Page 44 of Stealing His Cupcake
“That’s okay.” I’ve never come from penetration alone, and no matter how long and thick Wyatt’s cock is, it can’t hit both my G-spot and my clit at once, so I don’t expect an orgasm from this. I’ve already had one tonight, which is above my average, anyway. Feeling Wyatt moving inside of me feels amazing enough. “I want to feel you come inside of me, Wyatt. I want to watch you shatter.”
He shakes his head. “You first.”
I want to object that I already came but am interrupted when he shifts his weight, snaking a hand between our bodies. With lethal precision, he locates my clit and begins rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The dual assault has me barreling toward another orgasm faster than I would have thought possible. “God!”
“Just ‘husband’ will do,” Wyatt replies with a smug smirk. “Do you like that, cupcake? Like having my cock inside of you?”
“Yes! God, yes.”
“From now on, you can have it anytime you want. Just say the word and you’ll have it. Any time of day or night. It’s—fuck, it’s yours. Fuck, Amy!” His thrusts become irregular. Refusing to surrender, Wyatt keeps rubbing my clit and lowers his head to capture my nipple in his mouth. He flicks it with his tongue, over and over, his teeth digging into the soft flesh ofmy breast in a way that is just shy of painful. “Come on, Amy. I know you want to come again. Come on my cock like a good girl. Milk my fucking cock dry.”
His dirty talk pushes me higher and my body arches as the orgasm begins to take its hold. It’s building up, slowly but surely, promising a frightening intensity. Wyatt plays my body like an instrument, finding just the right way and rhythm to bring me closer and closer. “God.” I gasp as my muscles convulse. “Wyatt!” I shatter with his name on my lips, my eyes rolling back. My inner walls squeeze Wyatt’s cock so hard it must border on painful. With a cry of his own, he slams into me one more time, then freezes, his cock the only thing moving as it jerks inside of me.
“Fuck. Fuck, Amy, you’re so damn perfect. I never want to leave your cunt.”
“Then don’t,” I reply, still breathless from the bone-shattering orgasm. Wyatt is supporting his weight on his elbows and knees, leaning into me just enough for the sensation to be comfortable even if we’re both sweaty and panting. Moments pass in silence punctuated by our slowing breaths.
Wyatt’s head is nestled in the crook of my neck, his breath fanning my heated skin. “Damn, I could fall asleep like this.”
“Mmm,” I hum, half asleep myself, but my body has different needs. “I need to pee, though.”
Wyatt rumbles out one of his deep laughs, and I moan as it reverberates right through his cock. “Of course you do,” he mock-sighs. There’s nothing sharp in his voice and no nasty remarks follow, and I could just kiss him for it, so I do. The kiss is slow and soft, an intimate greeting rather than a passion-driven assault. “Oh, cupcake,” Wyatt sighs when our mouths part. “Keep that up and I won’t let you leave this bed. Ever.”
Before, the words would have scared me or at least given me a pause, but now that I know him better—did I really just think “I know him” after spending a single day with him?—I know he’s just teasing. “Maybe we can continue this tomorrow? I’m exhausted.” Sex is great and all, but I’m ready to pass out for a few hours. Or a few hundred hours. Then I hesitate. Dowives even get to say no when their husbands want sex? “If…that’s okay with you?”
“Of course. Whatever you want, Amy. Honestly, I’m exhausted too.” With one last peck on my nose, he rolls off me, my body feeling strangely empty without him inside. Grabbing a random article of clothing we’ve hastily shed before, I clean myself a little before making my way to what I believe is the bathroom, only to discover a closet the size of my old bedroom. Wow, how much clothing does Wyatt own to need a closet this big? And…are those wigs?
The light coming from the bedroom is too dim to make out details, but there definitely seems to be a row of wigs on the far side of the closet. There’s also a vanity table with a large mirror and…makeup? Does someone else live here with Wyatt? Ordidsomeone live here before he brought me in? He’s obsessed with me now, yes, but who has he been obsessed with before and, more importantly, what happened to them?
“Amy?”
I startle at the sound of his voice. He’s still lying in bed, looking sexy as sin, unashamed of his nudity. Not that he has anything to be ashamed of.
He jerks his chin to a different door. “Bathroom is that way. I’ll make space for your things in the closet tomorrow.”
By throwing out his previous obsession’s things? God, why do I keep forgetting he’s a killer?
Picking up on the change in my mood, Wyatt sits up, his easy smile morphing into a frown. “What’s wrong?” When I just shake my head, he sighs. “Talk to me, please. I’d like to know what I did or said to scare you so that I won’t do it again.”
God! How can he be so thoughtful and caring? It’s completely at odds with the ruthless killer I know he is. Peering into the closet again, I consider my options. Do I lie and pretend everything is fine even if he can clearly sense it isn’t? Or do I ask the hard questions I might not like the answers to?
Clearly, I’m not experienced in maintaining healthy relationships. Most of what I know about relationships comes from TV. I know that’s a terrible source of information, but it can’t all be wrong, can it? Misunderstandings and miscommunication seem to be the bane of every relationship—and the plot point of nearly every romantic show or movie ever made. Relationships should be built on trust and maintained by open communication.
I trust Wyatt, enough to have a very consensual sex with him. Without a condom. Crap. I’m up to date with my birth control shots, so that shouldn’t be an issue, but I don’t know how many people he has slept with lately. Successfully distracted from the scary implications of the closet’s contents, I look down on my thighs where our combined cum glistens.
Tracing my look, Wyatt’s eyes widen. “Fuck. Sorry. I got swept up in the moment and I forgot— Sorry. I’m clean and I’ve always used condoms before, but… I’ll go pick up something from the pharmacy for you if—”
“I’m on birth control,” I interrupt him. “But thanks for offering.” How many men would do that? “I should be clean, too. I mean, Craig,” I grimace as I say his name, “clearly slept around, but we’ve always used condoms so it should be fine. I think?”
“Good.” Slowly, as if he’s worried about scaring me, he comes over. Taking my hand, he gently brushes his thumb over my knuckles before kissing them. “I would very much prefer to continue without using condoms, but that choice is yours. I apologize again for forgetting. I know it’s such a ‘guy’ thing to say, but I wanted you too badly to think straight.”
My heart thunders at his nearness and when he caresses my face, I melt into his touch. “I don’t mind you going bareback, but I’d feel better if I got tested, just in case.” I swear to God, if Craig gave me something from one of his hookups, I’ll dig up his body and kick his wayward cock.
“Alright,” Wyatt agrees easily. “The clinic in town is good. I’ll set up an appointment to get you registered there since you won’t be returning to Kansas City.”
Sweet and sinister at once. How does he manage that? “Okay.”
“Was that what scared you, or is there something else?”
