Page 31 of Liar's Heart
My shoes slip off first, then my shirt is tossed unceremoniously on the floor. Reaching for the button and fly on my pants, I capture my husband’s gaze with my own, holding it while I work my pants over my hips and thighs. Voracious eyes watch my every move. Arching my back, I take my pants all the way down to the floor before kicking them over to join the shirt and shoes, leaving me in nothing but black lace. Istraighten, giving Ender my back as I undo the clasp on my bra before sliding it off. The sheer lace dangles between two fingers while I stretch my arm out over the rest of the clothes before letting it drop. My nipples peak from both the cool air and knowing my husband’s eyes are on me, and I skirt my palms over them, reveling in the touch.
The thing I love most about getting high is that it cranks all of my senses up to their maximum settings. I love to play loud, heavy music and feel the bass running through me. Sex is so much more intense. Time goes a little sideways, allowing the pleasure to drag out endlessly in my mind. I become so sensitive everywhere it makes it impossible to focus on anything but chasing what feels good, effectively drowning out the rest of my inner monologue.
And that's exactly what I needed today. I don't imbibe often—it's hard to feel safe enough to put myself in potentially compromising positions. But despite what remains insurmountable between us, I trust Ender to take care of me. To keep me safe. At least, this part of me.
Circling each nipple, I give them a small pinch before my hands begin their descent down my ribs. Dipping into the valley of my curves makes me feel like a fucking goddess. That feeling is only amplified knowing Ender is hanging on my every movement. Hooking my thumbs into the black lace band of my panties, I begin to slowly drag the fabric to the floor, letting them drop to the plush carpet before stepping out of them.
Ender hums his approval at both his view and my obedience as I turn to face him. His knuckles are white with the hold he has on his desk, but he hasn’t even offered to move in my direction. His eyes touch me everywhere, gaze so hot I can feel it like phantom hands on my skin, before he issues his next command: “Crawl to me, wife.”
Sinking to my knees earns another appreciative hum from him, but he's quiet as I move forward onto all fours. And thenI crawl to him. There’s only maybe fifteen feet to travel, but it feels so much farther with cool air licking at my exposed sex. The carpet is soft and cushy, so deep blue it almost looks black in the low light, and it feels amazing on my shins as they drag against it. It feels like it takes me ages to land at his feet, but I finally make it there, his black leather shoes full of my own reflected face staring back at me.
A hand gently cups my cheek, and he tells me to kneel before he helps guide me upright. His hand doesn’t leave my face as he squats in front of me, bringing us eye to eye. He's searching my face for something, the mask of dominance he wears so easily slipping just a little with concern when he asks, “You still want to do this?”
I nod vehemently, distraught that he might abort his plans at this point. I don’t think I could handle the rejection right now, even if it came from a loving place. “Please,” I beg. “Please, sir. Don't stop.”
He gives a small nod, reassuring me he's still on board too. “Before we start,” he hedges, “we've not really had a chance to discuss limits yet. This is… not the ideal time to do it, but at least for today, is there anything you do or don't want to do?”
The world is my fucking oyster. He’s right. This is a really bad time to have this talk because everything sounds amazing right now. Giving it some thought, though, I land on, “Just make me feel good. Please. I want to feel and not think. We can always use a safe word. I'll safe out if it's too much, or I don't like it, or if I need to talk about it. I promise, just please…”
“No safe word, vix.” He shakes his head, firm in his resolve. “If you need to stop, say stop. If you need me to wait, say wait. If you don't want something, say no. I want to hear you say what you mean when I'm fucking you. No more, no less.”
I nod and whisper, “Okay,” as he steadies my face in hisgrip and kisses me, a final parting as equals before he stands and resumes control. He studies me from his new vantage point, running his thumb along my lower lip. Humming as he makes a decision, the thumb catches my lip and peels it down, exposing my teeth to him. My tongue darts out to wet the trapped flesh and catches his digit instead. That must seal my fate because his eyes burn into me as he speaks. “I haven't broken in this hole yet. It's such a pretty hole too. As wet and pink as the one I claimed yesterday. But this one likes to get my poor little wife in trouble, hmm? This one isn't begging to give itself over to its rightful master like your cunt was. No, this hole needs to be shown who is in control now, brought to heel and made to submit.”
He explores my mouth with his fingers, further punctuating his filthy words as he wedges my jaw open and strokes my tongue. I obediently open for him and extend my tongue to show him how much I want every one of his wicked promises. In all of our escapades yesterday, I never managed to get him in my mouth, despite how badly I wanted to. Ender seemed more keen on exploring me than letting me reciprocate, and the thought of finally being able to do so has my skin tingling with anticipation. He releases my mouth and asks, “Would you like that, my vixen? Are you going to give me a new, pretty hole to fuck?”
