by R. C. Martin
But this—right here, right now—my foul mouthed lover—he just may be my favorite.
“You need me to fuck some sense into you? Huh? Is that what you need?”
“Please…” I beg, unable to utter another word.
I feel the cool air against my skin as he pushes my dress up around my waist. Then, with no further warning, he slams into me with his big dick. I cry out as he stretches me open, filling me up, just the way I like—just the way I want—just the way I need. He groans, his body still for only a moment before he starts pounding in and out of me.
“Love my pussy,” he grunts as he squeezes my hips, holding onto me for much needed leverage. “So wet. So tight. So fucking mine.”
Goosebumps cover my skin, starting at my neck before rippling over my entire body. I feel like I’m falling—sinking—drowning.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
Just feel.
I surrender—my insides on fire as Roman uses me for his pleasure, all the while gifting me with mine. I’m drowning in him. As he pulls me under, I know that I never want to resurface.
“Oh, babe, you feel so good. You feel that?”
I nod, unsure if he’s able to make out the movement in the dark, but unable to offer him anything else. The soft noises that come from the back of my throat are all I can manage—and even those are being pushed out of me as he rams himself into me over and over.
“You feel your cock in my pussy?” he asks again.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my brain to conjure a word. Just a word! “Yes!”
“Whose cock fills my pussy, Logan? Huh? Whose cock?”
Air—that’s the only thing I can worry about as he slides a hand up my back, his touch warm and oh-so-welcome. I have to remind myself to breathe. I’m so turned on, I'm afraid my arousal is killing brain cells. I feel his hand slide underneath the fabric at my side before he moves to find my breast. The groan that spills from my mouth seems to fill the entire theatre. He pinches my nipple and I know I’m going to come any second.
“Whose. Cock?”
“Mine! My cock,” I whimper. I open my eyes when I feel them well up with tears. He pinches my nipple again and a sob of pure joy clogs my throat. “Roman, baby—I’m gonna come!”
When I reach the brink of my orgasm, I squeeze the bar in my hands so tight, I know my knuckles are white. I call his name as my climax hits—hard—and seconds later, he thrusts into me once more before he stills, spilling his release deep inside of me.
He lets go of my nipple and gently squeezes my breast as he presses his lips against my back. His breath is hot against my skin, but I welcome his tenderness. I need it, and he knows it. I don’t bother to wipe away my tears, not yet. I free the sob that I’ve been holding back, and he circles his other arm around me, holding me close.
The first time he fucked me so hard I cried, I’m pretty sure it freaked both of us out. He panicked, thinking he had hurt me; I was so overwhelmed, my blubbering explanation that I was more than fine was barely understood.
I didn’t know it was possible to feel so good.
Now, I don’t fight the aftershock of my euphoria, knowing he’ll hold me until it passes.
He always does.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his lips still against my skin.
“Yeah,” I sniff, covering his fingers on my stomach with my own.
He pulls his hand from out of my dress and wraps his arm across my chest, holding me tighter as he brushes sweet kisses across my shoulders. He gives me a couple minutes to pull myself together before he squeezes my hip. “Come on,” he says as he slides out of me slowly. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
He takes up his pants as he stands, and I yank my dress down, straightening the top after Roman’s handiwork. I brush my fingers across my cheeks, wiping away my tears, but I know that I’m probably in desperate need of a mirror.
“You either swear right now that you’ll wear panties the next time you wear that dress, or I’m burning that thing.”
A giggle bubbles up inside of me and it takes every ounce of will power I’ve got left to suppress it. I have to clear my throat before I speak. “Or you could just punish me again,” I tell him, groping for his body in the dark. My hands come in contact with his chest and he wraps his arm around my waist before leading me to the exit.
“I’m not kidding, babe. Panties.”
I sigh, noting his resolute tone. This dress was a one-trick pony. Then again, it brought me jealous Roman, dirty Roman, and tender Roman all in one night. I’d say it was a good ride.
“Okay, baby. I swear.”
“Good,” he mutters, pressing a quick kiss against my temple.
As he leads me down the corridor he carried me through earlier, I can feel his cum leaking out of me, sliding down my thigh.
Ew. I love my husband, I really, really do—but that shit’s gross.
“Rome, I need a bathroom—ASAP.”
He chuckles, squeezing my side as we start to descend the stairs. “I should make you wear it after the stunt you pulled tonight.”
“But you won’t,” I insist, slapping my hand against his chest.
“I don’t know,” he teases. “It would definitely scare away a few of your admirers.”
I scoff, looking up at him. “Like you would let them get that close.” He scowls at me as if he’s imagining another man anywhere near my sticky thighs. I laugh and he shakes his head at me. “Look, there’s one right there,” I tell him as we squeeze past the velvet ropes. “Wait for me?” He nods and I steal a kiss before hurrying to the ladies room.
I head straight for the first available stall and lock myself in, making quick work of my clean up. Relieved and marginally refreshed, I set out for the mirror to check my face.
“Ohmygod, are you…okay?” There’s a woman leaning against the wall, a bottle of water in her hand. She looks pretty wasted and I’m hoping that the bottle really is filled with water—she could use it. “Did you, like, fall or something? Did it hurt? It must have…You’re crying.”
