Page 275 of Things Left Unsaid

And I thrust home.

She cries out, pussy clenching around me as that one thrust triggers another tinier orgasm. Her knees dig into my hips, nails clawing at my back as hers arches, sharp enough to toss me off if I were a lighter guy.

My wife has the heart of a wild horse. The trappings of society, of her situation, might have formed her, but in her soul, she was born for the range, and I can feel mine clamoring for hers.

But that’s not what this is about.

“God, move,Colt!Please!”

Since she asked so prettily, I thrust into her.

Slow and long. Making her feel every inch. Not pounding into her. If I do, this’ll be over and that’s the last thing I want.

I take her to another pinnacle with my thumb on her clit, aware I shocked her as she squeaks out my name. Her pussy tightens around me, clutching and clinging and clamping down. Doing its level best to get my cum.

It doesn’t work.

I want another one.

I won’t stop until she gives it to me.

Then, when she’s so hypersensitive she starts crying, I tease a final one out of her. This time, she’s wrung dry. Sobbing. Sweating. Our skin cleaves together where it touches.

A single swirl of my tongue to her nipple has her shrieking as if I stung her. Then she cries, “Please, Colt. Please. I can’t again. I can’t. Come for me. Let me feel you. Please? Please. Please. Please!”

The urge to find my own release is so ridiculously prevalent it’s a miracle I can see straight, yet I can’t help but think this is one way of making a memory that’ll last a lifetime. One that’ll supplant our original wedding night with ease.

So, like the dumbass I am, I withdraw from her.

Entirely.

She lets loose a sob at the sudden emptiness.

Then, my hands push on her knees as I butterfly her to the bed and I’m back where I was earlier.

“You sure you can’t come once more for me?” I demand, not touching her at all aside from her knees. “Not one more?”

“I can’t. I can’t!”

“Are you lying to me? I bet this pretty little pussy has one more in it.”

She shudders.

“Show me that gorgeous slit.”

Her eyes are wide at my words. “H-How?”

“Spread it with your fingers.”

Her brow puckers. If she doesn’t do it, then I’ll relent, but I know she’s?—

Her fingers part the lips, showing me the soft gape from where she took me.

I tell her as much: “You took me so beautifully, baby.”

“Then why did you leave?” she keens.

Because I never want you to forget this night—what I can make you feel…

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