Page 27 of Scary In Love

Mason

Even in her wrecked and overstimulated state, Jenna is radiant.

Shattered and spent, a drooling mess, and still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

Her clothes are shredded, her make-up is smudged, and her thighs are still shaking from fuck knows how many orgasms she’s had at this point. I’ll give her a thousand more if she’ll let me.

Before she arrived, I stashed bottles of water in each of the rooms. I uncap one and tilt her head back so I can slowly pour it into her mouth.

Her eyes stay on mine, but I watch her throat roll as she gulps the whole thing down, wondering how well she’ll be able to take my dick when I finally let her touch me.

“Check in with me, Jenna. Red, yellow, or green?”

“Green,” she sighs, and my cock throbs.

“That’s my girl.”

She takes slow, deep breaths, in through her nose, and out through her mouth. I’m proud of her for grounding herself, getting her nervous system under control so we can keep going.

These scenes are only fun if she’s genuinely enjoying herself, and if she were truly freaking out, we’d have stopped a long time ago .

I stroke her damp hair away from her face, waiting for her signal that we’re good to move on. She nuzzles against my palm and hums softly.

“Did I squirt?”

“You sure did.”

Her lips roll inward. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I could do that. It never worked on my own.”

She has nothing to be sorry about. It gives me a twisted sense of pride knowing I did it first. I want to be the only person who ever makes her feel that way.

Saying it out loud is too much. I’m very aware I could scare her off by telling her how fast my feelings are growing, but she smiles up at me, and I think she knows.

She shifts in the chair, sitting more upright even though her hands are still tied.

“Are you ever going to fuck me?”

“Soon,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We have one room left. You think your legs can carry you there on your own?”

“I’ll try my best.”

I don’t doubt her for a second.

“Open your mouth.”

She’s so compliant now, wrung out and putty in my hands. I find the key for the next room in the chest pocket of my boilersuit, and tap it on her bottom lip.

“Bite down.”

The sound of her teeth on metal gives me a sick thrill. She breathes through her nose while I rip open the ties at her wrists. Even once she’s free, she stays still, because she’s the perfect plaything, just as I knew she would be.

“You’ll count to thirty, slowly. Only then can you take that out of your mouth. Do you understand me? ”

Jenna nods, and I bolt for the stairs. There isn’t much time to get to her final scene, but I leave the door open so she’ll know where to go. There’s no need to make this next part harder after what she’s just been through.

Stripping out of my boilersuit, I stash it in an old basket so she won’t trip over anything, then pull off the t-shirt that’s soaked in sweat from chasing her. Fuck me, that was fun.

When I reach the room at the opposite end of the house, the clothes I left out for us are waiting by the door. I change quickly, checking my tie in the mottled old mirror, and smoothing my hair down. The outfit I’ve chosen for Jenna is so her, and I hope she likes it as much as I do.

Slipping between the double doors, I push them closed behind me and pause to take it all in.

The Miller family’s very own chapel never fails to take my breath away.

Truthfully, I’ve wanted to fuck in here from the moment I first stepped inside, long before I even laid eyes on Jenna Laing.

Who wouldn’t want to rattle some demons in a creepy old church?

It’s kinky, and taboo, and if my ancestors are watching, I’m truly sorry for what they’re about to witness.

Wooden pews line either side of the aisle, leading to an altar I’ve covered in black roses and battery-operated candles.

They’re not as good as the real thing, obviously, but the Miller house has survived hundreds of years of wear and tear.

I refuse to be the fuck-up who accidentally burns it down because I was too busy thinking about my dick.

I take my place at the head of the aisle, my finger on the phone in my pocket, poised to press play the moment she arrives. When I hear the telltale creak of old wood, the spooky version of The Wedding March strikes up. The doors open wide, and I swear my heart stops.

My gothic bride .

The gown I picked is long and low-cut, made of layers of sheer black fabric.

In the candlelight, I can just make out her beautiful curves underneath.

Her other clothes are gone, but the fishnets are still there.

Well, what’s left of them. I love it all.

Her full hips, heavy breasts, those shiny piercings that are burned into the back of my eyeballs.

Jenna bursts out laughing, then walks slowly, her bouquet held low, and long veil covering her face. When she reaches the top of the aisle, and takes her place opposite me, I lift it carefully over the back of her head.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” the recording of my best church minister voice begins. She glances around us to make sure we’re definitely alone.

The recording mimics a traditional ceremony, though the words fade to nothing because she consumes my senses.

