Page 16 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Fiona

My eyes holding Bryce’s, I move my hand to the side and lower the zipper hidden under the rows of tiny pearls. The bodice hangs forward, gaping open. I tug at the ribbon at the small of my back, and the tight clutch of the fabric loosens.

I slowly lower the dress, inch by inch. His eyes follow, the intensity searing my skin. Triumph thrums in my veins.

Just as the neckline is about to dip below my nipples, I stop. “Does this count as one? After all, I need to work on reducing the three hundred.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “That depends on how far you take it.” His voice remains hard, with a hint of guttural roughness that wasn’t there before.

“We’re going as far as we need to,” I purr, then let the dress glide down my skin, the chiffon whispering in the silent room. The silk caresses my nipples, then strokes my belly like a lover’s touch.

His eyes flare as he realizes I’m not wearing anything under the bodice. My nipples bead in the cool air. I rock my hips slightly, helping the dress slip past.

The white fabric pools at my feet, the copious material covering up to my shin. I stand in front of Bryce in nothing but a garter belt and white silk stockings, no other underwear. I waxed two days ago, so there’s not a strand of hair on me.

Heat erupts in Bryce’s eyes, but he doesn’t move. The tent at his crotch rises higher. I drop my eyes, then lift them to meet his.

I step out of the dress I despise and sit on the glass-top coffee table. It’s so low my knees go higher than my hips. Putting a hand behind me for balance, I slowly spread my legs. His gaze drops to my most private flesh, the impact sending sizzles up my spine.

“Like it?” I say. “Never seen me waxed before, have you?” I take my index and middle fingers and run them gently over the soft folds on either side of my pussy, not showing him the prize. Not yet.

“Spread them,” he orders me, unblinking. He reaches for his glass, then stops, as though belatedly realizing he knocked back his whiskey already.

Licking my lips, I slip my index finger between the folds without spreading them.

I stroke my clit leisurely, eliciting a soft sigh of satisfaction.

I might be exaggerating my reaction a little, but it isn’t difficult to be turned on.

Bryce has always had an irresistible ability to make my blood boil.

I move the finger lower, gliding it along the slickening flesh until it reaches my pussy. I tease the opening, biting my lip. Heat curls in my belly.

He unbuttons his shirt—although he had two undone already. His cheeks flush—a sign he’s seriously turned on. I widen my knees, moving my finger more vigorously over myself. Every stroke bumps against my clit, and the wetness spreads.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers.”

I only push in one finger, my eyes defiant. I know I’m being naughty and challenging, but I don’t care. I want to show him he doesn’t hold all the cards just because he tries to make me feel cheap.

His jaw stiffens. He tightens his hand around his whiskey glass. I push another finger in, then pump them the way I like the most. Fast, but not so fast that I’m chasing a quick climax. I move my pelvis to the rhythm.

The pleasure builds much more quickly than I expected. I haven’t had a decent orgasm in ages, the kind that leaves you shaking to the core. By all rights I shouldn’t have one now either, but Bryce’s gaze upon me intensifies every sensation.

“Fuck yourself to an orgasm if you want this to count.”

At his velvety command, my breathing shallows. Although the wickedness of having him watch me masturbate is a huge turn-on, I can’t seem to go over. I thrust harder. My muscles grip my fingers, but something is missing.

I need a vibrator, I realize. I’m not going to come like this.

Dismay ripples, then is quickly replaced by another thought— Just fake it. Nobody’s going to know.

I faked it all the time with Jude, and he never noticed. Men only see what they want to see.

I pump my fingers faster and arch my back, moving my hips. Then I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a soft scream, quiver a little and then pant as I slowly “relax.”

After a few minutes, I pretend like I’ve recovered. But when I open my eyes, Bryce is looming over me, his hands on each side of my head, his crotch close to my pussy. He’s still in his clothes, but I can see the strong chest through the gap in his shirt.

I gasp, and he lowers his face closer to mine. His eyes roam over my every feature, as though he’s seeing me for the first time. “When did you learn to play such a transparent trick?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I stammer.

“Come on. Faking, sweetheart?”

I bite my lip, then quickly put on an air of bravado. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ve seen you come countless times. I know what you look like when you’re lost in an orgasm.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

“Maybe you have, but your body hasn’t.” He shifts, one hand going to the back of my neck and holding me.

The other travels down and pushes three thick fingers inside me.

The invasion stretches me, shock waves rippling out.

I gasp, staring up at him in surprise. “See? Your cunt can never be satisfied by two of your slim, anemic fingers. It wants to be filled tight. Like this.”

He pulls back a little, then thrusts them in, deeper and harder this time. I moan helplessly as pleasure washes over me.

“And your angle’s wrong. Your hips need to be like this, so my thumb can rub against your clit. Your body has always been greedy for me.” The pad of his thumb circles over my clit as he pumps his fingers. Electric jolts shake through me, tingling my nerve endings until I’m writhing against him.

“And your tits want to be sucked and nipped.” His mouth closes over my nipple.

My back arches, this time like a bow pulled tightly. He knows exactly how much suction I need, how to flick his tongue to produce the maximum reaction.

The sensual assault overwhelms me. I was wet before; now I’m soaking.

I brace my heels at the edge of the table as I arch, rock, buck…and come. But he doesn’t stop touching me. He thrusts harder, his thumb circling over my swollen clit, and his mouth sucks the other breast like he’s a man on a mission.

I whimper, aroused and alarmed that he’s turned the tables on me, even as my pelvis moves shamelessly against his hand. Another brutal orgasm breaks over me. I grip him hard, digging my fingers into his hair, holding his head to my breast.

He turns a little, letting my nipple out of his mouth.

