Page 51 of Keeping Ruby

But, fuck, if I have to watch her eat another one of those candies, my dick is going to explode. As it is, I’ve been hard for the past two days, straight. I’m surprised my poor balls aren’t fucking blue.

And why doesn’t she chew the goddamn candy like a normal person?

Her lips part and her tongue slides down the shaft of the key, dipping into the hole. Fuuuck.

On the screen, ominous music plays. The thriller had been my idea. I’d thought she’d cuddle into me. She’s cuddling, all right. A fucking pillow.

I’m going to die.

I know what’s coming, even though I haven’t seen the movie. The bad guy is about to find the rather stupid broad on-screen. Because, of course, she thinks it’s smart to hide in the closet.

My wife pulls the key from between sugared lips with a pop, eyes wide, as the on-screen drama crests. And I act.

My hand grips her thigh as I say loudly, “Gotcha.”

I don’t expect the reaction I get. Not only does she scream, but she throws her bowl. Candies fly, falling to the bed with soft thuds as she practically leaps into my lap. I’m laughing as my arms come around her, holding her in place even as she wiggles. The hard pipe of my arousal digs desperately hopeful into the soft, round swell of her ass. But she hasn’t seemed to notice that quite yet, as her fear shifts to anger.

Angling sideways, I’m forced to dodge her swat as she reprimands, “That wasn’t nice!”

“Maybe not. But it was funny.”

“I almost died. You almost killed me. By heart failure.”

“You’re very dramatic.” I tighten my hold on her when she starts to push away from me.

“Kirill.” She scolds me like I am a child. “I have to pick up the candy.”

“What you have to do is stay right where you are.” I rock my hips into her ass again, loving the little gasp that falls from her lips when she finally notices my erection. On the screen, the woman fights the bad guy.

I thrust up again. If I keep this up, the friction is going to get me off like I’m fifteen, and dry humping the daughter of the housekeeper.

I should stop, save my pride, but I don’t. Can’t.

Dropping my lips to the bare skin of her shoulder that’s been exposed by the fallen sweater, I revel in the gooseflesh the prickle of my beard draws to the surface. She shivers in my arms.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is husky.

I swear, my dick weeps.

“Holding my wife.”

“Mmm,” she moans, and then a throaty, “Kirill,” nearly sends me over the edge.

Clinging to the shards of my control, I tighten my hold around her small frame. Then I test that control as I part my lips to press an open-mouthed kiss against the curve, where neck meets shoulder. Her head falls back, granting me more access. A silent invitation I don’t offer her a moment to take back. My hips thrust, the ridge of my dick sliding into the crease of her ass allowed by the thin sweats she wears. I’m fucking thankful at this point, that under my own sweats, I’m not wearing briefs. There’s nothing to withhold the friction I seek now, even though I desperately want to be inside her.

The temptation of her wet warmth calls to me like a fucking siren to a sailor. I want to dive into the ocean of her, never to return to this life again.

With another strangled moan, she arches back against me for the first time, as though seeking me just as I seek her. And then she squeezes her legs together, desperate for a relief only I can give her.

And, hell, I want to give it to her.

I don’t ask permission as I scrub my palm down her belly to the band of her sweats, slipping inside before she’s even realized what I’ve done. Her legs fall open when I cup her hot pussy over her panties, palming the bud of her clit with enough pressure to call another moan from the depths of her.

It’s the sweetest melody.

Cum leaks from my tip. I haven’t been this aroused in my life.

Or maybe it’s just because I’ve wanted her for so long, and haven’t had her. There’s only so much relief a man gets from his hand in the shower.

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