Page 23 of Phobia

It wasn’t real.

Adam was. My husband was the only one who could haunt me, love me, and fuck with me.

I ran my fingers against the mahogany-and-chocolate stubble on his cheek when he leaned back on his haunches to appraise me, his cheek sinking into my palm, reveling in my touch with lidded eyes. It gave me a chance to catch my breath, to savor the man—the predator—who kneeled at my feet, his arm working furiously against his sheathed shaft while he worshipped me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. It had been he who’d taught me that through fear, we could find ourselves. Through adrenaline, we were limitless.

When Adam had enough of my reverence, his eyes molted, and he was back to business again. He sucked each labium, releasing them with an audible pop, the folds glistening in a combination of my body’s eager responses and his saliva. He ran his tongue from my clit down to my pulsating opening, that unrelenting muscle driving home deep inside me.

All the air fled my lungs, my sharp cry freeing ceiling-ward, twisting with the chorus of Type O Negative’s "Black No.1." My hands shot for his hair, grasping tight at the roots, and twisting with a desperation to keep him fixed there. The command of my grip earned me his throaty groan, the sound throbbing against my pussy. His audible feasting of me sent another frisson of need rocketing through me, my climax within my reach as I concentrated on the chase of that ephemeral plunge of ecstasy.

I flexed on my toes, grinding urgently against his starved mouth, and he made a deep growl of approval, pleasure gathering under my spine.

“That’s it, Little Rabbit,” he rasped out between the rocking of my hips, opening his mouth wider. “Take what only I can give you.”

I ground myself back and forth, and he matched my rhythm, his taut, deft tongue dipping in and out of me, the tip of his nose pushing against my clit, cutting off his breathing. He didn’t seem to care, either. He just held me closer, driving me to that precipice of pleasure I was so desperate to plunge myself from in a free-fall. My thighs closed around his face, his stubble chafing against my thighs as my nerve endings coiled with warning.

“Come on my face, baby,” he urged, jerking himself faster, sweat beading along his hairline. “Let this whole fucking museum hear how well you scream for me.” The leg hooked over his shoulder pinned him to me when the dam broke and the orgasm cascaded over me, sending pinpricks of white dots behind my lidded eyes. My head swelled, every wayward thought and doubt I had fled. I gushed around his mouth and he sucked my body’s nectar in desperate tugs, not daring to miss a single drop.

He leaned back on his haunches to study me, his lips swollen and sleek, his fingers roving over my leaking slit lazily, gathering what lingered of my release on his long fingers. My chest heaved while I fought to regulate my breathing and I tracked his undulating frame as Adam rose to his feet, his expression slated with drunken heat. He licked his glossy lips and brought his fingers to my mouth, commanding me in silence. I bent forward, holding his stare, as I opened my mouth and accepted his offering. My cheeks hollowed around his fingers, tasting the familiar earthiness of my taste on his fingers, earning his flared nostrils when he drew his fingers back.

“My turn,” he demanded. His hands closed around my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. He knew I went more than willingly. There was only one man I prayed to.

On my descent, my fingers hooked on the waistline of his joggers, tugging them over the curve of his muscular ass. His cock sprung out in greeting for me, and my right hand closed around his shaft, guiding him into the heated cavern of my mouth, the tang of his precum dancing on my palate.

The velvet of his shaft inside of my mouth betrayed the rest of him. He was rigid with deep, responsive veins, twitching with every bob of my eager mouth fraught to swallow him down in heady pulls.

My left hand slid under his shirt, relishing in the feel of his hard abdomen, reaping more of the pearled trickling of his release I greedily lapped up and swallowed.

“Fuck,” he bit out as my lips enveloped him and I ran my tongue from the base to the tip, gliding my tongue around the crown of his cock. His inked fingers with my name tattooed across his knuckles sank into my hair, driving me down on him until I thought I’d choke. He thrusted against the back of my throat, my gag reflex coming online, tears stinging the back of my eyes. I felt his arresting stare on me, and I shifted mine to meet his, staring at him from behind my lashes.

Adam’s mouth popped open, his eyes half-lidded as he kept me pinned in place and jerked his hips forward and back, finding a cadence with his hips, my tongue curving along his shaft. Every time he drew himself back, I used that as an opportunity to catch my breath and anticipate the next contact at the back of my throat.

“God, no one’s ever sucked my cock as well as you have,” he praised. “You were made for me, weren’t you, Little Rabbit?”

I nodded as best as I could, the tears I’d tried to contain leaking from my eyes, no doubt smearing my eyeliner. I didn’t care, though. My tears won me his grunt of satisfaction at the sight, his face twisting with pleasure. He released one hand from my hair, swiping the tear away with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth to sample. “Even your tears taste good.” He exhaled, his eyes burning. Adam drew his hoodie upward, gathering it under his chest to create a better viewpoint, flashing me his defined abdomen. I loved the sight of my fingers splayed against the planes of muscle, the reflection of the red flicker from the camera above us catching on my wedding and engagement ring. The reminder that we were never alone.

Someone was always watching.

“Your lipstick looks so good painting my cock, baby,” he commented, breathless. I moaned around him, and he grunted under the vibration. His stomach hardened under my regard as though he were preening for me as I worked him, leaving a smeared ring of dark lipstick along his veined shaft. The waxy bite of my lipstick was nothing compared to the heady and potent taste of him. My pussy fluttered at the visual, my coiled body desperate for the carnal driving of his body thrusting inside of mine.

Adam forced me upright, his self-control unraveling. My legs stumbled as he backed me up against the wall. Guiding his cock to my pussy, he spread my swollen folds, gliding himself back and forth, collecting my arousal on his shaft. He tapped my sensitive clit with the head of his cock, holding my eyes as he did, greedily taking in every shift of my breathing. My charged nerve endings were already igniting with the promise of another impending orgasm. Adam pinned an arm under my thigh, hoisting my leg upward roughly. Lining himself up at my entrance, he slammed himself against me until he bottomed out, driving my spine up the wall.

I couldn’t contain the cry, its desperation echoing in the tiny cavity we were hiding in.

“Fuuuuuck, Katrina,” he croaked against my throat. “You feel so fucking good.” My hands slid to his ass again, my nails leaving little half-moons against the smooth flesh, trying to keep him as close to me as possible. “Pull down your dress. Let me see your pretty tits.”

My hands slipped to the sweetheart neckline of the dress, peeling the dress down over the teardrop swells peppered in purple demarcations in varying shades from the abuse of his mouth over the last few days. My pierced nipples tightened to stiff points, the draft in the alcove swirling over my goose-pimpled skin. Adam adjusted my body’s positioning against the wall, his tongue laving across the lotus inked on my sternum, his mouth gliding to the left and closing around my tit, vacuuming the tiny swell into his punishing mouth.

He toyed with the piercing with his tongue, introducing another sensory element with the addition of the straight, blunt edges of his teeth, nipping at my nipple. My charged cry filled my ears, and he shifted his treatment to the other tit just as shadows fell across the alcove accompanied by voices muted over the pounding of music, growing clearer as they moved.

My attention twisted in the sound’s direction, the risk of being caught sending another surge of adrenaline and lust through me.

A couple of guys gathered around the Founding Fathers, making a lewd gesture in front of the figures for a selfie. All the while completely oblivious to the debauchery that was going on a little further down the hall.

“You like it just as much as I do, don’t you?” Adam asked over my lips, the cold tip of his twice-pierced nose pressed against mine, his eyes flickering from them to me. “You love the thrill of people watching us?”

People.

The camera above us.