Page 72 of The Unwanted Wife

As I stare at the flesh, a fat drop of cum slides down her inner thigh. I reach over, catch it with my fingertip, and bring it to my mouth. When I suck on it, her flavors mix with the chocolate, and my cock extends. I slide my hand inside the waistband of my sweats and pull it out. I pump it, and pre-cum squeezes out from the crown. She watches me jerk myself off, and I watch the gathering desire on her face. I run my thumb across the slit of my shaft and when I hold it out, she leans in and licks it off. Then closes her eyes as she swallows.

"It’s salty and rich and umami." She opens her eyelids. "Who’d have thought you would have such a complex taste." Only a master baker like her could identify those individual flavors.

I make a circling motion with my forefinger. She slowly turns, and when she has her back to me, I can’t stop myself from slapping her arse.

The sound echoes around the space, and she jumps. "Ouch!" She stares at me over her shoulder. "Why did you do that?"

"Because"—I rise to my feet—"this time, I will not be denied the pursuit."

"Pursuit?" She swallows.

"The hunt, the stalking, the tracking,"—I crack my neck—"the way I’m going to come after you now."

She takes a step forward, and another, and then she takes off.

39

Skylar

My heart bangs into my ribcage, and my blood pressure spikes. Once more, I’m naked and I’m being chased through my husband’s house—I suppose I should start calling it my house—by my husband. Only this time, I know a little more about the reason behind it, and the fact that I enjoy it. That’s why I’m not going to be caught out by him… Not quickly, at any rate.

I race into the hallway and toward the living room, then through to the conservatory and push open the doors. The sun has set, and lights dot the pathway that runs across the garden. I step out, shiver a bit, and hesitate. Am I stupid stepping out when people on the hill can see me? Not to mention when the temperature is about to drop further and I don't have a stitch of clothing on? Bet he wouldn’t expect me to do so, which is why I should do it. Right?

There’s a sound behind me. It prompts me to shut the door and step onto the patio, then down onto the garden path. I move forward and shiver. This was a stupid idea. I race forward, toward the hedges at the bottom of the garden, which are so tall, they block the sight of whatever is behind them. That’s when I realize I’m in a maze. I glance over my shoulder once, hear footsteps approaching, and move forward. I jog down one path, then turn to the left, then the right, and again.

Footsteps speed up behind me. Then his voice rumbles, "I can hear you."

He’s so close, I cry out, turn and look around, but can’t see him. He’s not behind me, but he must be nearby, on the other side of this green wall created by the hedge.

I face forward and keep going. His footsteps seem to fade, and then I burst into a clearing. There’s a fountain in the center, and in the middle is the statue of a bird in flight. A bird? Is that a... starling? Did he have it put up to remind him of me? Nah, not possible. Is it?

I head toward it and stop when I’m in front of it. It’s carved out of white marble, the wings spread out on either side of its body, its head lifted to the skies. Water pours out of the beak and falls back into the water. Each feather is so carefully carved, it seems to quiver in the breeze.

The blood is pumping through my veins, my pulse rate so high, the cold I felt earlier has been chased away. Heat rolls under my skin. A bead of sweat slides down the valley between my breasts. There’s something so breathtaking about this statue, I can’t stop looking at it.

I hear footsteps behind me and turn to face him. He walks toward me, his gait unhurried. He’s naked, and his heavy cock sticks up from his crotch. I swallow, and my mouth fills with moisture. He’s so hot, so freakin’ sexy, the epitome of manliness, the height of masculinity. Pheromones swirl around him and seem to reach out to me.

My body temperature seems to turn up another notch, and despite standing outside without a stitch of clothing, it feels like I’m close to a furnace. He closes the distance to me, and I skitter back. I hit the wall of the fountain and freeze. He slows to a stop, jerks his chin to the side, and I don’t give myself time to think. I burst into a run, around the fountain, into the hedge on the other side. I’m sure I can hear his footsteps echo through the maze. No, no, no, I’m not going to let him catch me, not that quickly.

I increase my speed, the dirt of the path digging into the soles of my feet, but I don’t let up. I dart down one path, then another, and into a part of the maze which seems to be denser than the rest. The hedges on either side meet above me, and the sound of my footsteps is blanketed by the leaves lying on the ground. It would be completely dark, but for the faint moonlight that glows at the end of the green tunnel.

I rush out of it and cry out when he steps in my path. The momentum of my body carries me forward, and I crash into him. Skin against skin, hard muscles, ridged planes, and so much heat, I feel I’ve been scalded. I try to push away, but he throws me over his shoulder.

"Let me go." I begin to struggle in earnest, then yell when he slaps my butt.

"Got you." He stomps around and into what I see is a smaller clearing. There’s a bench in the center and a small pond in front of it, teeming with koi and lit by lights at the bottom. He reaches the bench, sits down and throws me across his lap. "You did well, Starling."

I try to jump up but—thwack-thwack-thwack—the continuous spanking to my alternating butt cheeks arrows lust straight to my core. No, no, no, I’m not giving in yet. I manage to maneuver myself so I can sink my teeth into his thigh.

He doesn’t even flinch. He merely places his heavy arm across my shoulders, so I’m rendered immobile. Then, he trails his fingers down my spine to the cleavage between my butt cheeks. A shiver grips me, and when he slides his fingers down to my slit, a whine bleeds from my lips.

"You’re soaked, baby," his voice is hushed. He scoops up my cum and smears it around my forbidden hole. Those butterflies, which had taken flight in my belly earlier, soar to my extremities. My breasts hurt. Every part of me feels heavy and slow, like I’m swimming through honey.

"Nate, please," I whine.

"Tell me what you want, wife."

"Fuck me, husband, please."

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