Page 37 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)
Amy
He’s known me for a week. Not even personally. He saw me, beaten bloody, and decided I was the one. If that doesn’t make Wyatt insane, I don’t know what does. I must be insane, too, because I love it. I guess our insanities are compatible like that.
As he pulls me in for another kiss, his hands deftly undoing my bra, I regret not packing something sexy.
I own a few pairs of matching lace underwear, the really hot and expensive kind that makes even a big girl like me look sexy.
I didn’t bring it, though. Partly because I was in shock while packing, partly because I thought it would be stupid to bring seductive lingerie for what I thought would be the last few hours of my life.
I had no desire to entice my captor into anything untoward.
Now I want to smack past Amy for not thinking ahead.
How am I supposed to appear sexy to my husband in simple “grandma” panties and my oldest, most worn-out bra?
Not that Wyatt needs any enticing. His cock is tenting his boxers, so hard I worry it will soon burst through.
There’s a dark spot around the head where his arousal soaked into the fabric, just like I’m sure there’s one on my panties .
Once he has my bra off, he gently lowers me onto my back.
Just like last night, he trails kisses along my jaw, nips at my earlobe, then moves down my neck.
Unlike last night, I moan and arch against him, tilting my head to give him better access.
He continues downward until he reaches my breasts.
A tortured groan sounds from him as he kneads them and his tongue flicks my nipples. “Fuck. So perfect.”
My body comes alive at his touch, my skin heating wherever his lips meet it.
Soon, it feels like I’m about to burst into flames.
I try to angle my hips to rub myself against Wyatt, but he’s straddling my thighs, not letting me spread my legs and I can’t get the angle right.
It’s infuriating, especially when I realize he’s doing it on purpose.
“Need something, cupcake?” He smirks from where he sucks and nips at my nipples.
I buck my hips but he’s too heavy to dislodge. My clit pulses with my heartbeat, but no matter how much I squirm or rub my legs together, I can’t get any friction. “Please, Wyatt.” I moan as he sucks a nipple into his mouth. “Please, touch me.”
As if only waiting for my invitation, he lodges one leg between mine. I spread them instantly, using the newfound freedom to rub my pussy against his thigh like a cat in heat. “You’re so wet for me,” Wyatt groans, tracing the shape of my pussy through my panties. “So wet.”
As he pulls my panties off, cold air hits my sensitive flesh, igniting it further.
Before I can pull Wyatt into another kiss, he dives between my spread legs.
He nuzzles, kisses, and licks while I’m torn between raging arousal and embarrassment.
“I haven’t showered,” I protest, halfheartedly attempting to push him away.
His hot breath caresses my pussy. “I don’t fucking care. I told you, Amy, you’re perfect.” Focusing his efforts on my clit, Wyatt soon has to grab my hips to hold me down as I instinctively buck against him. He laughs. “Needy little cupcake. Do you want to come?”
“Yes! Please, Wyatt!” My hands tangle in his hair, pulling and tugging, no doubt painfully, but he doesn’t protest. Spearing me with two fingers, he redoubles his efforts, stimulating me both from the inside and the outside, and that dual teasing, coupled with the incredibly erotic sight of him between my thighs, tips me over the edge.
I scream out as I come, my thighs squeezing him to hold him in place.
He continues with his ministrations even through my orgasm, prolonging it as every flick of his tongue or twitch of his fingers sets off aftershocks.
“God,” Wyatt groans, “I love it when you come all over me. Fuck, I-I fucking need to be inside you now, Amy. Please, say yes.”
In lieu of an answer, I urge him up to kiss me.
My flavor coats his tongue and lips and it feels both sinful and incredibly erotic to taste myself off him.
Wyatt kisses me like a man possessed, both of us trembling with need.
Reaching between our bodies, I free his cock from his boxers and guide it to my entrance. Even then, he holds back.
“Are you sure?” He shudders as his tip slips between my soaked pussy lips but, infuriatingly, still doesn’t sink himself inside of me. “You don’t have to—”
God! This man. How can a person who kills people for a living be so set on consent?
“Yes, I’m sure.” My heels dig into his firm ass as I wrap my legs around him, impatiently trying to force him closer.
“Come on, Wyatt. Don’t you want to claim your wife on our wedding night, husband ?
” The word finally breaks through his self-control.
