Page 58 of Stealing His Cupcake
Still holding Amy’s hand, I make sure that the rose is positioned on top of her clit and that everything is nice and slick before letting go. “Keep it there. Turn it on,” I instruct her, letting an edge of darkness seep into my words.
Shuddering, Amy makes an incoherent noise as the toy whirs to life. She moves it around, her body arching when she finds the right spot. “Wyatt. Please,” she whimpers, desperation coloring her voice. “I can’t—”
I cut her off with a sharp nip on the side of her neck. “Yes, you can. Keep it there. I want to feel you fall apart in my arms.” I’ve made her come so many times already but this is different. Somehow, it’s more intimate than when I’m between her legs and my tongue or cock is buried deep inside of her. Amy feels it too and I understand that showing such vulnerability scares her, but I also intend to possess every part of her, including this one, so I don’t relent. “There you go,” I praise as she jerks when the rose hits an exceptionally sensitive spot. “You’re close, aren’t you? Will you come for me, cupcake?”
Kissing her neck, I tug on her nipples until Amy whimpers. Her legs twitch, her moans growing louder. She’s close, but not quite there yet. Intent on giving her that final push, I reach for the dildo and spit on it. Not that Amy needs any extra lubrication at this point.
“Wyatt, w-what—” The rest of her question is cut off by a cry when I push the dildo into her pussy in one rather forceful thrust. Amy immediately topples over the edge, her body convulsing as if hit by the electric current, jerking each time another wave crests. I hold her through it, lazily fucking her with the dildo to make sure her hungry cunt has something to clench on. I don’t even wish it was my cock because then I’d be busy fighting off the urge to come. Now, I can simply watch my cupcake shatter and feel every tremor that runs through her body.
Amy dropped the toy when she started coming, but continues lightly massaging her clit with her fingers even after the intensity of her orgasm ebbs. “Jesus,” she breathes out, hoarse and winded.
Driving the dildo roughly inside of her, I growl, “You know, most men don’t like it when women call out another man’s name during sex.”
Chuckling breathlessly, Amy shakes her head. “That’s such a you thing to say. Thank you. This was—”
“My pleasure,” I interrupt her, a little displeased that she still feels the need to thank me for an orgasm. I mean, what the fuck? It’s like the most natural thing ever, especially with the woman I lo—married. Especially with the woman I married. “It’s always my pleasure, Amy. Any time.Seriously. I’d even suggest we do this again right now but you have your therapy session in like,” I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand, grinning, “five minutes.”
Amy shrieks. “What?! Oh my god! I can’t talk to my freaking therapist looking like I just fucked someone!”
“You look amazing, cupcake.” And she does. Her hair is tousled, her cheeks glow with warmth, and there’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead, but the happiness shining in her eyes outweighs all that. “And technically, we didn’t fuck,” I add just to tease her.
Shooting me a murderous look, Amy slides the dildo out of her pussy and scrambles off the bed. “I should really wash these,” she gestures at the toys, “but—”
I wave her off. “Go ahead. I’ll take care of it.”
She gives me a dubious look. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirm. “I was the one to make you use them, anyway. Go talk to your therapist. I’ll take care of your toys.” After personally exploring them, of course. I’m really curious about that damned rose.
Chapter 42
Amy
GeraldineWilkinsislikea cross between a fairytale godmother and a sailor on shore leave. An old lady as sweet as sugar, but with a mouth that could make a trucker blush. My badass husband adores her as if she were his own grandmother. More, since he hates his actual grandmother.
Since Wyatt finally finished the blanket he’s been making for his beloved neighbor, I grabbed a batch of cookies I'd made the previous day—or what was left of them, anyway—and we went for our first social visit as a couple.
Geraldine opened the door, took one look at our joined hands, exclaimed, “Fucking finally!” and that pretty much set the tone for the meeting.
After introductions, we’re ushered to a sofa in her quaint living room while she bustles in the kitchen, making tea. Intent on helping her since she seems to have trouble walking, I make to get up, but Wyatt’s hand on my knee stops me. “Don’t. You’ll just piss her off,” he says quietly. “If she needs help, she’ll ask for it.”
The delicate china rattles on the tray in Geraldine’s trembling hands, but she manages to get it to the coffee table without spilling anything. “So, Wyatt, you finally took my advice and found yourself a nice girl,” she announces as she sits down. “After eight years! Talk about being slow.”
I slap a hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle. Wyatt, on the other hand, must be used to Geraldine’s antics because he looks unperturbed. “I kept telling you I haven’t met the right woman yet. Now I have.”
“Hmm, hmm. Married her straight away, too. Josie who works in the town hall said you didn’t even have a proper wedding. Seriously, Wyatt?” she chastises. “I know you young ones do things differently now and all that crap, but not even flowers or a ring?”
At that, Wyatt lowers his head, his cheeks gaining a slightly red tint. Blushing. My fearless hitman is blushing at the old lady’s rebuke, and it nearly makes me burst into laughter. “That’s okay,” I say to take the heat off him. “We don’t really care about ceremonies. We just wanted to get married as quickly as possible. Right, dear?” I ask sweetly, unable to resist teasing Wyatt a little.
“That’s right,” he confirms. “Couldn’t live another second without being married to Amy. And the ring, um…”
“We’ll pick one together later,” I finish for him.
Watching us like a hawk, Geraldine elegantly sips her tea. “Don’t let him get away with his bachelor bullshit, my dear,” she says, scowling in Wyatt’s direction before focusing on me again. “He’s been alone for too long. You need to whip him into shape so he starts acting like an actual husband.”
I barely suppress a snort. “I, um, yes. I will absolutely, um, whip him.” A laugh does escape me at that. It’s really impossible not to laugh at the idea of making Wyatt do anything he doesn’t want to. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilkins. It’s just that Wyatt is already pretty much a perfect husband.”
“Hah! I highly doubt that. Does he make you come? And I told you to call me Geraldine, my dear.”
