It’s a game they like to play. Gain bragging rights for the year.
This year is his. He’s determined.
But then again, Valentine’s Day does that to men.
We plan. We sweat. We spoil.
More so when it’s the first after saying I do.
“No.”
“No?” he asks, brow raised. “How long?”
“I’ll call you with instructions on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday it is.” Javier tosses the keys and I catch them, slipping inside the already open driver’s side door while he jumps in his truck. He waves with two fingers and turns left at the end of my driveway, while I go right. My baby likes the scenic route, and I press play on the radio and ease a bit off the gas while my phone keeps track of her car.
I’m hard. Fucking throbbing. Replaying.
There are no cars on the road near me, the closest ahead of me by a distance of three cars, and I lower my zipper with the hand not on the wheel, giving myself one harsh tug to ease the ache only my wife can satiate. “Motherfucking tease,” I grit out as the cool air greets the bulbous tip, and the urge to fuck my fist is near maddening as I chase the memory of the day and each interaction.
Twirl woke up playful today with a sinful grin and her pussy above my lips. She rode my tongue while reaching back with one hand to grip me tightly, torturing me with slow strokes until I came with her wetness on my tongue and her cries in my ear. Then, before lunch, I had her bent over the vanity in our bathroom, hair in my fist and my cock kissing her womb.
I’ve watched her come twice today. Made her voice hoarse and body sensitive to my touch, and yet, she challenges me. Bad girl.
My wife is playing a dangerous game of tag, and I’m going to enjoy her tears tonight. This battle of wills is something I’ve come to crave—to need. She pushes and taunts, and I’ll always claim.
Drops of pre-come bead at the tip, and I feel their slow descent as they slide down until disappearing into the fabric of my slacks. Another hard stroke and my stomach clenches, muscles coiling tight as her defiant eyes flash into my mind. The beautiful blues were full of anger mixed with desire when I denied her questions.
A shiver rushes through me as I reach the entrance to the expressway, and I tuck myself back inside before temptation succeeds. Not yet. I only come for her. With her. In her.
My phone chimes and I press the app on the dashboard, picking up her whereabouts immediately. She’s twenty minutes away, the small beacon showing she’s driving fast. Another strike against her.
I don’t pick up speed, though. I’m letting her set the pace. Letting her run.
The staff knows what to do. The members know better than to approach—to look—at what belongs to me.
And that’s what they do as she parks a little later and I open the camera app for the mansion, capturing the minute London walks in...
She’s here and taking the elevator. Looks angry. ~Carmelo
Grabbing my cell, I type out a quick response and then turn it off as I drive down the familiar expressway that leads to the private playground where she’ll be waiting—dancing through her emotions.
London is upset, and while I understand the why, she knows who I am and what I’m capable of when it comes to her.
It takes another fifteen minutes for me to arrive and another five until I’m standing in front of her door. No one stopped me. No one so much as looked in my direction. The low strumming of bass greets my ears and I pause, keycard hovering over the lock.
Two beeps and then it blinks green, and yet, I still don’t enter.
Instead, I close my eyes and breathe in deep. The same energy from the first day we met—the one that always overtakes my senses each time our eyes meet—runs through me. My skin prickles, and my pulse quickens. My mouth waters, and my cock throbs.
“Christ, I’m owned.” With a quick turn of the handle, I step inside and pause at the beautiful sight that greets me. There’s a table set for two against the far left wall with a bottle of gin being chilled closer to what I think is my place setting. There’s a path made of red rose petals with my large and gothic throne in the middle, closer to the stage, and my stunning wife on the platform wrapped in a short silk robe the color of innocence. “Fuck.”
Naughty girl, how long have you been setting this up? You knew I’d always chase you.
“You’re in so much trouble, Mr. Asher.” Her voice is sultry, decadent, but it’s the coquettish look in her eyes that almost brings me to my knees. I’m weak for her. Only her.
“And do I pay for these sins at your feet, love?”
“No.” London plays with the silk belt keeping her body from my eyes, a small laugh escaping. “But you will beg for mercy...later.”
“Are you punishing me for earlier?” I ask, voice deep as a growl reverberates up my chest at the hint of a garter belt around her right thigh. “Why don’t you let me apologize now with my mouth and fingers? Let my cock show you just how sorry I am.”
“All in due time, husband.” Slim fingers pull on the sash and the thin material parts, her midsection and breasts exposed in the almost translucent material of what looks to be a bodysuit made of mesh and lace. All white. Clinging to her every dip and curve and the sweet skin of her mound. “But first, we need to talk.”
2
Two weeks ago...
