Page 33 of Good As Hell

With trembling fingers, I take his phallus, pressing down until his head breaches me. The slight burn as he stretches me has me biting my lip in pleasure.

“That’s it. Be a good little cumslut for your husband and take me to the hilt.” He urges, pressing up into my slick heat. Evenwith the water and my own lubrication, it takes effort to do as he commands.

Midway, I have to take a breath. Muscles clinch around him, trying to resist and welcome at the same time. If I hadn’t had sex with him before, I would doubt I could take him, but like I said, I’m not a quitter.

Long fingers brushing my clit help to ease my way. Soon I’m taking all of him. I swear he’s in my chest. My breath comes like a humming bird’s beating wings. His edging has me on the precipice of pain and pleasure.

Effortlessly, he grips my curves in a bruising hold, lifting me and dropping me on his dick. The motion makes waves splash against us. Gripping his shoulders at first to just hold on, soon, I find myself working in concert with him. Circling his waist with my legs, I bounce up and down on his length watching and loving the way his jaw flexes every time I slam home.

Higher and harder he lifts and fucks deep, taking me closer to the height of bliss.

“Ohh,” I cry when he keeps hitting my spot.

He stops. “Say it.” Holding me suspended, I know he’s not going to let me finish if I don’t comply.

“Husband.” The words are just as broken as I am after his punishing pleasure. I plead, “Husband, please let me come — let me pleasure you.”

Jerking me into his powerful arms. He smothers me with kisses as he surges into me hitting my spot. Working his dick into me with determined precision, he drags his head against the most sensitive place inside me as he uses his fingers to compound my pleasure by massaging my clit.

“So fucking good, songbird. You’re so good to me, lil’mama.”

His words, his movements, both send me over the edge into a bliss that surpasses all our other experiences. The meanness gives way to tenderness as he finds his own release.

Kissing me, kissing me, praising me, his hands stroking every part of me. “Beautiful, glorious wife.”

Pulling back, he looks down at me. “You’re mine now. I will protect you and our children always.” He promises with a solemnity that makes me wish he loved me a little.

Chapter Eleven

HARD TRUTHS

HASSAN

The hard knock I’ve heard for more years than I can count sounds on my door, making me look up just as my brother strides inside my office. He does a brief perusal with barely any interest of the room that would have been his had he not abdicated for Lovie-Belle Howard the director of the two of our films Just Us and a romcom action movie staring a new promising new actress BiBi and the box office powerhouse, Kris “The Kronic” Kirakos who somehow managed to get the third and youngest Howard sister, Miracle to marry him shortly after.

“I don’t have you on my schedule,” I say drily, watching him. His long form taking up one of the chairs in front of my desk.

“As if that would matter. You know you’ve missed me, little brother. Though it wouldn’t seem like it with the way you have been avoiding my calls.” Crossing one leg over the other, Sadiq looks on with a benign curiosity that belies the subject I know he’s champing at the bit to talk to me about.

More than talk — lecture as only one who knows me the best in the world can. I’m definitely not in the mood for this bullshit. I have a country to run.

“In case yesterday was not indication enough, big brother, I’ve had my hands full securing the succession and making sure my wife and son are safe.”

Lying the pen I’m holding down with care, I do my best not to give myself away. My identical twin more than anyone knows my tells and the buttons to push to get me riled.

Meeting his gaze with a steady one of my own, I wait for him to continue.

“As to that.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Lyric? I didn’t think you cared for her. At least not enough to bed her. Let alone marry her. You could have easily arranged something that would have allowed you to keep Khadijah and Lyric, her career,” he muses. I can tell just from the way he’s broaching the subject, he sees far more than he should.

“Ayaan is the rightful heir. Securing the throne comes first. I would not have him denied his birthright, no matter who his mother is. Jhori Bin-Saladin made it more than clear he would accept nothing but his biological grandchild, so I was left with no choice. Plus, Khadijah has always been more like a sister to us than anything else. Would I have grown to love her? In time, maybe. It is more likely we would have just been good friends or worse case, she would have grown disillusioned with the match.”

“You’re saying you can grow to love Lyric? Care for her, even? I thought you couldn’t stand her. The diva like behavior?” He challenges with a shrewd spark in his eyes.

“She’s a wonderful mother to our son.” Admitting that fact, I take up the pen again, shifting it against the sheaf of documents needing my signature as a way of dismissing him.

“Hassan.” His voice is soft and chiding. “I’m not only your brother, but your best friend. Why did you take her off thatplane? You ruined her career in one irrecoverable action.” I let his words fall between us. Twirling the pen between my fingers, the metal is cool, my expression colder as I regard my brother.

He stops, his eyes widening. “You’re punishing her.” Slowly he shakes his head, dismay and disapproval spreading over his face.

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