” She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and yanked to ensure he was paying close attention. “I love you.”

  “Love me a little more gently,” he complained.

  She released her hold and rubbed his head to undo any damage before wrapping both arms around him. She slid her hands up under the back of his T-shirt, needing the feel of his skin beneath her palms. “I love you,” she said into his ear.

  He inhaled deeply through his nose, as if trying to internalize her words. Physically draw them inside himself.

  “Hearing you say it... I can’t even describe how amazing it feels.” He nipped her earlobe playfully. “But maybe I can show you.”

  Brian moved inside her. Slow. Hard. Deep
. He was very good at showing his feelings. She became hyperaware of the man against her: the texture of his skin beneath her splayed hands; the warmth of his breath against her shoulder; the tickle of his hair against her nose as her panting stirred the longish strands; his strong fingers massaging her ass as he ground into her, filling her body to its limits with his huge cock. But there was a new awareness within her. A swelling in her chest. A tightening in her throat. A prickle behind her eyes. Was she about to cry? Not in sorrow but in joy? What in the hell had gotten into her?

  Brian had. He was in her deep and not just with the rock-hard shaft that was working her toward rapture. His essence, his soul, was now part of her. Essential to her existence.

  Brian found a tempo that drove her crazy, that built her pleasure steadily. Taking her higher. Higher.

  “I hear you,” he whispered. “My muse.”

  Knowing he was hearing one of his musical compositions while he made love to her caused one of those sentimental tears to leak from her eye. She rubbed her face against his shoulder, hoping he didn’t notice that the no-holds-barred sex professor he’d married was actually crying during sex. He’d think she’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with some emotional pod person. She swallowed the lump in her throat and asked, her voice raw, “Do you need something to write on, baby?”

  He shook his head and repeatedly murmured a series of notes. “I’ll remember it.”

  “I can’t wait to hear you play it.”

  “I’m sorry. You must hate that this keeps getting in the way of our fun.”

  She kissed his temple, and her arms tightened around him. “Not at all. It’s sexy,” she whispered to him. “You composing when we make love is sexy.”

  He chuckled. “Damned inconvenient if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.” She smiled to herself and did nothing to interrupt or change his thrusting tempo while his murmured stanzas grew longer and more complex. She was glad she had something to distract her—she could get all her overwhelming and tender emotions under control. Sort of.

  Myrna’s legs began to tremble with exhaustion after several minutes.

  “Sweetheart,” she whispered, wishing she didn’t have to interrupt his musical genius. But she was going to slide to the floor in about three seconds. “Can we move this to the bedroom?”

  He continued with the same rhythm and tempo, as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Brian?”

  No response.

  “Brian!”

  He started and drew back to look at her. “Sorry, I was lost in you. What did you say?”

  “I need to find the nearest bed. My legs are tired.” So tired she was shaking.

  He pulled out with a whimper, and then his eyes widened suddenly. “I forgot to carry you over the threshold.”

  She cupped his jaw and kissed him. “I want you to do that when we buy our first house together. Our permanent house. Not a hotel room or a tour bus. Not my condo. Not your apartment. Our home. The one we’ll choose together and where we’ll raise our kids.”

  His brilliant smile made her heart flutter. “I’m married,” he said, as if that realization just struck him.

  She chuckled. “It’s about time.”

  He scooped her up into his arms. “Well, wife, if you’re not going to let me carry you over the threshold, I’m going to carry you to bed.”

  She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed his shoulder. “No objections.”

  He turned toward the living area of the suite. “This place is like a fucking mansion,” he said.

  No lie. She’d never seen such a gorgeous hotel room in her life. “Let’s dirty it up.”

  “Do you want to start in the bed?”

  She scanned the expansive room, and her eyes settled on the black granite wet bar. “The bar.” He took a step in that direction. “Wait! Let me grab the champagne.”

  He made a quick detour to the cart so she could grab the bottle, and then he hurried to the bar. She yelped when the backs of her thighs touched the cold granite, but forgot her discomfort when he settled between her legs and stared up at her. The light in the foyer gave limited illumination to the room, creating shadows that concealed his expression. His hesitation confused her. Didn’t he want her? She shook off her doubts. Of course he wanted her. He always did. How could she think otherwise?

  “We need to drink a toast.” She shook the champagne vigorously, an ornery grin on her face. Before she could pop the cork, Brian took the bottle from her hands and set it on the bar beside her. The intensity of his gaze caused her heart to leap in anticipation. Amazing things always happened when he looked at her like that. She abandoned her plan to hose him down with champagne and waited for amazing.

