Page 67 of Bull Rush

She makesquick work of the belt and buttons, her fingers hooking into my boxer briefs and dragging them down my thighs along with my jeans. She’s greedy as fuck to have her mouth on me again after I denied her all night.

Fuck. Let’s be honest; I’m greedy for it too. I need it. To fill her pretty little mouth and take the edge off so I can take my time with her after.

I feel her breath on my cock as her fingers tease their way down the underside a few moments later. I thought I was ready for this, to finally let her have control over me, but when her mouth wraps around the head of my cock, I have to dig my fingers into the sheets.

“Fuck…” I moan as she teases me relentlessly, giving me soft touches but not the full depth of her. “Sugar… Your mouth… Fuck.” I’m lost for the right words, but she doesn’t care. She’s just happy to be getting what she’s wanted all evening, and I’m thanking every lucky star I have that I have a wife with a mouth like this. One she knows how to use so fucking well. One that she’s this happy to use to bring me to my knees.

So warm and wet and so fucking perfect. Her tongue dances over the tip and then circles around it as she explores the vertical piercing. She sucks gently and takes me a little deeper before she pulls back, the sound of her mouth on me wet, sloppy, and so fucking sweet to my ears after all this time.

I groan at the loss of her as she replaces her mouth with her hand, slowly stroking me as she looks up at me thoughtfully, enjoying having me at her mercy.

“How long have you had it?” She runs her thumb over the end of the barbell.

“Got it after I signed the divorce papers,” I admit and she pauses, something flashing over her face that I can’t see well enough in the dim light to understand. I almost start to explain it, but it goes as quickly as it came, and she’s already on to the next question.

“Did it hurt?”

“When I had it done, yeah. Saw fucking stars.”

“Good. You deserved some pain back then.” She says it like she means it, but when her eyes meet mine, they’re soft, and her lips curve just the slightest bit in amusement.

I choke on the laugh I have in response to her sadistic side because she leans down, sweeping her hair off her shoulder and wrapping her fist around the base of my cock as she takes me deep. I see stars for real then, brilliant against the back of my lids as she starts to work me over. A low moan rumbles out of my chest, and it spurs her on.

“Christ. You suck cock like you were fucking made for it,” I mutter, torn between trying to watch her and feeling so fucking good I can barely keep my eyes open. “The way you take medown your throat, Haze…” I curse again, loudly, and she eats it up like she does the rest of my praise.

She releases me after the next pass of her mouth, taking a break for air, and her hand runs up and down the length of me in a perfect rhythm. I risk opening my eyes, and it’s like something out of one of my prison fantasies, her in my jersey, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, so focused on the task of making me come that she’s barely noticing anything around her.

This time when she takes me, her hair slips forward, brushing the tops of my thighs with each bob of her mouth. I missed this. This little gesture, a memory of her I’d clung to long after I’d accepted that I’d never see her again. I’d imagined the feel of her hair over my skin a million times when she was gone, so much so that it’s hard to believe it’s real now. I reach out for her, my fingers threading into her long, soft strands, the feel of them grounding me. I tighten my grip as she starts to moan around my cock; the vibration is the extra push I need. The two of us play off each other like we always have, reading what the other needs before we even have to ask.

“Sugar…” I warn but she only works me over harder, eager to have me coming for her. “You’re so fucking merciless. Let me come on your pretty lips. If you won’t let me kiss them, at least let me paint them. Please.”

A soft whimper of a moan from her is a promise as she starts to take me faster, letting me fuck her throat as my hips counter her desperate attempts to take me deeper. I tighten my grip on her hair, dying to have the real-life version I’ve been conjuring in my head for years.

“Fuck, sugar. Yes. Just like that. Suck me harder.” She obeys every request, silent and spoken, and I start coming inside her mouth until she lets me slip out. I grab the base of my cock and stroke myself hard and fast as she helps. My comelashes over her pretty red lips and cheeks, staining her perfect makeup and slowly dribbling down her chin.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. All dressed up for me like this. My jersey. My come.” I run my thumb over her lower lip as her tongue dips out to taste me, and I take some for myself, drawing it down her chin and over her throat to the top of the jersey. Some of it has already dripped down onto her necklace, and I go to wipe it away for her. I’m making so many mental notes, committing this “photograph” to memory for when I need it on the long nights.

She comes closer, climbing onto my lap and straddling me. Her lips are at my neck, kissing their way up as my breathing starts to return to normal.

“I love all the sounds you make for me when you’re in my mouth,” she whispers against my skin as she kisses my throat, smelling like sex and feeling like heaven as her body settles against mine. “I was looking forward to that for weeks. You so desperate and needy for me. Coming so hard on my tongue like a good boy. You’ve got me so wet now,” she confesses. “I’ve loved everything about tonight… dinner, dancing, this—you’ve been so sweet.”

“Anything to see you happy.” My hand runs up her thigh, and her eyes track the slow drift. “I’m gonna get a washcloth for you.” I kiss her forehead, plant her back on the pillows, and stand, pulling my pants back up before I head to the bathroom.

When I come back, she’s lying back on the bed waiting for me, and I can barely handle how fucking beautiful she is. I have no idea how I ever left this woman or how I’ll do it again if she asks me to. My eyes dart to the suit jacket I left on the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to give her the gift I bought her earlier. I didn’t want to envision the possibility that she might actually use it, not when she was laughing and dancing with me like we were still twenty years old.

Visions of her marrying him start to play in front of me, haunting me as I try to force a smile when she gives me a questioning look. I sit next to her on the bed, taking the warm washcloth to her chin and cheeks and slowly down her neck—gently washing her clean again as she leans into my touch.

“But I do have one favor to ask.” I’m hoping it won’t change her mood. I drop the washcloth to my side and look down over the jersey.

“What’s that?” She smiles, and her fingers trace over the tattoo on the back of my hand.

“Now that I’ve seen you in this.” I tug at the hem of my Highland State jersey. “Let me see you in the dress.”

“The dress? The one I wore tonight?” She looks at me perplexed.

“The wedding dress.” I need to see her in it. I want to know what she picked for him.

Her face falls immediately, and her eyes go to the window. I watch as her throat bobs hard on a swallow.

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