I swallow, buying myself a moment to gain my composure before answering him. “Yes, sir.”
His wolf's grin grows wide, all sharp teeth and ill intent, as he settles his hands on the desk behind him again and says, “Then take me out.”
Reaching up, I undo his belt; the only sounds in the room are the metallic clanking of his buckle, the whisper of the leather, and my own breathlessness. I quickly work the button and fly open, tugging the zipper down over the thick bulge it did nothing to conceal. My fingers move to the bottom of his shirt and slowly begin undoing the buttons, moving upwardwith calculated grazes against his skin as I open it up to his navel. Gently dragging my nails down his skin, I watch the muscles in his lower stomach dance and flex as I savor the soft, dark hair that leads the way home. Snagging the waistband of his boxer briefs, I keep going until his cock springs free.
“Good wife,” Ender purrs down at me. “Now take a minute and acquaint yourself with your new god. Don't be shy. You’re about to become very good friends.”
No sooner does the invitation leave his mouth than I reach for him, my fingers itching to touch the velvety, heated skin. Ender catches my wrist before I reach him though. “Uh-uh,” he chastises. “No hands. Just that pretty little fuck hole. Try to use your hands again, and I'll belt them behind your back.”
He releases my wrist, and I settle my palms onto the tops of my thighs, hopeful that if I give them a set place to be, I won't fuck up and disobey him unintentionally. I lean forward, inching closer to his thick cock, and nuzzle the side of it against my cheek before sliding down to the base. Running my nose along his skin, I inhale his scent, smoke and citrus and earthy, warm musk that's all him. The smell of him is so deliciously erotic I moan, nudging the underside of his cock with my nose and planting a kiss at the base. My husband purrs his pleasure as I slide along the length of him, pausing at the underside of the tip and planting another kiss on the sensitive notch there.
I continue to lay open-mouthed kisses up and down every inch of him while his erection grows impossibly harder, until finally, he winds a hand through my hair at the crown and pulls my head back. He shows me the pearly bead of precum now growing at the slit. “Looks like you've earned a little treat. Go on. Stick your tongue out for it.”
I thrust my tongue out as he uses his other hand to guide himself to my waiting mouth. I'm expecting him to plunge the whole length in all at once, but instead, he presses thehead down onto my tongue, smearing my prize down the center. I don’t dare move to swallow, not without explicit instruction, but the saltiness being rubbed into my taste buds has me salivating for more. He pulls back, holding my head so I’m hovering above his dick, looking down. “Spit on it,” he demands. “Get it nice and wet so I can fuck you with it.”
I close my lips and try to draw as much saliva into the well of my mouth as I can before carefully dribbling it onto the flared head. Ender examines my work before demanding I repeat it. Once again, I spit what saliva I can muster onto him, watching as it drips down along the ridged veins of his shaft. He tuts in disapproval and announces, “We’ll have to do better than that,” before pulling my head back to look up at him.
“Open,” he orders, and I obey. Pursing his lips, he bends down like he’s going to kiss me and spits in my waiting mouth instead. “Try again.”
He guides my head to his cock, pushing me down until the tip is nudging the back of my throat before pulling me off. Ender circles his dick with his thumb and forefinger about a third of the way down and shows me. “This is all the further you made it, vix,” he lectures. “All the rest of this is going down your throat. You’ll let me fuck your throat, won’t you? I want to feel you swallow around me while I contemplate when I'll let you breathe again.”
A moan escapes me at the picture his words paint. I want that. I want it so badly I think I'd give him all the air in my lungs and more just to watch his face while I struggle to take him. But the words are too much to say, so I do what I think will convey how I feel best. I open my mouth wide once more and stick out my tongue, patiently waiting for my husband to use me however he sees fit.
Something changes in his eyes when I do, a new warmth burning alongside the lust. It looks like adoration, like reverence. “Yes,” he hisses quietly, cradling my cheek with thehand not in my hair. “I knew it could be like this between us. I knew you were fucking made for me. My perfect match. My wife. Mine.”
The words hurt. Not because they're not genuine, but because they are. It's so clear now that this is how it was always supposed to be between us, whether by accident or design. But it means the pain that's fueled me for the last eight years no longer has a place within me.
My grief has been a constant companion since the day Ox died, proof that my love for him endures, even beyond the grave. Some days, the rage was the only thing holding me together, the only reason I kept moving forward at all. If I let go of that, am I letting go of Ox too?
Do I even know who I am apart from that pain anymore?
The man in front of me seems to have enough faith in that version of me for the both of us. He gives me hope that all the suffering before now was part of building something great between us, something big enough to destroy a dynasty.
