Page 32 of Graves & Griggs
I step inside the dressing room and shut the door behind me, locking it, then pinning Skyla’s hands above her head. My mouth is on hers before she can even breathe, our tongues intertwining. A soft little moan escapes her that has my cock dripping pre-cum already.
“Fuck, little one. I’m so goddamn hard for you.”
She smirks against my lips. “Prove it.”
I let out a low growl, kicking the velvet-covered bench around so it suits us better before I lay her out across it. Skyla smirks, slowly lifting her ass up so that I can pull her pants down. They’re those stretchy maternity pants that come off so easily, which is honestly all of our preference. Before we had kids, there would be days where Skyla would be in absolutely nothing, and it was fucking glorious.
“So do you like the sweater or not? You think Vincent will like it?”
I laugh. “He’ll love anything you give him.”
I reach down, grabbing the sweater she carried in here before I rub it against her bare thigh. She quivers at the touch before letting out another sweet moan.
“Feel how soft it is, little one. Tell me he won’t go crazy over it,” I practically purr.
She nods shakily, her hips wiggling as I dance the material against her swollen clit.
“Fuck,” she whimpers.
I grin. “You like that?”
“Uh-huh.”
I do it again and again before I rest part of the neckline against her clit, covering it with my hand as I start rubbing soft circles. “There you go, little one. Make a mess all over your husband’s sweater. It’ll be the best present he ever got.”
A breathy gasp leaves her, and I decide that I can’t take the torture anymore. I push my cock into her, letting out a low groan as I sink fully inside. Her pussy pulses around me as I begin thrusting, rubbing the sweater against her faster. Does anyone know what cum does to cashmere? It has to only enhance it, right? At least, in Vincent’s opinion it will.
I thrust in and out of her, desperate to fill her with my release as I rest a hand on her hip, holding her for better leverage. Fuck. I love her like this. Soft, open and fucking drenched for me. The group play we all have is fun, but sometimes a moment like this with my wife is all I need.
“Wes,” she pants.
“I know, little one. I know,” I say through clenched teeth. “You want my cum? Want me to fill you up?”
“Yes,” she moans. “I want your cum, please,” she begs.
I can’t help but chuckle. It’s no wonder she’s practically been permanently pregnant since we got married. My wife has the neediest breeding kink, and so do the rest of us. By the time we’re done with her, we’re going to have a few hundred kids. Sounds like a good fucking time in the process.
The base of my spine begins to tingle, and my balls tighten before I empty myself inside her. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, and neither Skyla nor myself attempt to concealour pleasure as we fall apart together. Fuck them, who gives a shit if anyone knows that I can please my wife?
When we come up for air, I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before pulling myself out. The sweater is still balled up in my fist, and I raise it to my nose, inhaling deeply and groaning because all I can smell is her.
Yeah, Vincent’s gonna fucking love it.
I grab another end of the sweater, unable to stop myself from fucking with Vincent at least a little. I use the sweater to clean between Skyla’s thighs, and she looks to me in surprise before a laugh escapes her.
When we get to the front, Ronan is watching us with a patient shake of his head, Blake has a surprised shit-eating grin and the saleswoman looks downright mortified.
“Just the sweater, then?” she asks.
“You might want to throw in the shirt that’s in the dressing room. Not sure you’ll be able to sell it now.”
“Jesus,” Ronan says from behind us, doing his best to conceal his laugh as I turn around and shoot him a wink.
Skyla hands the woman her card, not an ounce of shame in her smile before she takes her new purchase, and we all head out of the store. The girls link arms and begin whispering and giggling as Ronan steps up beside me, handing me the bags I dropped before clapping my shoulder and whispering into my ear.
“Hope you’re ready for round two later. Listening to you two has me hard as a fucking pipe.”
Surprise hits me when I see Ronan is watching me with hungry eyes. He usually never approaches me first. It’s always the other way round, and typically, it’s after a few beers or when we’re having one of our weekly—okay, daily—fuckfests. This… this is new, and I definitely don’t hate it.
