Page 61 of Menace in Vegas

“Wait!” I gasp. “N-No. Only you, Connor.”

He hums his approval and licks me again, his tongue sliding deeper.

I moan helplessly.

“So fucking good,” I pant.

He works me harder, teasing me, torturing me by bringing me right to the edge and then pulling away.

Again.

And again.

“Beg, baby,” he purrs. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Frustrated noises rip from my throat.

“Please, Connor. I need to?—"

He pulls away again.

“Not good enough.”

I whimper in pure agony.

“Beg,wife,” he demands. “Tell me what I wanna hear.”

Humiliation floods me.

And lust.

God, so much lust I’m about to combust.

“Look how fucking wet you are now that I called you wife,” he says smugly, sliding two glistening fingers into me and pulling them out to show me.

I slap my hands over my face, mortified.

“Oh, hell no,” he growls.

Instead of forcing me to move my hands, he attacks me harder — fingers and tongue relentless, wrecking me until I’m squirming, moaning, begging.

I crack.

"Connor, please… Fuck, make me come!"

It’s still not enough.

“Please lick your wife’s pussy until she comes,” I gasp out brokenly.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasps.

He dives back in with a ferocity that steals the air from my lungs.

I come apart with a cry, my body shattering.

My hands clutch his hair. My hips jerk uncontrollably.

He doesn’t stop.

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