I gape at her, confused why she would think I’d fallen. Then I look down. My knees are red and irritated, and the sight makes me burst into laughter. When I look back over at the girl, she’s looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.
“Sorry,” I say, though I don’t know why I’m apologizing. “I didn’t fall. I’m fine—great, actually.” I turn to the mirror and check my face. Aside from a little mascara underneath my eyes, I don’t look too bad.
“What happened, then?” she mumbles.
“Um…” I pause, fixing my eye makeup as I contemplate what to say. Realizing that there’s no way this chick will remember me in the morning, I decide to be honest. “Sometimes, the sex is so good, I can’t help but cry.”
Just as the words fall from my lips, a toilet flushes. I start to leave—partially amused, partially hoping that whoever is in that stall is as drunk as the other chick. I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Daphne call my name.
“His shit makes you cry?” I spin around, a blush heating up my face when my eyes lock with my sister-in-law’s. “Ew!”
“You didn’t hear that!” I gasp.
“Uh. Yeah. I did. I sure as hell wish I didn’t.”
I bite down on my lip, knowing I’ve already said far too much, and offer her a feeble shrug.
“Like…real tears?” she asks, her tone now more curious than disgusted.
I nod and she says nothing as she heads to the sink and washes her hands. I stand confused, unsure whether I should stay and wait, or make my exit now.
“Not going to lie. I’m kind of impressed,” she says before I can make up my mind. “Totally grossed out—but impressed.”
“Well, he’s—”
“LG—talk about my brother’s junk, and I’ll punch you in the boob.” I laugh as she makes her way toward me, a smirk tugging at her lips as we head back to the party. “By the way, Happy New Years, LG.” She links her arm through
mine and hip-bumps me.
“Same to you, Skank.”
IT’S JUST AFTER FIVE when I’m locking up the studio. It’s been a busy day and I’m feeling worn out, but I know we’ve got plans to head over to Cooper’s Pub tonight. We’re just about a week into the year and I’ve yet to see my old mates, a truth that Logan has managed to rectify. She checked with everyone to see if their Saturday night was available, and all but demanded that they make it so if it wasn’t. I’m looking forward to pizza and beer with Ryan, Trisha, Ashton, and this mystery girl we’ve heard almost nothing about.
Life looks a lot different these days. Being a married man himself now, Ryan likes to blame it on the reality of matrimony, but it’s more than that. We’re getting older, our priorities are shifting, our responsibilities look different, and life has us splitting off into various directions. College life doesn’t last forever. Regardless, we still try and put in the effort to stay connected.
Early last spring, in my second semester of my graduate studies at CSU, the opportunity to take on a few more yoga classes at the studio was presented to me. The hours were actually pretty great, meshing well with my class schedule and getting me home at a decent hour every night. It meant giving up my bartending gig at Cooper’s and no more basketball with the guys on Monday nights, but taking the increase was what was best for me. What was best for Logan and me.
I’ve been making life choices in the interest of my woman since before she started wearing my name. I haven't regretted it for a single second.
I haven’t seen my girl since this morning, when she came in for my first yoga class. Back when we started dating, she promised to spend every Saturday morning with me at the studio. She’s yet to break that promise. Sometimes, if she’s totally stressed out at work, she’ll squeeze in one of my evening classes too. She’s gotten really good, very strong, and I can’t help but feel a bit of pride when I see her on her mat, breathing through each pose.
Though, I’ll admit, sometimes I have to force myself to look away. Getting a raging hard-on in the middle of class is not my idea of a good time. Seeing my wife in her tight yoga pants with her ass in the air—it’s like a handwritten invitation.
My dick jerks even just thinking about it. I spend my drive home wondering if I’ll have time to take a dip into my pussy before we have to get ready to leave. As soon as I pull into the lot and hop out of my Jeep, I’m assaulted by the cold night air. With two very good excuses to rush inside, I jog my way to the stairs leading to our door, taking them two at a time. I reach for the handle to insert my key and find that it’s unlocked. I furrow my brow as I let myself in and then lock up behind me.
“Logan?” I bellow, making my way down the hallway with purpose.
“Rome? Is that you?” I hear her yell over the sound of her hair dryer.
I scoff, wondering what the hell kind of question that is.
Who else would it be?
When I fill the doorway of the bathroom, she smiles at my reflection before she notices the look on my face. The light in her eyes, simply from seeing me, makes me want to pull her into my arms and kiss her—but that’ll have to wait and we both know it. She turns off her hair dryer and spins to face me. I give her a once over and see that she’s in a pair of tight jeans and a cream sweater that accentuates her curves. I force my gaze away from her tits and up to her eyes
“What’s wrong?”
“Rome? Is that you? What’s that about, Logan?” I ask with an annoyed shrug.
“What do you mean? I thought I heard something—I wasn’t sure if it was you. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why was the door unlocked?”
“Oh!” she gasps, the expression on her face a speaking of her guilt. “Sorry! I went shopping earlier and it was cold out. I didn’t want to make a bunch of trips, so my hands were really full. I must have forgotten. My bad.”
