Page 39 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

twenty-five

MACE

After ensuring everyone at the tennis club remembers that the Astors don’t let anyone fuck with them—and that I have dirt on every single one of them—I drove my wife home. She hops out of the car as soon as I park, scurrying to the door like she can escape her punishment.

I climb out, shut the car door, and easily close the distance between us in six strides.

She scowls at me. “I hate tall people.”

“You’re running.”

Slowing her pace, she sends me a haughty look. “I’m not.”

“What did I tell you about lying?” Pushing through the door, she makes her way toward the stairs, but I catch her by the waist and haul her back against my chest, wrapping my hand around her throat and fluttering pulse. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She swallows, throat bobbing against my palm. “To shower.”

“Without me? ”

“Don’t think that because we fucked in one bathroom, we’ll fuck in another.”

My dick strains for her, liking the way she says fuck and wondering how good her lips might feel around my length. Humming, I stroke her neck. “You’re right, we should change it up.” I spin her around, hoist her over my shoulder, and carry her toward the living room.

“Hey!” she shouts, swatting my back. “Put me down.”

Ignoring her, I cut to the couch and slowly sit down, moving her to straddle my hips as I sit back, keeping my hands on her hips.

Her chest heaving, she narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t try to get up or run away.

Leaning forward, I ghost my lips over hers, gripping her shirt and dragging it up her body. She lifts her arms without protest and I smirk. My wife might pretend like she doesn’t want me, but she surrenders to me faster than she ever has, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside.

Tipping her back, I suck her nipple, swirling my tongue around the peak.

Her fingers dive into my hair and she sighs.

I bite her soft skin, gazing up at her as she gasps, and her eyes fall to meet mine.

Did she forget this is a punishment? Pulling off her tit with a pop, I help her stand and wrench her shorts and thong down, baring the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.

I quickly rip my shirt off, shove my pants and boxers down, freeing my cock, and tug her back on top of me. Her thighs part and she settles on top of me, slick and ready for me to fill her.

Gripping her ass, I slide her over my length. “You’re so wet for me,” I rasp, fighting the urge to be inside of her.

“I thought we were fucking, not talking,” she mutters .

Smirking, I move my thumb to her clit and smooth over the nerves. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Obviously,” she growls.

I press down on her clit, rubbing fast, tight circles, watching her fight to keep her composure and to hold on to her anger.

But those lush lips part and she softens, palms landing on my shoulders.

“You left without telling me,” I murmur, dipping one finger inside of her and thrusting in time with my thumb.

“I didn’t realize I had to ask for permission to live my life,” she snaps.

She has me all wrong. It’s not about permission; it’s about making sure she’s safe. There are too many people who would happily hurt or exploit her just to hurt me. Pausing my movements, I search her face. “How do I protect you if you don’t tell me where you’re going?”

She frowns at me. “I can take care of myself.”

“You know what I mean.”

Blowing out a breath, she nods. “Yeah, I do.”

“Next time, you’ll tell me?”

“If I say no, will you still fuck me?”

I narrow my eyes.

She sighs. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but I don’t want you to think you can start bossing me around. Telling me when to breathe or eat or what to wear.”

Ignoring that ridiculous notion, I slip my finger out of her. “Turn around.”

She eyes me like she doesn’t quite trust me, but turns, resting her ass against my cock.

Humming in approval, I spread her thighs over my legs and shift her body up, and my clever wife tucks her ankles beside my legs.

I hold her up with one arm, position my dick with the other, and slowly ease her down, kneading her breasts and kissing her shoulder.

She shudders, thighs tightening as she stretches around me.

“Relax, Cassia, you can take it.”

Softening once more, she takes me all the way, fingers clutching my forearm around her middle, and I hold, letting her adjust to the position and my girth, pinching her nipple between two fingers.

Her hips jerk, walls gliding up my length. “Oh my god.”

“That’s it,” I tell her, thrusting up into her. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Humming in agreement, she starts to move her body in time with mine.

She rocks up and down, hissing when I thrust in deep, nails digging into my skin when I shift my grip to her hips and help her grind against me, letting my tip caress her G-spot until she shakes, her movements slowing until I have to take over.

Gliding one hand up to her throat, I tip her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze, and slip the other one down between her legs.

Her icy blue eyes widen and a yessss tumbles out of her lips when I flick her clit.

