Page 81 of The Unwanted Wife

"Why is it so important to a man, anyway?"

"It’s not the concept of purity, if that’s what you’re asking." He steps inside the chopper, then nods his chin at the pilot. The screen tilts as the helicopter takes off. "It’s the fact that I am the only one who’s been inside you. The only one who knows how your pussy feels around my shaft, the only one who knows how you taste. Call it primitive, or elementary, or base, or all of it, but knowing you’ve only been with me so far, that you’re my wife, and only I can make you come, fills me with a sense of pride and possession, and a fuck-load of satisfaction, like nothing else can. Also, did I give you permission to stop?"

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s telling me—the fact it means so much to him, the fact he’s so grateful that I waited for him. And I did it because I wanted to. Because no one else would do, but him. Because I’ve always known he’s the one for me. Because really, there was no other possible reality in my life. Because I still can’t believe this man, who’s flying toward me across the city in a helicopter, because it would have taken too long if he’d taken a car, like everyone else—is mine. Because I’m his, only his. The thought sends a spurt of need lancing through me, that telltale shock of. "Nate, I need you."

"I’m almost there," he says in a grim voice.

"Me too."

"Don’t you dare come without me," he snaps.

I circle my clit with my finger, and my body convulses, "Ohgod, ohgod, oh?—"

"—Nate. Say it."

"Oh"—I curl my fingers inside myself, and the climax swells up my hips, up my spine—"Nate."

That’s when the walls seem to shake. The whump-whump-whump of the helicopter definitely sounds closer.

"Don’t you dare come," he growls at me as he shoves open the door of the helicopter, then races down the steps. A part of me registers that he’s landed in the middle of the road, and that he’s headed across the sidewalk and is now pushing open the door. I hear the familiar tinkle of the doorbell over the entrance, then the voice of my employee asking him to stop, before the sound of footsteps approach, the door to my office is shoved open with such force it almost flies off the hinges, and then he’s there.

44

Nathan

"Sir, you can’t be here." Her sales assistant hovers behind me.

"That’s my wife," I growl without moving.

I walked into the bakery, barged past the surprised sales assistant, and headed to her office, threw open the door and paused.

She’s seated behind her desk. Her features are flushed, her back is straight, but the tell-tale movement of her arm gives away the fact she’s engaged in something else.

"Skylar," the salesperson behind me yells, "are you okay?"

"Yes." Starling clears her throat, then in a strong voice says, "He’s telling the truth. He’s my husband."

"Oh, okay."

I sense the woman behind me backing away. That’s when I step in, shut the door behind me and lock it.

"You came." Her voice is breathless.

"You didn’t." I prowl toward her, rounding the table as her movements get more frantic. She throws her head back, showing off the creamy length of her throat. Her tits stretch the blouse she’s wearing. The neckline dips enough to show off her gorgeous cleavage.

"I’m going to —"

"You will not come until I give you permission," I say, almost gently—confident her body will obey me, knowing she’s trying her best to reach the edge of this climax, which holds her in thrall—absolutely fucking adoring every inch of her curvy, plus-size body, and her beautiful hair, and the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips, and most of all, her big heart. Her generosity of spirit, which insists she put everyone else before herself. It’s this quality that wouldn’t allow her to stop Ben from pursuing his dream. And now, she’s trying to fill that gap in her life by taking care of Hugo. The least I can do is give her enough orgasms and make her happy.

"But, Nate, I wanna." She looks at me from under her heavy eyelids, and continues to fuck herself, only it’s clear her orgasm isn’t progressing. Her expression turns fierce, and she shoves her fingers in and out of her cunt. A squelching sound fills the air; that’s how wet she is. Also, her scent—the complex perfume of wet pussy tinged with the sweet yearning of her arousal permeates the air. It sinks into my blood and tightens my groin, until I’m sure my cock is going to burst out of my pants. And still, she doesn’t come. Not even when I walk over to her, push down her panties, then circle my fingers around her wrist and hold her hand in place. I twist her wrist, knowing it will cause her fingers to curve against her pussy walls. I’m rewarded by a mewl.

"Your body knows who its master is, baby." I begin to fuck her with her own fingers, moving them in and out of her. The trembling begins anew in her body, and when she whimpers, I’m there with my mouth over hers to absorb the sound. I slide my tongue over hers, drink from her, and hold her gaze with mine, seeing the need inside her to come. Then, I plant my bulk between her legs. I sink down to my knees, and pulling her fingers from her cunt, bring them to my mouth and suck on them.

Her pupils dilate, and she parts her lips, but seems incapable of speaking. And when I lick my lips, she draws in a sharp breath. I ease her panties down her legs and pocket the scrap of cloth. Then I hook my arm under her knee and push her leg up and over the arm of her chair. When I look down, her plump pussy lips glisten at me. And when I bend and lick her from back hole to clit, she sinks back in her chair. I begin to eat her out in earnest, flicking my tongue in and out of her sopping wet slit, and when I suck on the nub of her clit, she cries out, "Nate!"

My name from her mouth drives me over the edge. I grip her around the waist, rise to my feet, lifting her with me, then plant her on her table. I carefully push her laptop to the side, and shove at everything else. Papers flutter to the floor, a notepad crashes, some pens, her phone. I kick her chair aside, and it overbalances with a crash.

She blinks, but otherwise, doesn’t react. Only when I notch myself at her opening, does she wrap her legs around my waist. "Nate," she whispers.

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