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I open my mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a quiet laugh.

“You just made me squirt,” I say, trying to sit up, never not in awe of what he’s capable of doing with my body.

But he doesn’t let up. Instead of letting that be his trophy, he wants more.

My limbs feel weak, spent like putty, but he’s doing just as he promised—whatever he wants.

His mouth covers my clit, sucking it into his mouth, and my hands grip onto his shoulders like a lifeline.

“Please,” I pant. “I can’t . . . I need . . .”

He tips his head up from between my legs, and with my arousal glistening from his lips, he says, “You can tell me what you need, but we both know you’re not in charge right now.

” Reaching for something, he shifts slightly, and seconds later, his lips are softly kissing my clit.

He peppers more kisses along my pussy lips and softly draws along the edges with his tongue.

It’s soothing and slow, and my eyes drift closed momentarily until one fast, stinging slap hits my pussy.

And then another. On the third, when my eyes fly open, I realize he’s using the riding crop.

But it’s the fourth time that the worn leather meets my sensitive skin that has one more deliciously earth-shattering orgasm erupting from me, and with it, a throaty moan that I barely recognize as mine as stars fill my vision.

“Look at you dripping for me.” Kissing the inside of my thigh, he runs his fingers up and down the other, easing my body down and adding the perfect version of praise. “That’s it. My beautiful fucking girl.”

I should be depleted, but I’m riding whatever kind of high this is as I smile and drag my fingers through his hair. “I thought you said all night, husband...”

He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me into his arms, shifting us to the other side of the room and depositing me right onto the edge of the bed that’s nestled against the wall.

Moving away, he grabs his bottle of bourbon. “We’re nowhere near being done. And you fucking know it.”

I grow more and more giddy as he twists the top and rocks off the stopper to this particular bottle.

“Open,” he demands. The dominance laced in his voice has my body buzzing all over again.

I open my mouth. And because I’m an overachiever when it comes to what this man desires, I stick out my tongue and spread my knees.

He practically growls in response. “That’s my girl.”

I hum and let a smile break at hearing him call me his girl. Every time, it’s the same feeling—special, safe, loved, worshipped. I never understood what it meant for a man to worship my body until I experienced the way my husband touches me, kisses me, teases me, tastes me.

“I want to see you tease my cock with the taste of bourbon on your tongue.”

My mouth waters. Whatever that says about me, I couldn’t give a shit.

“Play with that pretty pussy for me,” he demands.

His tongue reaches the rim first, just as he flashes a smirk with his eyes locked with mine. He takes a pull, and I watch as he works it down his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing, lips and chin wet.

“Would you like some?” he offers.

I nod slowly.

He glances down at his pants. “Take it out.”

It feels freeing, allowing him to take the lead.

In every other part of my life, that’s not the case.

I run a demanding business. And with that, lead and take on every challenge that comes, all on my own and with feigned confidence in making it seem like I know what the hell I’m doing.

I’m a strong feminist. There isn’t a single person who would consider me a pushover, but in this moment, submitting to what he wants and doing as he asks, it’s a heady combination of letting go and still being in power.

I practically pant as I flip open the button and lower the zipper of his pants, then pull the waist of his boxer briefs out over his thick, fat cock.

As my fingers graze his skin, he hisses.

I swipe my thumb along its head and gather his arousal before leaning in for a taste as my hand moves down to my pussy.

He lets out an approving hum, low and sexy. He likes that.

I glide my fingers teasingly along my slit as I wait for what he wants me to do next.

“Look at how wet you are, sugar. So needy for me,” he croons. “Go ahead, tease your pretty little lips, just like that, nice and slow.”

I smile up at him as he holds the bottle of bourbon above me, and then slowly tips it. Honey-colored bourbon pours out, and the sting of it splashes onto my tongue and across my lips.

“Let it dribble down your chin and lean forward.” As I let it drip onto his cock, I smile, wanting more.

