Page 123 of My Broken Bodyguard 2: Ritchie & Tori

“Ritchie, what are you doing?” she asked, peering at me over her shoulder with wide eyes.

I stroked my cock until ribbons of cum covered her ass. It felt like the cum wouldn’t stop. So I placed the head of my cock at her entrance and released the rest of it.

“Oh yeah. Let my cum coat your womb.”

An angry scowl covered her pretty face.

I didn’t give a fuck.

I stalked into the bathroom, then returned shortly with aftercare supplies. I used two warm washcloths. One I ran over her plump ass cheeks and the other over her pussy.

“Remember this,” I growled. “If you ever hide something from me again, I’ll tease your G-spot again until you’re on the brink of orgasm before pulling away.”

The look on my wife’s face was murderous. Now that was the perfect lesson to teach my tough, stubborn wife.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

TORI

THE CAT

Time to get Mr. Chaos. If Ritchie thought he’d pick up the cat without me, he was mistaken.

Ritchie said he was capable of picking up his cat without me. So I did what any logical woman would’ve done. I promised my husband I’d stock the freezer full of home-cooked meals he could take to work or eat when he got off work. All he had to do was pop them in the microwave.

Standing in the walk-in closet doorway, I stared up at my husband, who turned over my words.

“I’d appreciate it if you would. Now get out of the way so I can get moving.”

My top lip twitched. “Fine, this cat is on lockdown.” I stormed toward the bedroom door.

Ritchie’s dark laughter filled the space. He thought it was funny.

“Don’t move another fucking inch,” he ordered.

I only stopped because my traitorous pussy obeyed. This was the same pussy that didn’t get completely satisfied last night.

“Get in here,” he commanded.

My near-death experience brought out the territorial side of Ritchie. He wasn’t taking my shit anymore. He was in extra asshole mode.

Stalking into the closet, I glared at him, careful not to wince.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said as he slipped the black slacks over his muscled thighs.

My throat bobbed at the sight of his muscled chest. My tongue wanted to lick every defined muscle.

“I’ll rest when I get back.”

Ritchie snatched a pale pink button-down dress shirt off the velvet hanger. “I received a text about a dinner you’re hosting for your friends this evening.”

Shit. Who told him? Ezra?

“Ritchie, I’m perfectly capable of cooking later.”

The dress shirt hung open and clung to his bulging muscles. “I know someone who can cook dinner for you.”

“What...”

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