Page 69 of Almost Rotten

Her mouth brushes my pec, her lips burning my skin as they graze against my collarbone. Her movements are deliberate—intentional and unhurried.

As the aftershocks of the nightmare settle, I find myself sinking into an abyss of pleasure, my cock hard as stone.

Emboldened, I squeeze her side, caress her stomach, and tease the hem of her panties.

“Is this okay?” I ask, slipping two fingers under the elastic.

In answer, she kisses my neck and rolls her pelvis forward, granting me better access.

As I ghost over the soft hair of her mound for the first time, my dick thrums with desire. I’ve seen the little patch of dark curls, but I’ve never touched it. I’ve never stroked it like this.

She rolls her hips toward me again, parting her legs further, allowing for more.

“Good girl,” I choke out as I explore. “Such a good little wife, opening up and letting me in.”

Soft hair gives way to a warm, wet heat. I drag my fingers through her pussy lips, and she whimpers, bracing her leg around my body.

Biting back a smile, I glide my fingers through my new favorite place in the whole damn world.

So fucking wet.

So fucking warm.

I pull back, carefully removing my hand from her panties, my fingers coated with arousal.

“Is all this for me?” I hold them out to show her the glistening slickness I’ve collected, then pop them into my mouth, eager to taste her. When her flavor registers on my tongue, I moan.

With a huff, she smacks my chest. Before I can read into the move, she captures my wrist and pulls my fingers from my mouth. Then she guides them back down her body.

Lower.

Lower still.

She guides me until I’m right back where I want to be, positioning my fingers at a spot not far below that little patch of hair, and presses down. Instantly, she whimpers and her body spasms.

A thrill shoots up my spine. “This is the spot?”

I want to get this right. I’ve never touched anyone like this before, and more than anything, I want to know how to please her.

She answers with a breathy sigh.

Tentatively, I rub over the little bud, and she rewards me with a soft mewl. As I continue my ministrations, her breaths grow faster, shallower.

She’s whimpering for me. She’s gasping for me.

Pride radiates through my chest.

When she grasps my wrist again, I freeze, but when she tugs, silently signaling that she wants something different, I zero in onher subtle movements. She guides my hand in more of a circular motion, and once she releases me, I continue the pattern, applying more pressure than I would have thought necessary.

The gasps have turned to breathy sighs.

I want to capture each one, bottle it, and keep it all to myself.

Her gentle writhing morphs into bucking movements.

Fuck, yes. I’ve fucking got her right where I want her.

“Look at you,” I say, my voice rough. “Grinding on my hand. What would it feel like if that was my cock, mon ange?”