Page 104 of Buckled in Barbwire

“You love it,” he rasps. “Now lie down and spread your legs.”

I do as I’m told, thankful that the place settings have been taken away. My feet slip before gaining a grip on thearms of his chair. Brody flips the hem of my skirt to put me on full display. His voice is rough with the next demand.

“Wider.” A rumble spills from him when I allow my thighs to split apart.

Cool air tingles my slick flesh and I shiver. The solid wood beneath me is cold too. That keeps me from spontaneously combusting as fire rushes through my veins. I peek at Brody, admiring the way his forearm flexes while he strokes himself. He’s rolled up his sleeves to reveal his ink and ropey veins. The sight fills me with need, eager for release.

My husband doesn’t make me wait long. “Feed me your pussy while I fuck my fist.”

There’s no hesitation from me. I scoot my butt to the edge until I’m holding myself aloft for his taking. My elbows ache from bracing in this position like a serving tray. Brody ducks forward, hooking my knees over his shoulders. His palms cradle my ass and allow me to relax.

A long exhale blows against my parted heat. “Are you wet for me?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

His tongue swipes through my center and I jerk from the stimulation. A low groan vibrates my clit. I cry out, curling my fingers over the end of the table to stay grounded.

“Already close,” he observes.

It’s not a surprise that he can tell. Our relationship might be in the learning phase, but we don’t require training wheels for this journey. Natural attraction and chemistry blaze between us. My body speaks to his in a language that’s been fluent from the start.

I grind forward when his tongue spears into me. My tentative motions fill me with him in a jerky loop until helicks to my clit. Hard suction pulls the promise of relief closer. My soft mewls beg for more.

His mouth doesn’t relent the pressure on my arousal, but there’s subtle movements elsewhere. I bobble slightly as he adjusts his grasp, shifting my weight to balance on one hand. Lust fondles me while I imagine his other palm wrapped around his shaft.

“Pinch your nipples,” he growls into my sex.

Green desire swirls in his stare as he watches me comply. I scramble to rip my breasts free from the cups of my bra. A sharp sting radiates outward and I repeat the clamping motion. My empty core clenches in silent demand. I’m almost there.

Rapid lashes against my clit douse me in flames and pleasure. My mind swims while I launch over the peak. Spasms attack my limbs, quaking me against the table.

As the convulsions are thrashing through me, Brody stands and guides my legs around his hips. One thrust shoves him inside of me to the hilt. I scream against the added pressure when he bellows his release. Heat consumes me, muscles contracting for every drop of him. We ride the high wrapped together as one. His arms clutch me tighter against him, rapid breathing jostling us in an uneven tempo.

“And that”—he exhales against my throat—“is how we’ll end our dinner parties from now on.”

My body goes lax in his capable grip. “Won’t hear an argument from me.”

Brody pulls away slightly to catch my bleary gaze. Green clashes with blue. “Can I carry you to bed?”

I laugh and kick my feet. “As if you even need to ask, husband.”

Paisley makes another pass in front of my office door. Her hands are fidgety as if she’s juggling something hot. I’ve given up trying to concentrate on anything other than counting her laps. This is the eleventh sweep she’s done. The next will be her last.

“Twinkles,” I holler.

She pokes her head inside. “Hi.”

The expense reports on my desk are completely forgotten once she’s fully in view. Her usual cowgirl attire flatters her curves. It pleases me beyond comprehension to see her in clothes I bought. I love to provide for her, and plan to do so at every available opportunity.

My chair squeaks as I stand to get a better look. “Why are you pacing?”

“I wanted to… um, ask you something.” Her nerves fuel mine.

My gut tenses as I motion for her to come closer. “Out with it.”

She pauses about halfway and rocks in her boots. “Are you busy?”

“Yes”—I hold up a palm when she begins backing away—“but I’m never too busy for you.”

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