Page 44 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

“Not like that.” In a few seconds, Ken is back behind me, his erection digging mercilessly into the spot between my cheeks as he starts to spread the mix. I let out a moan, unable to hold myself back any longer. Palms spread over the counter to support my weight, I push backward and rub myself against him. Exactly how I did back at his apartment the day I told him we were married. Only difference is that I’m sure Ken is notabout to humiliate me like he did before. Bursts of pleasure rise in mystomach at the motions, calming and fueling my passion all at once.

“Fuck,” Ken says, his free hand grabbing my waist. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to have your ass bouncing on me.”

His words are undoing me faster than his touch. “Ken…” I hear myself groan.

“Wait,” he mutters, reaching out to take my bun out. My hair spills down my back, half the strands falling over Ken’s face as he burrows his face into my neck. “Since you can’t serve these buns anyway.” He grins.

He steps back again, and when I turn around, I see that he now has my arousal splattered over the front of his pants. Something about that makes me even needier. As does Ken’s ability to keep calm even now.

“I’d like to see you make the rolls and cut them.” His voice is even, solid. He crosses his arms, his eyes glittering with a strange light. “And I’d like you to do that with your top off.”

My breath catches in my throat. His demand isn’t a ludicrous one, seeing as he just had his tongue in me. But I’d chosen my underwear today with a little bit more attention than usual.

Because that’s exactly what I planned to wear while seducing him tonight.

Ken’s eyes are on me, waiting calmly. Releasing a deep breath, I pull my top over my head. My already messy hair is most likely even messier now, and I try to untangle it with my fingers as the top drops to the floor. I look down at the black lace triangles that only really cover part of my chest.

One look at Ken, and it’s obvious he was not expecting this.

“Fuck,” he mutters. I can tell I’m fulfilling somekind of fantasy for him, one he’s likely held on to for a long time. His hand goes to his pants, and I lose the ability to breathe as he finally,finally,pulls his dick out of his pants.

I stare at it, my eyes doubling in size. He looks…marvelous. Insane. He’s beautiful, big and filling, and I want him in my pussy now. And as if the sight of him isn’t bad enough torture, he starts to stroke himself.

“Cut those buns and get them into the oven. I’ve got something for you here.”

I practically run to obey him. I start to roll the bun, but my feverish fingers don’t seem to be working anymore. A second later, Ken steps up beside me. I pause, expecting him to help with it.

Instead, I hear him mutter, “You’ve tortured me for far too long, Charlie. And damn it, I deserve this.”

With that, he buries himself inside me. No niceties, no gentleness. He goes straight in, only stopping at his hilt.

The world splits into two. I cry out, a scream that goes on and on as Ken continues to pummel me mercilessly. I’ve thought of this a thousand different times and in a thousand different ways, but nothing compares to actually feeling him inside me. His hands find my tits, jerking them out of the flimsy clasp of my bra, and tweaking my nipples as he continues to thrust in and out of me.

“Come on, Chapman,” he sighs in my ear. “You’ve got those buns to make.”

It’s the kind of torture I never thought I’d experience. My eyes streaming with pleasure, I continue to roll. Something about having him in me makes my movements smoother, surer. Ken slows his thrusts, slipping in and out as slowly as he can, causing my knees to quiver as I work.

“Continue,” he orders. His hands find the small of my back and push me downward, thrusting me as close to thecounter as I can get. My breasts dangle inches from the dough as I now start to prepare a dental floss to cut it into individual buns. Something about this new angle makes the pleasure even more intense, and I hear myself scream as Ken starts to thrust again.

“Don’t be shy, baby. Say my name. Yourhusband’sname.”

My very first instinct is to refuse. A lot has changed in ten years—case in point—but Ken is still my childhood friend. Moaning his name while we’re fucking seems almost obscene. But then, I feel his fingers on my clit, swiping back and forth over the throbbing bud, and the word bursts forth anyway.

“Ken,” I groan.

Somehow, I finish cutting the buns, managing to slice them into messy pieces. My eyes are streaming with full-on tears, and I know I’m seconds from falling apart. Ken reaches overhead and pulls out a baking pan, and I fit the rolls onto it.

“We’re going to hold off on the baking for later,” he mutters, swiping the tray to the side. His hands find the small of my back, pressing me flat against the counter. I obey him, my boobs squashing against the surface, made slightly dusty by the flour.

Ken deepens his thrusts and his strokes, and I close my eyes, screaming even louder. If my staff is still here, they’re going to hear me clearly. But I can’t bring myself to care. With each thrust, Ken pushes me closer and closer to the edge.

His fingers are still on my clit, and he starts to squeeze gently. “Come for me, Chapman. Let me hear you fall apart.”

I hold my breath as my climax bursts through mewithout warning. I scream his name, my whole body trembling. Ken holds me against him, giving a guttural grunt as he spills into me. I feel him shaking too, as our universes collide and collapse together.

Even as the pleasure recedes and we keep holding on to each other, I know things have changed between us.

Possibly forever.

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