Page 33 of Liar's Heart
He nods frantically, hips still pistoning furiously. “Me too, baby. Give it to me.”
I shatter around him again, but this time, I bring him with me over the edge. He pours every last drop of himself into me, my pussy greedily taking it all as we ride out our pleasure together.
Ender recovers quickly, pushing me flat on my back with a hand on my sternum. He pulls out, and his cum immediately follows, leaking from my pussy. He watches as it drips onto his desk, eyes still dark with hunger despite having just orgasmed. Picking up the dagger, he murmurs, “Stay still,” and adjusts his grip on the handle.
I obey, keeping my legs splayed wide for him, not entirely sure what his next move will be. His eyes rake up my body, taking in the flushed, sweat-slicked skin and peaked nipples, still coming down from two orgasms. The hand on my sternum tickles as it trails its way to my breast. “And now you should be even more sensitive,” he says, teasing my nipple between two fingers.
My back arches at the contact, hypersensitive, just like he anticipated. Gasping, I answer in the affirmative, though he’salready chuckling at my reaction. He lets go of the aching tip, and my body relaxes into the desk again, spent and eager for rest. Then I feel Ender’s hand circling my neck, firmly restraining me against the wood before he speaks. “Remember those new memories I wanted to make earlier?” The dagger glints as he shows it to me. “I want to play a little game. All you have to do is stay still while I run this blade over your skin. I'm not planning on cutting you, but how well you do your part determines how well I do mine. Ready?”
He doesn't wait for a response before I feel cold, hard steel carefully scraping the nipple he was just playing with. It takes everything I have to not react. But if I gasp or jerk, it'll move my breast, and what if that's all it takes to send one newly freed nipple flying across the room? The slight scratch of the blade on my sensitive tip is overwhelming, the fear only making my nerves fire faster, harder. Ender would never hurt me without my consent, but just knowing that danger is a hair's breadth away is as exhilarating as it is terrifying. One wrong move, voluntary or not, would lead to agony.
The tip of the blade begins circling my breast, extra attention given to the outer curve before leaving my body altogether. I feel it touch down again at the top of my sternum, resting for a moment before gently scratching its way down, down between my breasts, then my stomach, swirling around my belly button before descending even further still.
He releases his grip on my throat and trains his focus on my abused sex. Gathering up the pooled cum beneath me on the desk with his fingers, he slathers it onto my cunt, inside and out. My clit’s still painfully sensitive from my last orgasm, and I jerk back on reflex when he grazes it with those ruthless fingers. He scowls and lifts his eyes to mine. “Careful, vix.”
Before I can form an appropriately bratty response, he bends down to bring himself face-to-face with my pussy. Those punishing fingers cruelly spread me open. Cold steelmeets my hot cunt as the flat of the blade carefully presses along my center. I hiss through my teeth as my skin begins to warm the metal. Ender is meticulous and carefully runs the knife up and down, coating the blade in our mingled cum. When he’s satisfied with what he’s gathered, he pulls back before standing and moving toward my head. His hand circles my neck again, gently directing me where he’d like. The other lifts the dagger in front of my face. Presenting the side of the blade that’s now slick with our release to me, he orders, “Lick.”
Hesitantly, I extend my tongue, gently placing it flat against the widest part of the blade. Ender hums contentedly while he talks me through it. “That’s it, carefully. Watch the edges, but clean our cum off that blade. Get your tongue on that metal.” Emboldened by his praise, I lap at the knife, determined to rid the steel of every salted drop of us. My husband grins wickedly, approval shining in his eyes as he watches the wanton act. “So good for me,” he compliments. “So eager to please. My beautiful wife. My perfect whore.”
Only for him.
Only ever for him.
There aren'ta lot of throw pillows in here, but I somehow had the foresight to have two blankets tucked away. Or maybe that's courtesy of Ro, who probably bought them and put them here in the first place. Either way, I’m grateful they're here now, spread out on the floor to make a nest in front of the hearth for the two of us.
My fingers wind through the glossy, thick strands of my wife’s hair, probably tangling it, but I don't give a fuck. I'd sit all night and play with her hair if she'd let me, including combing out every little knot I've made. I love every fucking inch of this woman’s body, but it’s her hair that captivates me the most. The way it holds her jasmine and petrichor scent, the soft, silky texture of it. The way it looks wrapped around my fist. But truth be told, I think I’m so fond of my wife’s hair because of my mom.
There’s an Oedipus joke in there somewhere, I know.
Not that I had athingfor my mom’s hair, but I can’t help but think of her when I’m quietly playing with Merrick’s. From the moment I first laid eyes on my wife, my fingers ached to reach out and touch her hair—to tuck it behind her ear, gather it over one shoulder to bare her delicate neck tome, and smooth the back of it with my palm while I hold her against my chest. All of the small intimacies lovers share.
