Page 66 of Unmatched

She is studying something intently on her phone, but suddenly locks the screen and sets it aside. She stares straight up at the ceiling, almost like she’s waiting. And I wait next to her, my cock standing at attention, overwhelmed by her nearly naked presence. I think of all the Sunday mornings we’ve spent in this bed, countless times I’ve reached for her, hoped for her, and been denied. Maybe after last night, something has to change. Or maybe I’ve reached a new level of desperate. But she’s here. Sans pajamas. And just that is enough to pump my dick—and if I’m honest, my heart—full of hope.

We lay there like two bomb technicians afraid to cut the wrong wire or make the wrong move lest we detonate the space between us. Until I realize her breathing has slowed, become calm and steady, like she’s gone to sleep. My stomach dips. I clench my jaw and reach for the edge of the covers, ready to toss them back and head for the shower to take care of myself the way I always do.

But then something moves under the sheets. It’s just a slight disturbance, like a snake darting through grass. So sudden it’s over before I’ve really processed that it happened. Except then there’s a sensation on my thigh. An exploration of fingers, tentative but warm. I freeze, unable to look anywhere but straight ahead. Her hand moves in gentle circles, sweeping up my leg. Before I’m ready, she dips into my crotch to grab my dick, and I gasp aloud. Not because it’s unpleasant—just unexpected, it’s so fast. She hesitates like she has realized this, and for a second I’m afraid she’ll stop. But then her hand begins to move up and down my already painfully stiff shaft, and I close my eyes, afraid to believe this is actually happening. I’m not alone in the shower, or even alone in the dark, but joined with my wife in bed.

Her weight shifts toward the bottom of the bed, and I glance down to see her lips poised over my dick, grinning up at me in the weak morning light. It’s a sultry, lustful smile, like she’s been waiting all day just to feast on my cock, and it catches me off guard. I’ve never seen this expression or anything like it on her face. Ever.

The next thing I know, her lips have closed warm and silky over the head of my shaft, and I almost shoot my load down her throat right then and there. I get hold of myself with a groan and sit up. She pulls back, lips open and uncertain, and I quickly shift to the edge of the bed where she can kneel between my legs. She seems to catch on and goes with it, positioning herself in front of my throbbing cock and wrapping her lips around my head once again. She begins bobbing slowly up and down, letting me grow slick with her saliva, and each time I slide deeper down her throat.

I can’t understand it. She’s given me blowjobs before, but they’ve always been kind of apathetic. Dry and full of teeth. Right now her mouth is so warm, wet, and willing, I am desperate to thrust into her, but also sure I will lose control if I even tilt my hips. Every move she makes threatens to send me over the edge. But as she reaches down to caress my balls lightly with her fingers, sending a wave of unbelievable new sensation through me, I decide I can wait to figure it out.

I close my eyes, losing myself in the slick confines of her mouth. Her tongue and cheeks slide over me in what has to be some kind of expert new move, and I actually glance down to make sure this really is my wife and she hasn’t changed places with some porn star. But no, the long waves of blonde hair and upturned nose most definitely belong to Lydia, and seeing her kneeling there, bobbing up and down with a mouthful of my dick, nearly makes me lose it again.

To get hold of myself, I reach out a desperate hand, grab a fistful of her hair, and twist. She pops off the tip and goes still, unable to move now that I’ve seized control, and though I’m dying to plunge back between her luscious lips, I hold off just another moment, making sure we both can breathe. My grip, along with my willpower, quickly lessens, and when it does she leans back in, mouth open, pulling against the hair in my fist like she’s hungry for more. As her lips seal again over the head of my cock, she looks up at me, and there’s something in her wide eyes I’ve never seen—a hint of pleasure, like she’s enjoying herself? This is just too much. I twist her hair again and thrust, a tingling sensation shooting up my spine as my balls throb and tighten. Then I groan, exploding into her mouth with a force that’s been building for two fucking months.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I run for the bathroom.

Unceremonious, I know. But I panicked, okay?

After I spit into the sink, gargle, and rinse, I find myself staring into the mirror, trying to catch up with what just happened. My cheeks are flushed, lips definitely swollen, and my hair is a total mess. I got a little scared at one point when Anton grabbed me—I thought I was going to suffocate or gag for a couple of moments. But I didn’t. And when I caught the look on my husband’s face...

I close my eyes, tuning in to the slowing thrum of my pulse. And as I look up again and glimpse my reflection, there’s something new there, almost like a glow.

When I woke to Anton’s touch this morning, I didn’t know what to do. How to respond. I felt like I owed him—it was his turn, of course—but I wasn’t sure how to proceed. After my experience with the rabbit, it felt like I should do something different. Try harder. I wished I’d asked the girl at Playful Pleasures for some tips, but since I hadn’t, I freaked out and ran from the room to get my phone.

From the safety of our bathroom, I managed to pull up an article titled “The Classic Guide to Blowjobs,” which...did seem like the perfect response to what he’d done with the rabbit. I’ve given them before, but never really knew what I was doing, so I took a moment to run over the major points. It seemed pretty straightforward: focus on the head, make sure not to go too fast, keep him slick and wet, make eye contact, etc. But the article’s number one bit of BJ advice caught me by surprise: be enthusiastic.

Huh.

Obvious, and also something I’d never really considered.

So, I went for it, putting on a big smile as I got started, trying to act like having his dick in my mouth was what I lived for. On a basic level, the whole concept of sucking another person’s genitals seems so...odd. Pleasurable to be on the receiving end, I had to admit, especially after last night, but how could that be fun for the giver?

Except this time was different.

As I went along, grinning and pretending my husband’s rock-hard dick was the best thing I’d ever tasted, I started to kind of get into it. I think everyone’s heard of those studies where forcing the facial muscles into a smile supposedly sends a message to the brain that can convince it you’re happy. Well, maybe the same holds true for blowjobs? I started out simply going through the motions, checking boxes off the guide in my head—with a smile—but the longer I worked at it, the less it felt like a chore. And, if I’m honest, it has always felt like a chore. After a while, I even started getting into what I was doing, paying attention to Anton’s responses. I was interested to see what his face looked like when I changed position or speed. The way he gasped when I popped off the tip. A little thrill even rose up in my core at the sound of his groan when he came—and not just because it meant we were done.

Now, staring at myself in the mirror after getting him off, I have this giddy sense of satisfaction. My whole body feels weirdly awake and alive. Even though I’m not the one who had an orgasm.

I almost, kind of, want to do it again.

All because I smiled?

After I finish cleaning up, I’m wrapping myself in a towel when I hear my phone playing the theme to Gone With The Wind. Scarlet’s calling—on a Sunday? My brain shifts quickly into business mode, and I dash back into our room to answer, giving Anton an apologetic wave when he looks up from the bed.

“Hello? Scarlet?”

The distinct sounds of sobbing meet my ear. “Lydia,” she says. “I broke up with Trent.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to come off sympathetic, but this is also weird. Scarlet has worked for me for three years, and while we have a great professional relationship, we don’t share much personal stuff. “I’m sorry to hear that, Scar. Do you need to take a few days?”

“No.” She bursts into sobs all over again. “I called to let you know I’m moving back to California.”

I blink, but she keeps going before I can figure out how to answer.

“I know I ought to give you two weeks,” she says, voice quavering with apology, “But my lease is up in a week. I leave Saturday.”

---