Page 53 of Arranged Control

“Oh my god, you really were.”

Annoyance flickers across his face. “I thought I told you to come here, princess.”

“And now I’m starting to realize you want me even more than I want you.” I could laugh, but it’s not funny. It only turns me on even more.

“You’re admitting you want me?”

“I took off my freaking clothes pretty easily, didn’t I?”

“Then stop talking and come get in my lap.”

“Admit that I’m not rigid.” I stalk closer and let my arms fall away. His eyes move to my breasts and back to my face again. Helicks his lips and I see a crack in his facade. I’m trying not to grin, but I love this.

“That’s like telling water it’s not wet. Like you’re wet right now.”

“Doesn’t matter how soaking I am.” I stand beside him, hands clasped behind my back, arching myself toward him. I’m not even being subtle and he clearly likes it. “Admit that I’m not stuck-up.”

“You want your husband to lie to you?”

“I want you to say it.”

He stares at me and I stare right back. His dick is completely hard now, practically ripping through that ridiculous bathing suit.

And I’m dripping with arousal. I could throw myself on my knees and swallow his cock and die happy right about now.

But if someone’s going to break, it’s going to be him.

“I think you’re inflexible, unyielding, prudish, formal, stilted, and fucking beautiful. I think about filling your pretentious mouth with my thick, filthy cock all fucking day long. I dream about fucking your sloppy wet cunt until all your puritanical bullshit floods away in waves of orgasm, pleasure, and cum. Now stop being such a pain in my ass and get in my fucking lap, princess, before I stand up, bend you over that balcony railing, and fuck you for the whole city to see.”

My mouth drops open.

Holy shit.

I’ve never been talked to like that in my life.

I should be insulted. He called me puritanical. There’s nothing puritanical about me!

But instead of being mad, I drop to my knees.

Lean forward.

Grab the hem of his stupid bathing suit.

And rip it forward until his cock springs free.

He lets out a low moan when I take him in my mouth. I lean forward over him, sucking, breasts swaying. I let my spit roll down his dick, sloppy and wet. I don’t use my hands, only my mouth and tongue, listening to the dirty sounds it makes and his groans of bliss. I go deep and pull back, gasping, and stare at him in the face.

“I love your taste,” I say quietly. “There’s nothing filthy about it.”

The expression on his face is pure victory.

He’s stunned.

I take his dick in my mouth and suck him more. I know he’s winning too and I don’t care. This is what he wanted. But it’s also what I want.

I choke and stroke, sucking desperately, until he finally pulls me up into his lap. I straddle him, arching my pussy down against his hard dick. His wet shaft rubs against my panties as he kisses me, hungry and desperate, tongue lapping against my teeth. I moan into that kiss, grinding down until he teases my pussy with his fingers.

“Suck my cock, drool and moan, make it wet and dirty all you want, princess, but you’re still just a stuck-up bratva doll begging to get filled, fucked, and ruined.” He pushes my pantiesaside, thrusts himself forward, and drives his dick into my pussy. “And you’ll always be my fucking toy.”