I don’t have a single memory of my father doing anything like that with my mom. Not one. I don’t have any illusions that my parents ever loved each other. At best, they started as business partners who barely tolerated each other. By the end, it was worse. Much worse. Each time I saw my mother in the years leading up to her death, she was a little more gaunt, a little more fragile-looking. Maybe it was the bigger gaps between visits once I was shipped off to prep school that made the changes so much more pronounced to me, or maybe it was a byproduct of adolescence. Or maybe it’s as simple as with me out of the house, she was taking the abuse for us both.
My father isn’t capable of touching something without breaking it. His wife and son were no exception. And even though it goes without saying that Merrick will never,everhave to fear me hurting her, that’s the bare minimum. I’m not accepting that for us when she deserves so much more… when we could be so much more. Merrick’s going to know without a shadow of a doubt how I feel about her. Always. My wife will want for nothing, least of all my love. Any way I can show her how I feel, by playing with her hair or kissing the top of her head in greeting, I’ll always take.
Merrick begins to sit up, adjusting my shirt in the process. Before we settled into the quiet peace of post-fuck cuddling, she filched my discarded shirt and her panties off the ground, claiming she was chilled. I wasn’t pleased about it, but the sight of her in my shirt while I'm bare-chested in slacks is so reminiscent of our wedding night that I decided to let it go. It helps that she's left the shirt unbuttoned, and her tits keep shifting into view. Really helped solidify her case.
Her eyes are veiled in shadows since she’s facing away from the fire, but I can see her devious smirk clearly enough. My dick stirs at the sight. He’s just as in love with her sharpsense of humor as I am, and the mischievous look on my wife’s face is enough to threaten to resurrect him. She shifts until we’re face-to-face, a hand on either side of my head to hover over my torso, her legs to one side of me. Staring down at me, she studies me for a moment before slowly pressing her lips to mine. The kiss is soft and sweet—exploratory and connective instead of wild and passionate. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I tug her down on top of me and groan into her mouth, already craving more.
Merrick doesn’t budge, though, refusing to let me take over and set the pace. Her languid kisses and sweet touches make me feel like a teenager again, where I'd be content to do nothing but kiss her for hours on end. She closes the kiss, pulling back to a conversational distance. She doesn't look nearly as high as she did earlier, her laxness more likely from sex than drugs at this point, but I still check. “How're you feeling?”
Her eyes go a tad hazy, and her mouth quirks to the side as she checks in with herself before coming back to me. “Good. Mostly sober. Deliciously sore.”
Masculine pride swells inside me. I don't want her to hurt because I was careless, but knowing that her body's reminding her of all the ways I’ve used it for our pleasure? Fuck.
Leaning down, she places a kiss above the top point of the star inked into the center of my chest, then looks up at me through dark, thick lashes. “Insatiably horny.”
Another kiss lands lower on my sternum. “Have I been negligent in my duties, wife?” I ask.
She hums, clearly poking fun at me, and plants another kiss on my stomach before saying, “I've found your performance adequate thus far, husband. I’m just… What did you call me earlier?” A kiss to my belly button now. “Your perfect whore?” Her fingers work my belt and slacks open again. “And as your perfect whore, I have a score to settle.” She yanks my slacks and boxer briefs down in one fierce tug, my dick already hard and ready for her.
“Baby, there's no score—” I start, but she stops me with a raised finger.
“The score is not a debt that I owe you. It’s what you owe me. You see, sir, you made promises you failed to keep. And I have come to collect.” Then she wraps those kiss-bitten lips around the head of my cock and slides me into her warm, wet mouth.
Gasping, my brain short-circuits for about eight seconds before coming back online.Jesus, fuck. Her tongue swirls around me, wetting everything in her mouth before pulling back and taking me deeper. Then again, until I'm snug against the entrance to her throat. She moans and pulls off with one long, steady suck before grabbing the base and dribbling as much spit as she can onto the head. We both watch as the frothy fluid slowly begins to slide down the sloped, flared head before making its way down my shaft. Flattening her soft, pink tongue, she plants it at the base before dragging it all the way up the underside, stopping to lavish the sensitive area at the bottom of the head with little nips and kisses while my dick throbs and jerks in her hand.
Merrick settles into her task, taking me in and out of her mouth, dragging her tongue as she works my length. I sing her praises when I remember to breathe in between strokes, telling her she’s perfect, that she feels so good. That she looks so beautiful with her lips stretched taut and cheeks hollowed out, eyes watering and bright. It only takes a couple of minutes before my balls start to feel heavy and tight, my toes curling as I barrel closer to the finish.
