Page 20 of Eager Housewife
I try to stay quiet, I really do.
Thrust.
A whine escapes my closed lips. Released from their duties, my hands ball into fists on the edge of the countertop. I don’t know how he’s still so hard, or why this is such a turn-on. My climax is just out of reach, nearly there.
Thrust.
So close. Only one more would…
“I’ll be there immediately.”
A click from his phone, and I expect another thrust. I wait for him to ram ferociously into me, taking his cruel pleasure, leaving promptly afterwards, his seed dripping down my thigh.
He pulls out.
“What…?” I turn to see him tucking his still rock-solid, and as ever massive, cock into his trousers. It’s like trying to smuggle a six-foot python. Even as he does up his belt, it’s obvious.
I tell myself I can’t be upset that work is his priority. I am not upset. I’m not. He’s already given up working for two weekends in a row to take me to Lochside.
It’s just that I live for these moments when he appears out of nowhere and fucks me as though he was thinking of me—and me alone—all morning.
The aborted orgasm has all sorts of emotions souring my throat. Irrational tears fill my ears. I’ve failed. I broke the glass. He hasn’t come. I haven’t provided the relief he needs—that’smy jobto give him—whenever he uses me.
Yeah, I’m a bit frustrated for myself too, of course, but does that alarm mean Duncan is in danger?
Mr Blackstone. Gah. My husband. I don’t even know what to call him or how to ask if he’ll return home to me or why last week there was blood on his shirt cuff.
This has put me in my place. I’m not a part of his business, or his real life. My stomach sinks. I’m just a convenient free use wife.
I straighten, push my skirt down, and turn. I don’t say anything, but I don’t meet his eyes either.
Strong fingers pinch my chin and force me to look up into his face. There’s a beat of silence. His gaze is serious, cold even.
“Buy two replacement glasses for the broken one.”
“But—”
“And a whole new set. Whatever style you like.”
“Okay,” I reply meekly. I don’t want new glasses. What’s broken in this relationship is my heart. Stupid girl went and fell in love, and I’ll never be that to him. No love was the agreement.
He nods abruptly. Apart from the bulge, you’d never know that thirty seconds ago he was fucking me over the sink.
What did that siren from his phone mean? He’s halfway out the door when a single needy word falls from my lips.
“Duncan!”
He pins me with a questioning look over his shoulder, one big hand on the door frame.
It’s the first time I’ve called him by that name, and it shimmers between us. His russet hair has flopped over his forehead, and the dark red and streaks of silver make him appear both hopelessly mortal as well as god-like and powerful. How both are possible, I don’t know, but my husband is hot in ways I can’t explain.
“Is everything okay?”
His brows pinch together in confusion, as if to say, what do you care? “Fine for me.”
I breathe out a shaky sigh of relief.
“London Mafia Syndicate business. The kingpin of Angel is having some trouble with Italian mobsters I’ve got contacts with.”