With a tortured moan, Wyatt surges forward, his cock sliding inside of me in one forceful thrust. I cry out as the slight burn from the way he stretches me mingles with the delicious feeling of being stuffed full.
“Shit, sorry.” Wyatt’s entire body trembles as he holds himself still, letting me get used to his size, which, frankly, is formidable. There was nothing small about my previous boyfriends but Wyatt outshines them by far. “Are you okay, Amy?”
My heart just about breaks over how sweet and caring he is. Who cares if he’s a monster in other people’s eyes? To me, he’s a hero.
Tenderly running my fingers through his hair, I whisper, “I’m great.
You can move.” Since he still seems reluctant, I clench my inner muscles around him, feeling his girth even more.
“Go ahead. Husband.” He loves that and frankly, so do I.
I never thought I’d get to call anyone my husband, let alone a man I met just yesterday, but what was that saying about seizing the day?
Hakuna matata? No, that wasn’t it. Whatever.
I’m seizing my day here. Regardless of his insane reasons, Wyatt married me, so I’ll be his wife.
In sickness and in health and all that. And if the deal comes with a massive cock pounding me into oblivion? That’s just an unexpected bonus.
“As you command, wife.”
Slowly at first, he moves, his cock igniting all the nerve endings inside of my pussy. I moan and writhe underneath him as he speeds up, slamming into me with vigor, chasing his own orgasm. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his face drawn into a tight grimace. “I can’t—fuck, I won’t last.”
“That’s okay.” I’ve never come from penetration alone, and no matter how long and thick Wyatt’s cock is, it can’t hit both my G-spot and my clit at once, so I don’t expect an orgasm from this.
I’ve already had one tonight, which is above my average, anyway.
Feeling Wyatt moving inside of me feels amazing enough.
“I want to feel you come inside of me, Wyatt. I want to watch you shatter.”
He shakes his head. “You first.”
I want to object that I already came but am interrupted when he shifts his weight, snaking a hand between our bodies.
With lethal precision, he locates my clit and begins rubbing it in time with his thrusts.
The dual assault has me barreling toward another orgasm faster than I would have thought possible. “God!”
“Just ‘husband’ will do,” Wyatt replies with a smug smirk. “Do you like that, cupcake? Like having my cock inside of you?”
“Yes! God, yes.”
“From now on, you can have it anytime you want. Just say the word and you’ll have it.
Any time of day or night. It’s—fuck, it’s yours.
Fuck, Amy!” His thrusts become irregular.
Refusing to surrender, Wyatt keeps rubbing my clit and lowers his head to capture my nipple in his mouth.
He flicks it with his tongue, over and over, his teeth digging into the soft flesh of my breast in a way that is just shy of painful.
“Come on, Amy. I know you want to come again. Come on my cock like a good girl. Milk my fucking cock dry.”
His dirty talk pushes me higher and my body arches as the orgasm begins to take its hold.
It’s building up, slowly but surely, promising a frightening intensity.
Wyatt plays my body like an instrument, finding just the right way and rhythm to bring me closer and closer.
“God.” I gasp as my muscles convulse. “Wyatt!” I shatter with his name on my lips, my eyes rolling back.
My inner walls squeeze Wyatt’s cock so hard it must border on painful.
With a cry of his own, he slams into me one more time, then freezes, his cock the only thing moving as it jerks inside of me.
“Fuck. Fuck, Amy, you’re so damn perfect. I never want to leave your cunt.”
“Then don’t,” I reply, still breathless from the bone-shattering orgasm. Wyatt is supporting his weight on his elbows and knees, leaning into me just enough for the sensation to be comfortable even if we’re both sweaty and panting. Moments pass in silence punctuated by our slowing breaths.
Wyatt’s head is nestled in the crook of my neck, his breath fanning my heated skin. “Damn, I could fall asleep like this.”
“Mmm,” I hum, half asleep myself, but my body has different needs. “I need to pee, though.”
Wyatt rumbles out one of his deep laughs, and I moan as it reverberates right through his cock.
“Of course you do,” he mock-sighs. There’s nothing sharp in his voice and no nasty remarks follow, and I could just kiss him for it, so I do.
The kiss is slow and soft, an intimate greeting rather than a passion-driven assault.
“Oh, cupcake,” Wyatt sighs when our mouths part.
“Keep that up and I won’t let you leave this bed. Ever.”