by Lexi Whitlow
When his mouth is poised just before my bare sex, he breathes me in, looking up at me with hungry eyes.
“I need you ready, little librarian. It’s your first time, for real. Isn’t it?”
I nod weakly, my legs trembling with desire. “Yes.”
“You’re my sweet virgin, and I’m going to teach you exactly what it takes to please me. Are you ready for that? For my cock?” His fingers find the entrance of my sex, teasing it, his thumb tapping lightly on my clit. A lightning bolt of need sears straight through me, to my very core.
That’s what he does to me. He shakes me to my core. Makes me someone different. A person I don’t recognize, standing in an apartment in Queens in a damn wedding dress. Married to a man I barely know.
Liam’s breath is hot against my sex. “Tell me what you want,” he says, panting.
“I want—” I still blush when I try to tell him these things, but my need is overwhelming, pulsing through me like waves crashing against the shore. “I want your tongue on my clit. I want it.” I shudder when I say the words, and I hike the billowing skirt of the wedding dress higher.
Liam doesn’t hesitate, nearly growling with his own need as his mouth finds me. Before, he was slow and methodical when his tongue met my sex—but now, he devours me, thrusting his tongue inside of me, grabbing my hips with his hands. His fingers dig into my skin as his tongue circles my clit, his lips pulling against it. I’m shaking with need, hips bucking against his face. If it weren’t for his hands gripping my ass, I’m sure I’d fall in an embarrassing heap of lace and crinoline. But he holds me up, eating me, tongue thrusting inside of me like a man starving. I come, shaking against him, closing my eyes, transported. My consciousness seems to flicker out for a moment, and from a distance, I hear myself moaning, crying out.
I was always told wedding nights were reserved for love. But I never imagined it quite like this. Then again, this isn’t an ordinary wedding night.
I nearly collapse against him, but he brings me down to the floor with him, pulling me into his arms and kissing me hard. “You taste so fucking good, baby. I could live on that taste. Goddamn.”
Liam stands and lifts me again, like I weigh nothing, carrying me to the bedroom and placing me on the bed. When he undresses, I can see the bulge, pressing against the fabric of his tux, straining to be let free. I’ve tasted him, taken him all the way back to my throat, let him come. But this—this makes me nervous.
His cock is huge and thick, and he strokes himself. There’s a bead of precum at the tip, and he groans slightly as he brings his hand over the head of it.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he says, staring at me intently. “Spread your legs, and show me your pussy.”
“Do you want the dress on—”
“Yes. Keep it on. And just do as I say. No talking back.”
I bring myself forward, heart pounding, spreading my legs, feet planted on the floor.
“Now touch yourself for me.”
I do as he says, spreading my lips apart, finding my clit. I slip one finger inside.
And then he comes to me, pulling my dress away from my shoulders while I’m still touching myself. The bra falls, and my breasts are exposed above the white lace. He roughly cups them and pinches my nipple, sending yet another wave of arousal to pool between my legs.
And then he tears at my dress, ripping it across one shoulder. He falls in bed next to me, palming my thigh and sliding his fingers up to my sex. Two fingers slip roughly inside of me, palm pressing against my clit, kneading it over and over until I’m breathless, panting, simmering close to the edge again.
He covers my mouth with his, his tongue meeting mine, rough and searching. Taking my wrists in his hand, he pulls my arms above my head, pushing me down into the bed. It’s just a mattress on the floor of a run down old townhouse in Queens, but it feels transformed now.
“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” He kisses me again, nearly bruising me with his animal strength.
“Yeah,” I moan, my voice. “I want you inside of me. Now.”
His fingers find me again, pulling circles of wetness over my clit. “Are you wet enough for me?” He gives my pussy a little smack, sending vibrations through my clit, bringing me closer to the edge of insanity. I’ve already tipped over the edge once tonight, but it feels lie I might be close to losing my damn mind.
