Page 203 of Ruins
“This isn’t about me Dea.”
Her fingers tighten against my thighs.
I exhale, feeling the cracks in my restraint widen.
I’ll give her anything she asks for.
I shake my head, barely.
Then, her voice.
Soft. Barely more than a breath. “Please.”
Fuck.
For someone with no experience my wife knows how to take me apart.
I inhale, long and slow, trying to settle the fire burning low in my stomach. She has no idea what that single word does to me.
I pull away just enough to look into her eyes, to see the quiet plea there.
The need.
I give her a small, approving nod.
“You set the pace,” I manage, my voice hoarse. Unsteady.
Her breath catches.
“You can start by stroking me.” The words feel like sacrilege.
My hands move to unbuckle my belt, the sharp click of metal the only sound between us. I ease my zipper down, releasing my hardened cock, watching her expression closely.
Her lips part.
Her fingers tremble slightly as she wraps them around my length.
A sharp hiss rips through my teeth.
Her touch is tentative, unsure. But intoxicating nonetheless.
Her hand moves slowly at first, fingers adjusting, finding the right pressure. I fight to keep my breathing steady, but when her thumb swipes over the tip, spreading the pre-cum gathered there, my restraint fractures.
A sharp exhale leaves me, jaw tightening as I fight the urge to thrust into her palm.
I watch her.
The way her brows furrow slightly in concentration.
The way her lips part just enough for me to catch the softest peek of her tongue.
She’s mesmerizing.
And I am utterly wrecked by her.
Her hand moves slowly, finding a rhythm that has me gritting my teeth, trying to keep myself from unraveling too soon.
She’s learning me.
