Page 123 of The Wrong Husband

Her gaze widens; she swallows. I stay poised at her opening, holding her gaze until the panic I saw in them subsides. It’s replaced, once more, by lust. Then I punch my hips forward, and in one smooth move, bury myself inside her.

43

Phoenix

One second, I’m empty; the next, he’s inside me. Big, long, thick and so full. He pushes down on the walls of my pussy, his fat cock ensconced in my cunt. He slaps his hand on the table next to me and holds most of his weight off me, except for the fact he has me pinned down with his shaft.

He stays there, looking deeply into my eyes, giving me the chance to adjust to his girth. His jaw muscles flex, the nerves on his temple standing out in relief.

With his bunched shoulders and his biceps taking the strain of holding him up, it’s clear he’s holding back.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he says through gritted teeth.

In response, I squeeze my inner muscles around him. A groan spirals up his chest. Something like pain clings to the skin around his eyes. In that moment, the realization of just how much power I have over him sinks into my blood.

This man wants me. He’s made it clear he’s attracted to me. He may have married me so he could access his trust fund, but he cares for me.

The way he planned the elopement, including the actual wedding and honeymoon, as well as buying clothes for me, so I'd have the appropriate clothing, proves that. His attention to detail when it comes to me blows my mind.

I’ve never had any man so devoted to my needs. And the way he waits for me to adjust to his size before he finally pulls out, only to thrust back into me, takes my breath away.

He continues to hold my gaze throughout, and it’s so intimate, it makes me feel connected to him in a way I haven’t been to anyone else.Ever.He hooks his arms beneath my knees and lifts, sliding my ankles over his shoulders.

With him standing, I’m almost folded in half—completely exposed, held wide open for him.

A bead of sweat slides down his temple and plops on my forehead. It breaks this strange unspoken dialogue I’m trapped in with him. It must affect him, too, for he begins to move. He pulls back, then thrusts into me with so much force, the entire table moves. Some of the cutlery jumps off and falls to the floor with a clatter.

It sounds like it’s coming from a long distance away, though; that’s how wrapped up in him I am. It doesn’t seem to bother him, either, for without losing momentum, he plunges back inside me. This time, he angles himself, so the ridge of his pelvic bone rubs up against my clit. Lightning-laced pleasure climbs my spine, stealing my breath.

The next time he thrusts into me, he seems to tunnel even deeper, brushing up against my cervix.

More sensations lick up my backbone like wildfire on dry earth. He stays there, pressing down, as if completing thatcircuit sparking my pleasure. I begin to shiver, like I’m running a temperature, but I know it’s the first signs of my orgasm.

“Involuntary pelvic contractions…beginning now,” I whisper.

His lip curls. My words seem to please him enormously, for his eyes glint. He picks up his pace and begins to fuck into me. Over and over again. With enough force that his balls slap against my butt.

Tension radiates off him, the heat from his body bathing me like I’m facing an impending sandstorm. Or maybe, that’s my climax?

I lose all sense of time and place as he plunges deep into me again, burying himself to the hilt.

Once again, he presses against the anterior vaginal wall, applying just the right pressure to the periurethral zone—right where the Skene’s glands are nestled. The friction sends a neural cascade through the pelvic plexus, short-circuiting my ability to think.

Flashes of heat arc up my spine, stealing my breath. My spine arches under the weight of a rising, electric hunger, rushing toward me like a sandstorm about to sweep me away. That’s when he thrusts his face into mine, his nose bumping mine, his eyelashes twining with mine.

He grabs one of my arms and forces it above my head, then quickly does the same with the other. He wraps his fingers tightly around both my wrists, pinning them to the table.

His other hand comes down to squeeze my butt cheek before he slides his thumb into my forbidden hole.

The shock of that very taboo touch makes my toes curl and my scalp tingle. It’s strange how the very fact that it’s out of my comfort zone ramps up my need, pushing it past a boundary I hadn’t been aware of drawing.

And when he growls, "Come." I shatter.

I open my mouth to scream but he’s there, absorbing every single sound I make. His cock claims every inch of space inside me. He leans more of his body weight on me, so I’m pinned in place. And that gives me permission to let go completely, knowing he’s there to catch me.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just tremble—my sympathetic nervous system hijacked, heart rate hammering, skin prickling, pupils, no doubt, blown wide. It’s the kind of full-body cascade I’m trained to associate with acute stress. Or raw, unfiltered arousal.

My limbs go slack; my core liquefies. Every nerve fires at once, overloading my brain, drowning out thought, leaving only sensation.