Just when I think I can’t bear it anymore, Liam pulls my body to his and places the head of my cock at the entrance of my pussy. He presses against my slick folds.
The head of his cock slips inside of me. He’s huge—thick—and even this small intrusion hurts more than I had imagined, stretching me beyond the point that his fingers or mine had ever taken me before.
“Liam—be—slow—” I whisper the words, arching my back against the bed, hips rising up to meet his. All at once, I want him inside of me, and yet, my body wants to draw away from him at the same time, to make the pain and discomfort end.
His hand finds my neck, warm, firm fingers against my skin. My breath hitches in my throat—the power of his body is apparent in his movements, even in the flick of his tongue over my exposed nipple. He holds the head of his cock inside of me, moaning slightly as he begins to thrust, ever so gently, pushing himself further inside.
“Don’t resist,” he says, groaning. “God, you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight.” He slips himself in a tiny bit further, and I feel myself opening for him. I shiver, goosebumps rising over my flesh from the tops of my shoulders, down to my curling toes.
“Oh God,” I moan. “I didn’t think it would be this—this thick.”
As he pushes in further, the pain starts to give way to pleasure, and the two sensations mix. I whimper, and Liam grunts, obviously holding himself back. “I’m not going to stop, little wife. You’re going to take my cock tonight. I’m going to claim you, make you mine.” He brings his hand to my hair and pulls it, making my neck arch back as he thrusts further inside, filling me nearly to the hilt.
I gasp. The feeling of his cock takes my breath away, and my vision goes blurry, nearly black. He pulls back and pushes himself inside of me again, filling me up entirely this time. The base of his hips meets my clit, and he grinds against me, bringing that pleasure back. The intensity rises, flames licking over my thighs, heat rising in my core to that tight coil at the center.
There’s been a place inside of me, dormant for years—a place no one else ever accessed. Bit by bit, Liam has been wearing it down, peeling away its edges. Perhaps that’s why I’m here right now—why I’ve stayed, why I found this place for him, why I moved in here with no questions asked.
“You like this, don’t you? You wanted this. A walk on the wild side with a bad boy. Someone you wouldn’t take home. Your thrill ride.”
He thrusts inside me, falling into a steady rhythm and bringing my legs to wrap around his waist. Each movement brings me higher and higher, and I know I’m reaching that point again, the place where my brain tips into oblivion.
“Yeah, I like it,” I whimper.
“What did you want when you saw me, little librarian?” His thrusts are even faster, meeting my clit each time, filling me like I’ve never been filled before.
“I wanted—”
“Say it. Tell me what you wanted.”
“I wanted you to fuck me.” I cry out, and he grunts, filling me repeatedly. My legs start to shake, and my toes curl in response. “I wanted you to make me—make me yours—”
“You are.”
“Yes. I am. Fuck me,” I whisper.
His body tenses, meeting mine over and over. I dig my nails into his back, and he growls. “You’re going to come for me. Come on my cock. I want to feel you do it.”
He whispers in my ear, the sound harsh. The vibrations of his voice seem to echo through my blood, and I’m a whimpering, babbling mess. The heat builds to overwhelming heights, and I come, hard, legs wrapped around him, welcoming him inside of me. I let out a long, low, ani
mal moan, pussy swollen and pulsing, aching with pain and desire, all wrapped together in one.
“I own you, little girl,” he says, slowing for a moment before flipping me onto all fours. “Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass. They’re all mine.”
My voice fails me, and I can’t respond. Liam takes my hips in his strong hands and fucks me, riding me through the tail end of my orgasm. Another climax builds inside of me, and I close my eyes and let it come. Light and sound and energy swell into one powerful moment, centered between my legs. His cock invades me, impales me—it opens me like I’ve never been before.
My body shakes with the pleasure of it, and Liam picks up his pace.
“So fucking wet—my God—” He grunts and thrusts one final time, coming deep inside of me and filling me with his hot essence. I vaguely think that we should have used a condom, but I know as he falls against me, pulling me down to the bed, that I wouldn’t want anything between us.
