Page 40 of The Stallion (Men Under Revue #2)

Bria

SIX MONTHS LATER.

Dressed in nothing but a black lace thong and bra, I stepped out of the closet, nearly tripping over the set of heels that Dallas had carelessly left right in the doorway to the bedroom.

“Dallas?! What the hell?” I looked down to see my Louboutins from the night of my test, which looked just as new as the day he had first given them to me. And I knew what they meant without even asking the question. “Tonight? What about our dinner reservation?”

“We can still grab dinner. The faster we finish, the more likely we will keep our eight o’clock reservation.”

“Are the heels really necessary?” I groaned in protest, preferring to wear my black-heeled boots instead. While these were beautifully expensive—a statement piece. They were a bitch to walk in.

“What? You don’t like my style? ”

“The whole his and hers thing is cute… sentimental and all, but—”

“Then put them on and come here, wifey.” He perched himself on the bench at the foot of our bed, before spreading his legs and patting his inner thighs with an arrogant smirk.

I narrowed my eyes on my husband, he was constantly up to fucking something—namingly me.

Alright, I’ll play this game… again.

While slipping on each shoe, I didn’t remove my gaze from his, keeping a close eye on him to see if I could figure out his plan. When I was stable in my heels, I rolled my shoulders and moved to take a step toward him—

“Ah, ah. Stop right there.” I paused mid-step as he wagged a finger at me and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Crawl, sweet girl.”

You’ve got to be fucking joking…

“Dallas—”

“Wifey.”

“No, I—”

“Crawl… And if I have to repeat myself again, it won’t be a request.”

My thighs tensed as I felt myself growing hot at the way he spoke—the commanding tone forcing me to comply.

Fuck, how did he always manage to do this to me.

Without a reason that I could reasonably explain, I sank to my knees where I stood, my palms pressing into the plush carpet of the room.

He curled a finger, beckoning me toward him, and I followed the order, like a bird on a wire with only one direction to go—forward.

“That’s my good, sweet girl.” I fought back the psychotic laugh, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip as I continued my prowl, dramatically rolling my shoulders with every move and swaying my hips with seductive swagger.

Are we seriously fucking doing this right now?

And why the fuck did my pussy just clench when he called me a ‘good girl’?

How is this so fucking hot?!

My sanity was screaming at the praise kink that he had inevitably unlocked, making it incredibly difficult for me to resist his charm. I should be mad at this, but he made it so fucking hard when all I craved day after day was for him to fuck me.

When I reached his legs, I propped myself up on my knees, dragging my palms down his thighs as he leaned back with my attention.

He looked so fucking good, in his dark wash jeans, and black T-shirt. I couldn’t resist him any longer. I reached for its collar and twisted the soft cotton fabric in my fist, pulling his chest toward me, with my hips pressed up against the bench, giving me extra leverage to counter his weight.

“Have I ever told you how fucking pretty you are when you crawl?” He mocked, a proud smirk slapped across his face like he fucking owned me.

Which he did, in a sense. But I owned him, too. All fucking mine.

“Have I ever told you—” I pulled myself up, repositioning myself to straddle his hips on the bench with one knee on either side of his spread thighs.

I then lifted my right knee, pressing it firmly to his chest and shoving him back with all my weight until his upper body reached the mattress and I was towering over him.

“—how fucking pretty you are with my pussy covering your mouth?”

Checkmate, Ponyboy.

Without pause, my husband’s hands gripped onto my ass cheeks and he forced me over his head with little to no effort until I was straddling his face, my underwear already soaked from being turned on from his praise, leaving nothing left to hide.

“You know, all you had to do to shut me up was simply ask me to eat you, sweet girl.” Dallas dragged his tongue over the wet fabric that stood between him and my pussy, tugging on it with his teeth.

“ Fuck , all of this just for me? Did crawling get you off already, wifey?” Pulling my thong aside with his index finger, he speared his tongue inside of me, while latching onto my clit and sucking it harder than he ever had before.

“You know what? Fuck dinner, I’m going to have my wife before our task tonight.

She tastes way better than anything those chefs could cook up. ”

Forcing me down on his face, I couldn’t help but grind myself against his stubble while he moaned into me, his mouth and tongue fucking me like a goddamn dream.

