Page 15 of Mr. Strategic

I said nothing, watching in horrified fascination as my tits shook with the violence of his thrusts.

There was something twisting inside me, and I felt my nipples tauten with arousal. I wanted to stop circling my slippery clit, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Faster,” he said savagely. “I want us to come at the same time.”

My legs were trembling, and he slapped my hand away and replaced my fingers with his.

And then I did make a noise, squealing with distress as he pressed down on my oversensitive clit.

His fingers were masterful, vicious, forcing me to the brink before I could prevent it, and I was flung over the edge, every inch on my body exploding with sensation, my hands desperately clinging to the headboard as he unloaded inside me again.

“You didn’t fake it then, did you, brat?” he hissed.

Stars clustered in the corners of my vision and I felt sweat trickle between my breasts.

“I want a divorce,” I panted.

Michael gripped my face again, forcing me to look at our reflections in the mirror. His much bigger body, those long athletic limbs, and my smaller frame.

“Hell no. I do not agree to that. It’s not happening.”

“It’s not up to you,” I protested.

Michael’s chest heaved behind me and he gripped my throat, fingers biting down into my cheeks.

“Never. I will never allow it, do you understand me?”

He gave me a sharp shake.

“Answer me.”

“All right.”

My legs gave way and I collapsed onto my belly.

Usually, after we had sex in bed, I’d go up and get a cloth, clean us both up.

My husband had said we weren’t getting a divorce. He must know of my shameful love for him. Even despite what he’d done.

However, that didn’t mean I couldn’t resist.

Everything I normally did? Everything that made his life relaxed and calm and peaceful at home? I was going to quit doing it.

Anything he wanted me to do, he was going to have tomakeme. I would do none of it willingly.

When Michael came back to bed, I didn’t respond when he said, “I love you.”

Or turn and curl into his body.

Or make any response when he put a firm arm around me and pulled me flush against him.

His chest felt hard and taut against my back, the hard muscles of his arm like a steel bar across my chest, my belly. Like he thought I’d get up in the middle of the night and run away.

I lay still, pretending to be asleep and my limbs already felt heavy, the cum sticky on my thighs, as I began to drift to sleep out of exhaustion.

When I didn’t respond in any way to his touch, Michael gripped my hips angrily.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he hissed in my ear. “You want a baby? Is that what this is about?”