We face each other on the bed, and Liam brings his lips to mine, kissing me long and slow. “Fuck, that was good.”
I feel his cock start to stiffen again against my leg, and I smile. “So soon? I thought that wasn’t possible—”
“You’re a special case, Princess.”
Before I can say anything, he lifts the skirt of my dress again and pushes his cock inside of me, shuddering. “You’re already so wet from my come, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say, the word a desperate whimper.
He fucks me hard and fast, with abandon this time. I’m sore, and I know I’ll be unsteady tomorrow, but I want him again—I want him inside of me, to come inside of me.
“I’m going to fill you up again,” he says. He holds me tight to his chest, thrusting into me and grunting hard. He comes again in one final motion, and I sigh. The waves of my own pleasure takes me over, and my heart beats hard in my ears. I shake against him, legs wrapped around him. When he kisses me, my heart pounds.
Perhaps it shouldn’t.
I know I never should have fallen into any of this.
But after I’ve tasted it this once, I know I’ll want it again—and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop wanting it.
He helps me peel out of the dress, and we fall to bed, laughing and tired.
Once my part of the deal is filled and his daughter is his again—where does that leave me?
I don’t linger on the thought. Instead, I opt for sleep. The next week will bring our visit with Brie.
Maybe I’ll know my own heart better by then—but as I rest in his arms, I’m not sure if that’s true or if I’m fooling myself like the little girl that I am.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“It’s today,” Skye says, sitting bolt upright in bed, holding the sheet to her breasts like a woman in a movie. “Is everything where it’s supposed to be? The twin bed in her room? Do you have a nightstand?”
“I’m putting it together this morning.”
“You should have done it last night.” She pales. “I’m sorry I said that. You were putting the bookcase together last night, right?”
I put my hand to her shoulder. “It’s okay, Skye. Everything is okay.” I’m quiet for a second. It occurs to me that she’s taken this crusade on as her own. And why wouldn’t she? It’s become her life. She wakes up here each day, goes to work on the train, and comes back each night. She’s been doing it for two weeks now—and finally, Marta has granted us a visit with Skye. It’s probably more for fact-gathering, probably to bring us down.
But there’s no way I’m letting this opportunity escape. I want, more than anything, to have Brie here. And Skye feels like a part of that. Something tightens deep in my center when I think that she’ll decide to leave after all of this—after the documents are signed and Brie is officially in my custody.
I won’t let it on, not now, not after all she’s done for me.
I’ll stay silent.
I don’t know, sitting here next to her, if I can bear another loss. But when I think of the years I invested with Tabitha, I know I’d go insane if she stayed any longer than she’s planning to. If she does—if I invest the years into the two of us, hell, the three of us as a family—it’ll be that much worse when she does leave.
These past weeks have made me realize who I really am. With Skye, I’m sober. It leaves me to think too much, and I’ve started to understand that I’m a fuckup of the highest order. She’s not one of the girls I bring home after the bar closes. She’s more than that, and I won’t hold her here with any stupid confessions.
She leaps out of bed, her curvy frame illuminated against the light of the window for a second. She’s far more comfortable with her body now, like she’s become accustomed to her own skin. “I need to get the kitchen cleaned. You do the nightstand. And I’ll make sure the bathroom is how it’s supposed to be—”
She starts pulling on clothes from the pile in the center of the floor. Without thinking, she picks up one of my t-shirts and pulls it on over her naked frame. It covers her body down to her hips, and her nipples are still stiff beneath the fabric.
“You should get back in bed,” I say. My cock has already started to swell, and I bring my hand to it, watching her.
She smiles. “We can’t. We don’t have time.”
I look over at the clock. It’s still on the floor next to our mattress.
Skye’s eyes roll back into her head, and I pull her down on top of me so that we’re both on the bed. Her legs straddle mine, knees on the mattress. My cock is buried inside of her, filling her to the hilt. She moans softly and starts moving on top of me, and I can barely stand the pressure, the feeling of fitting with her body so perfectly, so fully.
