Page 91 of Keep Me

I wink at my wife before leaning in toward Theresa and pressing a chaste kiss on her lips before sitting back in my seat.

The group lets out a collective “Awww.”

Sylvie is still fuming. She picks up the bottle and spins it for herself. When it lands on Greg, my jaw clenches. We’ve stopped doing the drink option, apparently because she crawls defiantly toward him and grabs his face. I watch with buzzing anger as she kisses him deeply, pressing her tongue in his mouth.

“That’s enough,” I bellow.

Thinking it’s just a joke, everyone laughs. But I haul my wife back to her seat next to me just the same. When she lands on the floor, I wipe the saliva from her mouth and give her a warning glance.

“She’s been bad, Kill,” Theresa murmurs. “How are you going to punish her?”

Sylvie shoots me a tense glare, but I tilt my head back and stare down at her menacingly. “I don’t know, but I would like to punish her.”

Across the floor, Theresa bites her lip, looking as if she’s dying to see it happen. Everyone else is fidgeting, and I know they are craving to see it as much as I’m craving to do it.

I lean down toward Sylvie, teasing her with a smile.

“Go on, then, Killian,” Greg says. “Show her what we get up to at our parties.”

“What do you think, mo ghràidh?” I whisper. “Can I show them how tough my girl is? How well she takes it?”

“You hurt me, and I’ll hurt you right back,” she responds with venom.

I smile wickedly. “I’m counting on it.”

Then I take her lips, kissing her hard and reclaiming her mouth as my own. After she starts melting into the kiss, I stand from the floor and drag her up with me. The rest of the group stays on the floor, mingling together in a drunken mess until Theresa is in Angus’s lap and Emma is in Liam’s.

But to be honest, I’m not concerned with them anymore. All I can see in my mind is Sylvie kissing Greg and Claire. Her tongue in their mouths. Their hands on her body. I’m seeing red as I toss her on the couch, kneeling on the cushions as she bends over with her ass in the air. In one swoop, I lift her dress, and she lets out a yelp of surprise.

“This, my sweet wife,” I say, grabbing her ass cheeks in my hand, “is mine.”

She only whimpers in response. As I knead and massage her pale, tender flesh, I hear the soft moans of those behind me. They must be enjoying the show.

“Tell me I can punish you, Sylvie. I need to hear you say it.”

She lets out a tortured groan with her face pressed into the cushions of the sofa.

“Say it, wife. Yes or no?”

Lifting her head, I can see the arousal mingled with resistance in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll let you pay me back, but I want to show you how good it feels first—to be claimed by your husband.”

Her head falls back, and her spine arches as she lets out another moan. “Yes,” she replies breathily.

“That’s my girl,” I reply with a grin.

Then, I waste no time. Peeling down her thin lace panties, I let my friends behind me take their fill of my beautiful wife’s cunt, glistening and pink. When I spread her folds wide for them to see, I hear a muffled “Fuck yeah,” coming from the dark side of the room.

“She tastes good too,” I mutter lowly before dipping my head down and taking a long salacious lick of her wet pussy. She fidgets and moans as I do.

While I play with her, sliding a finger inside her only to pull it out and tease her arsehole, she squirms and mumbles curses into the cushions.

“All mine,” I mutter with a sneer as I take another long lick. “No one else can ever touch you. Is that understood?”

She groans without a verbal response. So I rear back my hand and lick my lips before landing a hard smack on her right ass cheek. The sound that comes out of her is a mixture of surprise and enjoyment—a gasp and a whine.

“You liked that, didn’t you, mo ghràidh?”

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