Page 70 of Almost Rotten

She lets out a loud, wanton moan that makes heat gather in my groin.

“You want that, baby? You want to grind all over your husband’s cock and make a mess in my lap?”

“Yes. Fuck. Ty…”

In one quick move, I flip us both, eliciting a squeal from her.

Between one breath and the next, I’m flat on my back, she’s straddling my thighs, and I’ve got my boxers pushed down so she has full access.

She fumbles in the dark, trying to line me up where she wants me. When she huffs in frustration, I take over, gripping myself at the base, holding steady.

With her hands pressed to my chest, she rolls her hips. This time when she moans, the first sparks of orgasm ignite in my calves and thighs.

“Just like that,” I encourage. “Do it again.”

She does. She grinds her sex against the underside of my cock, drawing out the sexiest moan as each and every one of my piercings coasts over her clit.

She works herself up and down, up and down, fucking herself on my dick.

She’s going to make us both come like this.

“Look at you. You’re doing so good, baby. I can’t wait to see you come. I want you to fucking soak my lap. I want to smell like you for days.”

As she quickens her pace, I hold myself steady, transfixed by the way she grinds against my piercings.

“Ty. Fuck. I’m close.”

Eyes closed, she throws her head back.

I grip her hips, drink her in.

She’s on the precipice. I want to take her all the way past the edge of ecstasy.

She bucks and grinds, whimpering with every shift of her hips that drives her body harder into mine. Frantically, she grabs my hand, guides it to her sex, and works two digits into her body.

Fuck.

She just put my fingers inside her.

She’s riding my fingers and rubbing her clit all over my cock.

My own release coils around my spine, sparks of unmatched sensation firing off in every limb.

Her mouth falls open into a silent scream, then she freezes.

I keep thrusting up, driving her higher, not willing to stop for anything until she’s fully sated and trembling with aftershocks.

Finally, she collapses against me, trapping my hand between our bodies. I don’t pull out—I don’t dare fucking move. I just lie there, savoring the sounds of her breathy little pants, and reveling in the spontaneous clenches around my fingers as she rides out the release.

We’re both quiet, and I try to savor the moment. But eventually insecurity barges its way in, tugging at my chest, stomping all over my pride and the elation that comes with having her in this position.

As I smooth my free hand up and down her back, I can’t help but voice an uncertainty that’s nagged at me for weeks. “Tell me it’s only me,” I whisper.

I asked her this before—asked her to lie, to pretend.

That’s not the assurance I want tonight.

Tonight, I want to know this is real. I want her to admit that things have changed. I want her to accept that it’s me and her—now and forever.