Page 276 of Things Left Unsaid

“I wanted to taste us. Don’t you want that too?”

Her tits bob, the nipples taut buds that beckon me nearer.

“I can’t come again.”

“I think you can.”

“No, no, no,” she moans.

“Touch your clit.”

She shudders but her fingers slide higher.

“There’s my girl,” I whisper, enjoying how her eyes flare at the words. “Tell me what you want.”

Her bottom lip pops out as she circles her clit. “I’m empty.”

“I’ll fill you soon,” I promise.

Her other hand tests her slit. “What will make you come back to me?”

My cock bobs with need. “Another orgasm.”

A soft whine escapes her though she nods. Hesitantly. But she gives me permission…

The second my tongue finds the hypersensitive nub, her whimper makes my dick throb.

She fights my hold and nearly suffocates me as she squeezes her knees together and rocks from side to side as I flutter my tongue on her clit. Focusing there because I need her to get off again.

It’s a point of pride.

Her sharp shriek tells me I’m close. How she jerks her hips is another clue.

Just before she hits it, I stop and maneuver out of her chokehold on me.

“I hate you,” she screams, body straining until I blanket her.

My dick settles on her weeping pussy.

The scream bites off.

Her feral eyes find mine.

Her nails drag along the breadth of my back, scoring lines into the skin in a way I’ll check out in the morning.

I kinda like the idea of setting off on our honeymoon in the States with her claw marks etched into me.

Seems fitting.

And everyone’ll know I’m hers and, from the hickeys I intend to leave on her neck, that she’s mine. If any of those goddamn baseball players catch a glimpse of her—yeah, baseball players—they’ll see she’s hands off.

Zee picked the honeymoon so we’re going around the US, touring all thirty MLB baseball stadiums. The prospect must be hell for a hater of baseball, but when I complained that it wouldn’t be fun for her, she kissed me quiet. Now, she’ll tour each and every one of the stadiums in this jersey.

Talk about a gift that keeps on giving.

Before I can sink home, she rasps, “Wait.”

Her fingers, once gripping my shoulders to hold me close, shove me away.

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