Page 80 of The Unwanted Wife

"Is your pussy moist and needy and yearning to be wrapped around your husband’s big, hard, thick cock?"

Husband. He called himself my husband. Heat bursts through the pores of my skin like lava through a volcano, like steam gushing out from a geyser. And if I touch myself between my legs, no doubt, I’ll find a pool of moisture dripping down my thighs.

"Touch yourself," he growls.

"What?" I glance around the little office. "Here?"

"There. Where anyone can walk in and find the boss writhing around her fingers and moaning my name."

"Ohmygod." The picture he paints is so hot, so erotic, so pornographic in its detail, that the heat spreads to my extremities. My toes curl, my scalp tingles, my fingertips tremble, and before I can stop myself, I’ve slid my fingers up my skirt and pushed aside the gusset of my panties. When I brush my clit, little jolts of electricity arch out to my nipples, which in turn, tighten into points of desire.

"Hmm…" He drags his thumb under his lip. "Now, slide four fingers inside yourself."

"Four?" I swallow.

"We both know, I’m at least twice that in girth, but it’ll have to do. For now."

"For now?"

"Until I get there, I mean." He rises to his feet and exits his office.

"You’re coming here?" I gape at him.

"My wife’s horny and wants to get off. Of course, I’m coming to you."

That melting sensation in my chest becomes bigger and bigger and spreads to other parts of my body. I’m one hot, gooey mess, and every particle has little hearts drawn on them. That’s how sweet and arousing this entire conversation is.

"I might be done by the time you get here," I murmur.

"I doubt it." He walks down the corridor. "Also, did I tell you to stop, wife?"

I shake my head.

"Keep going." His tone brooks no argument. The dominance in his words sparks a thrill of anticipation across my nerve-endings. I thrust four fingers inside myself, then gasp when I’m stretched around my digits. Of course, it’s not the same as having his cock inside me, but when I begin to fuck myself with my fingers, tendrils of sensations course through my veins. I pant and grip the edge of my desk, allowing myself time to adjust when he urges me on again. "Don’t stop." His harsh command sinks into my blood and arrows directly to my core. Something frantic begins to build inside of me. Something like a ticking time bomb, which begins to speed up, faster and faster.

On screen, he makes a noise like a groan and a growl and everything in between. "That’s it. Keep that cunt hot and wet and lubricated for my cock."

"Oh, my god, you’re so filthy," I gasp out.

His lips twist. "But you knew that when you threw yourself at me on your eighteenth birthday."

"Did not," I manage to choke out.

"What a little liar you are, Starling. Your big eyes practically ate me up as I walked toward you that day. You were wearing a frilly white dress that ended above your knees, with pink over-the-knees socks, black Mary Janes, and a pin holding up one side of your hair. A pin with Hello Kitty on it.”

"You remember that?" I ask, surprised.

"I remember everything about that encounter. Especially how young you seemed, how innocent, and how everything about you was soft and pliable and waiting to be marked by someone. And knowing I was going to hell for hoping that man was going to be me."

"And now you are." I swallow.

He walks out of the elevator, climbs a few more stairs, and steps onto a terrace of sorts. And then, the whump-whump-whump of a chopper can be heard in the background. He slides in wireless earplugs, and the noise recedes.

"And every part of me is thankful for the moment I bartered a deal with you. I’m your first, and I’ll forever be humbled you gave me that privilege."

"Virginity is notional," I scoff.

"Only a woman would say that." He smirks.

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