“Babe—how many times—?”
“I know! I’m sorry,” she insists, rushing toward me. She braces herself against my chest and flashes her big, green eyes at me. “I was distracted. But look at me—I’m fine! It’s fine.”
“You know how I feel about you being here with the door unlocked—especially at night.” I sigh, locking her in my arms, and a small smile plays at her lips.
“I know,” she says with a nod. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I didn’t even know you were planning on shopping today. What had your hands so full?”
She chuckles and shakes her head, and I feel as if I’ve missed the joke. “I’ll admit, I got a little carried away.” Pulling away from me, she grabs my hand and leads me out of the bathroom toward the bed. It’s covered in bags of all shapes and sizes. I wonder how I managed to miss it when I came in. Now, I stare at my wife in confusion.
“At first, I was just out looking for a birthday gift for Trevor. I know we’ve been talking about what to get him for a couple weeks now. Anyway, I was out looking and I found this custom t-shirt shop at the mall, so I ordered him something. While I was waiting, I wandered around and—oh, my gosh! There was this adorable outfit I saw that I just had to pick up for Caroline. Well, then one outfit turned into three. Then I just decided to pick up a few things for myself and—”
“Babe—this is not a few things,” I interrupt, gesturing to the pile of purchases that cover the bed. “How much did you spend on all of that?”
“Um, I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe a few hundred.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “A few hundred?”
“Well, I wasn’t walking around with a calculator, but if I had to guess—like five, maybe six?”
“Six? Six hundred? You just decided to spend six hundred dollars today without discussing it with me?” I demand to know, folding my arms across my chest.
She huffs out a sigh, mimicking my stance. “It’s not like we don’t have it, Rome.”
“That’s not the point. Do you even need half of this stuff?” I ask, rummaging through each bag. I’m so worked up that it all looks the same—clothes, clothes, and more clothes. “You need to take this stuff back,” I state, sure that these impulse buys are just that, impulsive and completely unnecessary.
“Excuse me?” she mutters, tugging on my arm.
“I didn't stutter, babe. This stuff goes back. Tomorrow.”
Her face scrunches up in anger as her arms fall to her sides. “What is your problem? Are you trying to pick a fight right now?”
I turn to face her, appalled that she’s so oblivious to the issue at hand. “Logan, you can’t just go on a shopping spree and drop half a grand because you feel like it.”
“What about my holiday bonus check? I didn’t even spend half of it! What's the big deal if I splurge a little? Are you telling me that I can’t spend my own money?”
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it,” I mutter, shaking my head in frustration.
“Actually, no, I don’t. What I do know is that I’m not having this conversation right now. I don’t know what the hell your problem is, or why you decided to just come home and start yelling at me, but we’re leaving in a half an hour to go meet our friends and I’m not done getting ready. Yell at me later—or don’t. That would be better. Either way, I’m not leaving here with wet hair.” She brushes past me without another word, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
I can’t believe that ten minutes ago, all I could think about was burying myself in that woman. Instead, the place where I intended to take her—completely naked—is covered in shopping bags filled with only God knows what. I mutter under my breath as I head to the dresser for a change of clothes. I'll shower in the guest bath. There’s no way I’m trying to get into our bathroom with her all fired up in there.
She’s right. We aren’t strapped for cash. Even after the holidays, we’re looking pretty good. We don’t usually spend a whole lot; and with the condo paid off, it’s pretty easy for us to set money aside. Being in school, only working part time,
I know that she brings in a lot more than me. I’m not a prick—I don’t have anything against her spending the money she’s earned—but we agreed that our finances would be ours. I don’t believe in that his and hers nonsense. She’s my wife, I’m her husband, and we share everything.
I’m not mad that she spent the money. Well—not entirely. I’m more upset that she felt like she could do so without talking to me about it first. Add to that her negligence to lock the door, something I’ve told her to do repeatedly, and who could blame me for losing my temper? Now, spending the night over pizza and beer with old friends doesn't sound appealing—not with Logan and I at odds. If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s fighting with my wife.
I hate fighting with my husband.
There’s always a moment. With Roman, ever since I fell in love with him, there’s always this moment that happens when we’re in the middle of an argument. Sometimes, it surfaces right away. We’ll be yelling at each other and, all of a sudden, bam! Waterworks. Then, sometimes, there’s a delay. Minutes or hours later—depending on the duration or circumstances of our bitch—it strikes when I least expect it. I’m never prepared. Even worse, sometimes it dissolves the situation before I’m ready for it to be resolved.
Right now, I’m angry. There’s no way in hell I’m taking all that stuff back. I bought it because I wanted it and I’m keeping it! Well, what’s mine at least. The gifts are most certainly not getting returned. They were purchased with purpose, and he has no right to make me take them back. He has no right to make me take any of it back. It’s not like I dipped into our savings or charged it to the credit card. I’m well aware of the funds that we have available. I’m not obtuse when it comes to my finances. I took care of myself for years with no help from him!
Admittedly, my parents’ financial well-being played a big part in my comfortable living style—but that’s totally beside the point!