He holds himself at the base and then taps the head along my bourbon-soaked tongue.

Letting it rest there, hard and ready, he tilts the bottle above.

And more of the bourbon pours. Another splash of warmth colliding with my tongue and along his waiting, eager dick.

Jesus, this is filthy. And it takes every effort not to smile at knowing how this must look.

“Swallow for me, sugar,” he growls.

Humming as my lips close around him, my eyes lock with his as I swallow him down. Taking him deep and then opening slightly so I can drag my tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Making such a mess for me,” he grits out. He tips his hips back, teasing himself, pulling out of my mouth to the tip, and then slowly moving himself back in until he hits the back of my throat.

The sounds of wet skin and small moans escape me as I play with my pussy. I’m so needy for more that I ease two fingers in and out of me just to hold myself over for the stretch of him.

He looks down at what I’m doing and then focuses back on my mouth.

“Fuck,” he rushes out. I try to take more of him in, but instead, he pulls away.

His knees hit the floor, and then he’s throwing my legs wide with both hands as his mouth hovers just above where I’m still playing.

“Feels too fucking good. My turn,” he says on an exhale, just as he flattens his tongue and runs it from my cunt to my clit with a savored moan.

Resting back on my elbows, I watch as he does it again, moaning as I writhe against his face.

And then my attention shifts to the mirrors around the space.

Watching him on his knees feasting on me and moaning for it is one thing, but to see it mirrored back, and to watch myself in the reflection, is intoxicating.

Even more than the bourbon he poured out.

He takes his time, fucking me with his tongue and then running his knuckles along my pussy lips.

My breath hitches at the roughness of his skin and the change in motion.

“More,” I plead as my chest rises and falls more quickly now.

But he ignores me and focuses only on what’s in front of him.

He edges me with the slow movements of his tongue, knowing exactly how to play with my clit as if they’re better acquainted now than I am.

He draws out every movement, slow and steady, bringing me exactly where he wants me.

My thighs tingle, body tensing tightly, and I fight to keep my eyes on him when my orgasm shifts to the surface.

With rapt attention, he slides a third finger into my cunt and draws pleasure out in a way that I will never quite understand.

His lips and tongue settle on my clit, and with precise pressure and intention, he doesn’t ease up until I’m coming so hard that my body bows off the bed with a feral scream.

When he sits back on his heels, I practically beg for him again. I lean up to see what he’s doing, and he takes the bottle and runs the rim of it up my thigh and toward my pussy. The cool bottle grazes each of my pussy lips as he makes sure to coat it with exactly what he wants.

“Two of my favorite things,” he hums with focused attention. “This is exactly how I want to drink this from now on. The taste of you on the rim as I sip whatever blend I’m in the mood for.”

“Holy shit,” I mumble with a disbelieving smile. This man is something else.

He pulls the bottle back, takes a lick of the rim, and then tips it into his mouth.

I know exactly what he’s planning the second I see him move closer.

My lips part as Ace wraps his hand around the back of my neck and spits his whiskey laced with my arousal into my mouth.

I swallow, letting just a little dribble down my chin, just like he’s asked for before.

“Fuck, I love you,” he groans, just as the lip of the bottle moves to my clit. He rubs the smooth glass in circles. I’m so sensitive and aware of every sensation, it only takes seconds to be on the edge of another release.

I cry out so loud that it echoes out in the room, the orgasm shoving me forward, forcing pebbles along my arms. Every inch of me is slick with sweat and completely unraveled. Every thought focused solely on my body and how he’s not finished.

I can feel him smile against my leg, already thinking about the next punishingly sufficient orgasm he’s going to pull from me as he settles his hips between my legs, his stiff cock at my entrance.

I smile, dazed, as I ask, “What are you smiling at, baby?”

He lowers himself over me, kisses my neck, and slides his cock in slowly before he says two words that I’ll never get tired of hearing: “My wife.”