All I can see is her, all I can taste is her, and all I can hear is my heartbeat chanting her name as blood crashes through my veins.

When the recording asks us to make our vows in the repeat-after-me style, her eyes widen.

“Is this real?” she whispers.

I shake my head, but when she says the words, I almost wish they were. My vows feel genuine, promises I’d gladly keep until death do us part, and long after that.

The rest of the ceremony is a blur, but I hear the last line loud and clear. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Drawing her into my arms, she throws hers around my neck, and I get back to doing my new favourite thing. Kissing Jenna Miller.

Sorry, Laing.

Our tongues swirl in a kiss so erotic we’d never be able to do it in front of witnesses. Her bouquet tumbles to the floor, hands clutching at my suit jacket while mine grab fistfuls of her ass and pull her closer .

I run them up and down her back, weave them into her hair and tug hard enough to make her gasp. Her eyes are so bright and full I can see my own staring straight back at me.

“What now?” she whispers.

“Now you kneel for your husband.”

While I’m focused on a partner’s pleasure, I’m not even remotely thinking about mine. Those needs don’t matter, and I don’t let them get in the way of meeting all of hers. Sometimes that means I’m hard for hours, sometimes I don’t come at all.

Pushing through the discomfort takes me to a headspace that makes the eventual orgasm even better. I can wait a long time for my turn, but I might have been waiting for Jenna longer than I ever knew. My cock is desperate for her.

I need her.

Now.

Jenna drops to her knees, her back straight and hands folded in her lap.

My goddamn perfect obedient little wife.

“Take me out,” I tell her. “Slowly.”

She looks up at me, a flicker of darkness beneath her sweet smile, as she tugs my shirt loose and my zip down. Her fingers hook into my waistband, and she drags everything to my feet, her head jerking back when my cock springs free.

Watching her see it for the first time is a fucking rush, especially when she licks her lips and leans in, but then she catches herself.

She sweeps her hair and her veil away from her shoulders and holds her hands behind her back.

Then she looks up at me, opens her mouth, and pushes her tongue out as far as it will go.

Stepping closer, I give my length a hard squeeze, and rest it on the tip of her waiting tongue .

“Don’t move. I need a second to make sure I never forget this view.” She stays perfectly still, eyes locked with mine. “You’re so beautiful, Jenna. My perfect wife. Perfect whore.”

Her lids flutter at my praise, and I buck my hips just enough to slide in another inch.

“Perfect mouth. Perfect skin. Perfect cunt.”

She moans from the back of her throat, and her own hips twitch. I love how hungry she is, even after everything I’ve put her through.

“I want every part of you. Not just tonight.”

I stroke the back of her head, then slowly push it down. She wraps her lips around me and breathes through it. I keep going until I can feel her throat tightening around my tip.

When I release her, she gasps for air, sticking her tongue out and waiting for me to guide it back in.

My good fucking girl.

“You okay?”

“Please, more,” she begs. “Use me.”

I stuff the head into her cheek and rub it through the other side, wondering how I got so fucking lucky. She works her way down my length with an appetite I can’t deny. I go faster this time, pushing in deep, watching my dick get wetter with every thrust.

Her hands come up to grip the back of my thighs, pulling me into her as she takes me all the way. She gags around it, and I let go of her head, but she stays down for as long as she can before releasing me with a wet pop.

“Harder.”

I grip the sides of her head and hold her still, my hips pumping in and out as she kneels there and lets me fuck her face.

I’m about to come just from the obscene noises her throat makes while she chokes on me.

The mess she makes is even filthier, spit running down her chin and dripping onto her heaving tits.

She pinches her nipples through the wet material, tugging on her barbells.

I love that she’s as into this as I am, and I get lost in watching her touch herself.

“Again,” she gargles, wrapping one hand around my shaft and guiding it back in.

Her other hand cups my balls, rolling them in her palm and tugging just enough to remind me that even though I’m the one towering over her, she’s in charge here.

She’s the one who owns my cock, and possibly my fucking soul.

Her knees spread wider, her hips grinding against nothing.

I wish I could go back in time and bring a toy for her to sit down on while she sucks me off.

If she thinks our time in the basement was overstimulating, wait until we work up to filling all her holes at once.

So many plans. I knew one night would never satisfy all of my cravings.

She strokes harder, her mouth open and greedy. “Mason, please. I want your come all over me.”

I want that too, but not yet.

“Not until I feel you come with me buried inside you. Get up.”

She scrambles to her feet and I guide her to the altar, bend her over it, and kick her legs wide.