“Dallas.” I moaned his name, gripping the sheets just above his head as I fell forward, getting a quick glimpse at the time on my phone’s idle screen. “Fuck, Dallas… We’re—We’re go ing to be l-late.” I struggled to speak, already wound up from his new version of verbal foreplay.

“Then you better hurry up, sweet girl. Let me have my fill of my wifey’s fucking cum.”

I felt his thumb slide to press and roll against my clit, while he continued to twist and twirl his tongue inside me. I ground myself harder against his stubble, riding his face until my vision started to blur.

Within seconds, I found myself screaming my release as my back arched and I came over him, my legs trembling from the force of the orgasm and struggling to support my weight.

Hearing his deep moan of satisfaction, Dallas released his hold on my ass and I collapsed to the side, gasping for air on the bed, and groaning into the sheets while pressing my thighs together in an attempt to calm my body down from it soaring high.

“Always a fucking treat.” While cleaning his glistening lips with his tongue, my husband dropped himself down beside me, an elbow propped on the mattress to support his head as he admired my winded self with affectionate eyes.

“I bet you say that to all the pretty girls.” I jested with a huff as I turned away to look up at the ceiling, shutting mine while my breath finally caught up to me.

Dallas leaned over, his breath a warm caress across my already flushed skin as he started to whisper in my ear.

“Only the ones that would kill for me—speaking of, better get dressed, my sweet, delicious girl. Our target is waiting. Wear the heels—I’ve earned it.”

And before I knew it— although I should have seen it coming —he smacked the side of my ass and pushed himself off the bed, sending me an adorable wink before taking his leave of the bedroom.

That fucking husband of mine.

Couples’ tasks are assigned the same way as the standard individual ones for the men; however, they are better aligned to be handled in pairs, which is why married couples are highly valued within the MUR.

Earlier this morning, Dallas and I were assigned a task in a known swingers suite at Stardust—our first real one outside my initial test.

Bella and Oliver Rasp. Usually, renting out a suite on one of the upper levels, this wife-and-husband pair often hosted their guests in their room, preying on couples at the hotel and casino bars, and luring them away for a night of unadulterated fun. At least that’s what they think.

Dustin confirmed that this particular couple has had more nefarious ideas in mind—aside from just fucking all night long.

As a matter of fact, they had been caught more than a few times, drugging, abusing, and robbing those who’d entered their room, their targets often being wealthy couples with exceedingly deep pockets—no surprise there.

In their latest violation, however, they had abandoned their victims on the brink of death, leaving a clear indicator that their crimes were progressively turning more violent, and they needed to be stopped before a body count started.

In typical Mr. and Mrs. Ryan fashion, we swaggered across the casino floor of Stardust, making a direct path for the hotel’s central tower elevator bay.

My husband wrapped his arms around my waist as he pressed the call button, grazing his soft lips along the side of my neck as we waited.

“Not nerved up at all, sweet girl?” He asked with a murmur against my flushed skin.

As any normal, sane wife, I should be nervous, this being only my second task.

But I remained unbothered, slightly excited, if anything, with the thrill of making my first kill with my husband in the same room.

However, that could also just be my elevated emotions talking too—from the earth-shattering orgasm he had given me earlier.

“You ask as though you’re questioning my abilities, dear husband.

” I inspected my nails with a bored tone.

I had them done earlier in the day, unsuspecting that we would be scheduled for a last-minute task.

They were a bright, glossy red, stiletto in shape with a black underside—an inverted version of my shoes.

Can’t blame a girl for keeping up with the Mr and Mrs Smith aesthetic.

“I know my wifey enjoys all the fucked up things. I just wanted to ensure she was ready for her next kill.”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye with a smirk before turning in his arms and dragging my index finger along the underside of his chin. The sensation caused his hands to tense around my waist.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out once we reach their room.”

With almost perfect timing, the elevator doors opened with a single chime, and I backed inside the car, resting my palms along the back handrail, waiting for him like a tease.

Dallas followed me inside, his eyes fucking me harder than his mouth did earlier.

Unable to resist the temptation, I squeezed my inner thighs together at the memory, and my husband smirked when he noticed the subtle movement.