  His fingers moved to the buttons of her suit jacket. He never took his eyes off her face while he removed her jacket and the shell beneath. She helped him with her skirt, which knocked her shoes to the floor and left her sitting on the cool bar top in nothing but her thigh-high stockings. While he peeled the hosiery from her legs in agonizing slowness, she tugged impatiently at his T-shirt with one hand. He stripped his shirt off, and she wrapped her legs around his ribcage, tugging his body closer.

  With a wicked grin on his handsome face, Brian took the bottle from the counter and smashed the neck against the bar. A golden geyser gushed from the bottle. Myrna squealed when the chilled liquid sprayed over her chest and throat before running like a river between her breasts. Brian lowered his head to sample the champagne coursing over her skin.

  “To us,” he said, collecting the Dom Perignon from her heated flesh.

  He shook out the entire contents and dropped the empty bottle on the carpet with a thud. His arms circled Myrna’s back to draw her breasts to his mouth.

  “That was a three-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne,” she told him, her fingers burrowing into his hair.

  The flat of his tongue collected the expensive liquid from her nipple. He offered the tender peak a sharp nip before sucking it into his mouth and gently flicking it with his tongue. Myrna gasped, and her body tensed before relaxing in his arms. His mouth moved down the center of her belly, seeking more champagne.

  “Worth every penny,” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice sending thrills down her lower back. “Delicious. They could charge a million a bottle if they served it this way.”

  “I didn’t get any.” She captured his face between both hands, urged him upward, and kissed him, relishing the taste of their wedding toast on his strong lips.

  When he pulled away to stare up into her eyes, he offered her a crooked grin that made her heart race.

  “I’ll give you some.”

  He lowered her to her back on the wet bar and then joined her. The smell of alcohol mingled with the musky scent of Brian’s body when he settled above her. He bit his lip as he used his hand to guide his cock inside her body. His gaze held hers as he moved his hands to link with hers. He searched her eyes, her face, for a long moment before he drew her arms above her head and began to thrust with agonizing slowness.

  A trickle of wasted champagne splashed down on the lower counter of the bar, but Myrna didn’t need alcohol to be intoxicated when her sensual husband made love to her. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to sensation. The bliss of his thick cock filling her slowly, receding, filling her again. The hard, wet surface at her back. The strength of his fingers intertwined with hers. The warmth of his breath against her jaw. The crisp texture of the narrow strip of hair that ran down his lower abdomen rubbing against her belly when she arched her back.

  And then beyond the physical feelings, but working in tune with them, those overwhelming emotions that left her breathless with wonder made a reappearance.

  “Show me,” he whispered.

  She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. “Show you what?”

  “Your O-face.”

  She laughed. “I don’t have an O-face.”

  “Yeah, you do. I need to see it.” He pu
shed deep, and she gasped. “I need to see what I do to you.”

  “It’ll make an appearance soon enough. I have complete faith in your abilities.”

  His persistent rhythm quickly brought her to her peak. When she cried out, he said, “That’s it.” His breath caught, and he shuddered.

  She forced her eyes open so she could watch his O-face—mouth open, one eye squeezed shut, the opposite eyebrow arched. He bit his lip, and the skin on his nose crinkled as his entire body went rigid. “Mmm,” he gasped.

  “All I get is an mmm?” She mimicked his sound.

  He laughed between gasps. “I’ll be more vocal next time.”

  “Next time?” She squeezed his hands. “Maybe I’m finished for the night.”

  “Maybe you’re going to shave your box like you promised so I can feast on your pussy for an hour or two.”

  A shudder of delight raced down her spine, making her still-quaking pussy clench with renewed excitement. “Maybe I will.”

  “And maybe you’re going to wear your new jewelry for me while I watch you shave it.”

  Jewelry? “I’m already wearing my rings.”

  “Your other new jewelry. That we got at the sex shop.”

  Her belly quivered. How could she have forgotten? “I guess there is going to be a next time.” She lifted her head to kiss him.

  “I figured you’d see it my way.”

  He pulled out and slid from the bar before helping her find her feet and avoid the broken bottle on the floor. He kicked off his boots and removed his pants, which were saturated down the thighs with champagne. Myrna headed for the foyer to find the suitcase she’d packed.

  “I’ll meet you in the bathroom, if I can find it. This place is huge!” He glanced around the expansive main room and went to check an open doorway. “A home theater? Why did we stay on the bus last night?”

  “Not sure,” she said. “Maybe you like living the life of a bachelor.”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, there’s got to be a bathroom around here somewhere,” she said. “I specifically requested a jetted tub.”

  He grinned, and her heart stumbled.

  “You know, I love you a little more every minute,” he told her.