“Lean forward, baby,” I say, my voice coming out in a low growl. When she does, I take her breasts in my hands and push the shirt up further, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. She cries out, a little strangled sound from her throat.
She likes it like this. Impaled on my huge cock, her clit grinding against my skin. Skye starts to ride me, riding her rhythm, and she pushes her body against mine, hitting me hard each time. I bring one hand down to her sex, my fingers finding her clit and pushing on either side of it as she slams down on my cock, riding me faster and faster.
Her pussy swells and tightens against me, and I can see the ridges of muscle in her abdomen growing tight. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s addicted to this cock, and I never fail to make her come right away. All of her words are mere teasing. I know how to play this woman like an instrument.
“Oh fuck, baby, I’m going to come,” she sighs, bringing one hand to her exposed breast and gripping my arm with the other.
“Good,” I whisper. “I’m not going to wait much longer.” I feel the familiar tightening in my balls, the feeling before release. I’ve felt it thousands of times, with plenty of other women—but nothing compares to this. Skye is the first girl since Tabitha that I’ve fucked bare, and the first in years that I’ve been with fully sober.
“Fill me up,” she cries. “Come inside of me.” She opens her eyes and looks down at me. “Please.”
“You want to come with me, don’t you?”
“Yeah, baby, I do.” Her voice is raspy with need. She’s desperate for it. “I want to feel you come when I do.”
The feeling rips through me like a tidal wave, bold and unstoppable. “Unngh,” I moan, pushing up inside of her, filling her with my hot essence.
She’s fucking me in a frenzy now, her clit hitting my fingers with each movement. She cries out, her body tensing and releasing, shaking as she comes with my cock deep inside of her. Skye rides me through wave after wave of her orgasm. Each time another peak hits her, it seems like she’s reaching greater and greater heights.
“Oh God. Oh God,” she moans, though the sensations in her body have nothing to do with the Lord. Her pleasure has everything to do with how I work her body, and she knows it. I release one final jet inside of her, and she falls against me, finally satisfie
d.
We stay that way for a while. The seconds bleed into minutes, and our bodies are a tangled mass, like we’re one person, made whole. That’s how it has been since our wedding night. I’ve thought, again and again, that maybe this is how it should be—this feeling of wholeness.
But that’s a dangerous thought to have.
Even so, I kiss her on her forehead, tasting the salt of her perspiration. I run my fingers through her hair and shift in the bed so we’re eye to eye.
“We need to get moving,” she says. She yawns. I know she hasn’t been sleeping well since Marta told us we could have Brie for a night. Like me, she knows that this could mean failure for us—for me. We’re like a green card couple, waiting for the interview, hoping we answer the questions right. “You need to put together—”
“The night stand.” I smile. “I’ve put together a fucking hundred pieces of Ikea shit like that before. I won’t have a problem. I’m always the one that my brothers call when they need stuff like that done. I’m a master with the Allen wrench.”
She laughs, snorting slightly and then drawing in closer to me. “And I’ll get the Moana DVD from RedBox. Has she seen it?”
I shake my head. “Probably not. Marta doesn’t let her do much except for homework. All the cute, happy pictures she posts of Brie on Facebook—that’s all fake. It’s like Brie’s some kind of prize that she won, something she’s showing off so her friends will think she’s something more than an angry old woman.”
“Isn’t she friends with a bunch of other angry old women?”
I shrug, still holding Skye close. “I don’t know. I know that she’s told me she loves to post pictures of Brie because she’s so beautiful, and everyone loves her girl.”
Skye scrunches up her nose. “That’s sick.”
“She’s a sick person. A narcissist. She shouldn’t be allowed around any child. Not after what she did to Tabitha and her brother.” A cold weight sits in the bottom of my stomach when I mention Tabby and Michael.