Smirking, I kiss her, nipping her lip hard enough to leave a little bruise, a reminder of who owns this body.

“Are you going to come for your husband?” I whisper against her lips.

Her walls tighten and pulse around me, her body giving her away, even if she refuses to admit it out loud.

I slam my hips up in a steady, relentless beat until she quivers, until she’s so wet I might slip out.

I had every intention of fucking her until she couldn’t walk, but her walls clamp around me so tight, hips jerking forward and back, forcing me deeper inside of her.

That, in combination with the way my name wrenches out of her in a throaty, desperate moan, spells my demise.

I barely have enough control to see her through her orgasm, holding every muscle tight until she squirts all over my dick, trembling and moaning, soaking me and the couch.

“Fuck, Cassia,” I growl, thrusting frantically, deeper, harder, letting her sweet cum soak my length until my balls tighten and everything closes in.

Her whimpers, her heavy breaths, soft body against mine, her walls clamping tight, my cock pulsing, my slipping control until everything collides and I explode, cum spraying inside of her.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” I rasp, slamming deep and holding, painting her insides with my seed.

“Mmm,” she moans, swirling her hips and squeezing my length, like she wants to extract every last drop.

Or, at least, that’s my fantasy.

“That’s it, baby, take it all. It’s all for you.”

With a contented sigh, she relaxes, body collapsing against mine, her head resting just below my chin. “Maybe I should get in trouble more often.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

She giggles. “You know this is like a reward, right? I thought you were going to punish me.”

“We haven’t gotten to the punishment yet.”

“Oh yeah?” She tips her head back, silky strands of red hair smoothing over my chest. “What is it, then?”

Smirking, I band one arm around her middle, grab the remote, and turn on the TV. “You have to sit here, like this, with my dick inside of you, keeping my cum nice and warm.”

Her cheeks flush. I was just balls deep in her, but me telling her about my cum makes her blush? She’s so fucking adorable, and best of all, she’s all mine.

“This is a hostage situation,” she murmurs .

“Do you like it?”

“No,” she lies.

And I let her keep it, because she’s not quite ready to admit that she’s enjoying herself. Her eyes tell me all I need to know, though. Cassia doesn’t hate me as much as she wants to, and moreover, she’s a little scared of love.

While I’m searching for something to watch, she shifts, sliding her foot over the cushion to rest in front of her and does the same with the other, but as soon as both legs are dangling over the edge of the couch, she’s tighter than before and my cock starts to harden again.

But I still need a bit to recover before I’m ready to go again.

“How is that even possible?” she whispers.

“Shhh, I’m trying to focus,” I tell her, cupping her boob while I scroll through our options. “Okay, what about Twilight ?”

“ Twilight? ” she asks with a laugh. “You want to watch sparkly vampires?”

“This is the face of a killer, Bella.”

“Oh my god, you’re a Twi-hard.”

Scoffing, I hit play. “First of all, that term is offensive to the fanbase. Second of all, my sisters loved it and made me watch it with them. I only like it for the wolves.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, tipping her head back to look up at me. “Admit it, you love Carlisle, huh?”

Dropping the remote, I stroke her throat. “And let me guess, you’re more of a Charlie fan.”

She bites her lip.

I knew it. She’s hot for Bella’s dad. “Was it the mustache?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles. “Charlie is a vibe and I stand by that.”

“The movie is starting. ”

“Okay, well, stop talking.”

“What if I like talking to you?”

“Do you always have to bicker with me?” she asks.

“Yes.”

Rolling her eyes, she focuses on the TV, with my hand around her throat, my other arm around her waist, and my cock plugging up that pretty hole to keep my cum in her as long as I can.

She’s on birth control, so there’s no possibility—or, at least, a very slim possibility—that she’ll get pregnant, but one can hope.

We make it halfway through the movie before I’m fully hard again. She pushes her hips back and forth a bit, almost as if it’s unintentional, but she gives herself away when she glances back at me.

“You want more, baby?”

She presses her lips together.

“I have an idea,” I tell her, drawing my hand down the valley between her tits, over her soft stomach, and slip two fingers through her wet folds. “Twenty questions and I’ll let you come.”

“Seriously?” she asks on a breath.

“Deadly.” I languidly circle my fingers, and she arches into the touch, her cunt gliding up my length. “First question. Do you like Twilight ?”