Page 102 of The Wrong Husband
I increase the pace of my actions, fucking her throat as gently as possible, wanting to extend the pleasure, wanting to make sure she comes along on this ride with me.
"Get yourself close to the edge," I direct her.
Her eyelids flutter. She sinks down further onto my foot. Through the leather of my shoe, and the fabric of her yoga pants, I sense the throbbing bud of her clit. Sense the moisture drenching her panties and dripping down her inner thigh. And when she arches her spine and every nerve in her body draws tight, I know she’s almost there.
I pull out of her mouth, then bend and close my lips over hers. I kiss her deeply, savoring the briny taste of my precum combined with the sweetness of her tongue. I reach under the waistband of her yoga pants and find her melting center. I stuff three fingers inside of her, capturing the cry that erupts from her. I hold her in place with my other hand on her shoulder and fuck her with my fingers.
I trace the swollen nub between her pussy lips, and her spine snaps straight. As if every fiber in her body is braced for impact. And when I curl my fingers inside her to touch the spongy bead behind her clit, she explodes.
Her lips lock, her muscles twitch and she throws her head back as she lets out a keening cry. Her eyelids flutter down as the climax has her in a chokehold. Her pussy clamps down on my fingers, and her orgasm goes on and on. I hold her in place, continuing to fuck her with my hand, until she slumps. Then I urge her to sit back on the balls of her feet. "Open your mouth."
She does.
I squeeze my swollen, painful cock and swipe my hand from base to crown in a hard twist, again and again. Now that I’m confident there’s no turning back, now that I know we’re on our way to get married, it feels like it’s inevitable that she become my wife. Something knotted inside of me loosens.
Here onmyturf, on a flight which feels like a metaphorical midpoint between where we started and where we’re emotionally headed, I give in to the feelings I have for her. I accept what my subconscious has always known: that this arrangement was never fake.
But for someone whose survival hinged on unwavering control—on camouflage, detachment, discipline—this is the first time I allow myself torelax. Tolet go.
The pressure at the base of my spine breaks through the barriers I imposed on it, and I let myself come. My orgasm crashes out from my tailbone and up my spine and radiates out to my extremities. Strings of my cum paint her mouth, her neck, across her cheeks.
She licks them up, still spasming with the aftermath of her own release. I come and come, and she swallows everything she catches in her mouth. When I’m done, I scoop the mess off her face and into her mouth. She swallows, opens her eyes, and I witness a thunderstruck expression in them like she’s seen something holy. It certainly felt that way to me.
When she begins to slump, I put myself to rights then scoop her up and into my lap and cradle her.
I hold her until she finally opens her eyes and looks up at me. "You finally came." She yawns.
"And you’re wrecked."
36
Connor
"Long day. Long week." A furrow forms between her brows. "Long months," she says on another yawn.
Longmonths?What does that mean? Those shadows drag down those beautiful hazel eyes of hers. Or perhaps, it’s the specter of sleep which turns them a dark green.
I tuck myself back into my boxers, then cuddle her close. "Sleep, I’ll wake you when we land."
I kiss the top of her head, lift her in my arms and walk toward the bedroom at the back of the plane.
The ability to be horizontal on a flight is not something I’ll ever take for granted. Not after being undercover and having to fold my six-foot-four-inches height into economy class seating.
Or curling my length into spaces where I needed to stay hidden as I conducted surveillance. It’s made me appreciate the Davenport name, and the wealth that comes with it, anew.
It’s why, when I realized I could help children in war-torn countries by supplying food and medicine, I knew I had to find a way to access my trust fund.
How can I sit on my hands when the means to save lives is within reach?
I tighten my hold around the woman I know is responsible for that. The trained part of me tells me it’s healthy to feel these emotions. It confirms to me I’m alive, that I’m not living a lie.
That I’m in my skin… Living a double life means, I’m mostly closed off to emotions that normal humans face. It’s the only way to survive living in another character’s skin. This freedom to allow my thoughts and feelings to lead is refreshing and scary. And I’m not prepared for it. Which is why meeting Phoenix has hit so hard. I’m like a child learning to self-regulate all over again.
I walk into the suite and lower her sleeping form to the bed. Wanting her to be more comfortable I decide to undress her. I slip off her ballet pumps and strip off her yoga pants.
Unable to resist, I lean down and sniff her the triangle between her legs. The sweet scent of her arousal makes my mouth water.
I really shouldn’t... but if I pulled off her underwear, I could make her come properly. I could give her relief.