His breath fans over the overstimulated tip, making me shiver with prickling pleasure.

“You like that? But this greedy little body is still unsatisfied.” He pushes in deeper.

“It’s still begging for more, getting wetter.

It wants to be really filled.” He unbuckles his pants, pushing his clothes down.

His cock springs out, and I tremble at the size. The shaft is thicker than I remember, dark veins pulsing along the long length. The plum-shaped head is rounder and bigger. Precum drips down.

He wraps his large hand around the shaft, but can’t hold it all. He gives it a good pump, his breathing roughening. My mouth dries.

Still, a sliver of sanity wins out. “No sex without a rubber.”

“Don’t worry.” He pulls out a foil packet from his pants pocket and tears it with his teeth .

The second he sheathes himself, he drives into me, balls deep. I cry out at the ruthless invasion. The feel of him can’t compare to his fingers—so thick and long and hot and pulsing. It hits the spot deep inside me just right, making my vision haze with a pleasure so intense I can’t breathe.

The rhythm he sets is brutally hard and fast, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust, the bobbing making my breasts jiggle.

I twist as ecstasy swells, crackling through my veins.

He returns to my nipple, sucking it in and trapping it between the roof of his mouth and tongue.

The pleasure building inside me is so intense, it’s almost painful.

I pant helplessly, moans vibrating through my arched throat.

“Please… Bryce… It’s too much…”

He shows no mercy, driving into me with ruthless focus.

Lust burns white hot. I wrap my legs around him to control his thrusts and get him to slow down, but soon I realize I’m actually using him as an anchor so I can move my pelvis to match his cock.

A tidal wave of an orgasm crashes through me. I scream, clutching him hard, afraid I’ll be lost if I let go. My pussy spasms, clenching his cock. It’s almost like my body needs a moment to gather itself. But he doesn’t stop. He is a man on a mission to show me who’s in charge.

Without giving me a chance to catch my breath, he slams into me.

“Give me a second—”

“Why? You’re taking my cock like your pussy is made for me,” he says between pants. His cock feels even thicker and longer. How is that possible? “You’re gripping me like you can’t bear to let go.” He rams into me so hard that I feel it all the way to my tingling scalp.

Another intense climax washes through me. I can’t even scream as I shake under him. He drives into me a couple more times, then finally lets out a guttural groan as his entire body tenses and he empties himself.

I lie on the table, limp as a rag doll, struggling to drag in air. My heart hammers so fast and loud, I can’t seem to hear anything over the sound of my pulse.

Bryce wasn’t like this before. He was insatiable in bed, but not so ruthless and driven. Even though he’s given me multiple orgasms, not one was about us. It was more about something else—dominance…control…who belongs to whom .

He’s made his point. I’d forgotten how my body reacts to him—it’s like he’s made of some unholy aphrodisiac. Or maybe I thought I wouldn’t respond to him like that anymore because of our breakup.

I tense at another thought: Is he seeing somebody?

He’s from the Huxley family, and their motto— pietas et unitas —is famous.

Loyalty and unity. The family lives by it.

Some of them don’t commit at all, but if they do marry, they’re faithful to their spouses.

But I’m not a Huxley, so Bryce doesn’t owe me anything.

He might have a girlfriend he cherishes, but wants me on the side as a fucktoy for when he feels horny but doesn’t want to jerk off.

“What’s going through that head of yours?” Bryce says, studying my expression. His edge has dulled a little, but is still sharp enough to hurt if I try to get too close.

“Just wondering if you have a girlfriend.” I aim for nonchalance, but my voice breaks a little at the end, which, thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.

His eyebrows snap into a dark scowl. “If I did, I wouldn’t have fucked you. Unlike some people, I don’t cheat.” He sounds insulted.

I look away briefly as the familiar ache burns in my heart. “And if you meet somebody you like while we’re doing this…?”

“Then I guess we’ll have to put this on hold, then resume after I break up.”

I gasp. The sheer presumption . “I can’t be your eternal fucktoy. I might not want to live in L.A. for that long.”

“Perhaps you should focus on satisfying me three hundred times, then.”

“Two hundred and ninety-nine!” I glare at him.

He laughs mockingly. “You better keep an accurate account. If you mess up, who knows what’ll happen.”

“You—”

He dips his face to kiss me and shut me up.

I quickly turn my head. His lips brush my cheek. I shiver. So close. “No kissing on the mouth.” My tone is flat and firm, brooks no debate, but of course a highly trained lawyer like Bryce wants to argue.

“Ridiculous. You still have my cock inside you and you can’t bear to kiss? ”

Right on cue, his penis twitches. I flush at the sensation, which is much more delicious than I’d like.

“What kind of game are you playing now?” he demands.

“Not a game. It’s one thing for you to stick your dick in me, another for you to kiss me on the mouth.

It’s far too intimate and affectionate.” He’ll never kiss me like he used to—with all his affection and care, like I’m the world’s greatest treasure.

My heart might just break, and I don’t want to show any more vulnerability.

I’m scared he’ll use it against me. “Plus, you don’t deserve it. ”

Rage flares in his eyes. “ I’ll decide what I deserve.” He grips my hair and tries to kiss me again.

“I’m not consenting to the kiss. Are you going to force me?”

He stops, then scrutinizes my face—one heartbeat…two… “Are you telling me if I kiss you, it’ll be rape?” He’s so close, his breath tickles my cheek.

I nod jerkily.

He stares at me like I just told him clouds are made of ice cream. Finally, he pulls back and laughs. The sound is unpleasant—nasty, even. “How ludicrous. Fucking you any way I want isn’t rape, but kissing you on the mouth is?”

I stay stubbornly silent.

“Fine. We’ll have it your way.”