JACK DRIVES US DOWN QUIET BROOKLYN BACK STREETS way too fast, but somehow in perfect control of the car, despite his heavy breathing. Not daring to look at him, I stare straight ahead, still aghast at the fact that he knew where I was—that he tracked me to the exact location. Not a word is uttered as we race over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan.
I decide to send a message to Sean so that he doesn’t worry—or worry any more at least—and pull my phone out of my jacket pocket and place it to the right of the purse on my knee where I hope Jack can’t see it. I tilt my head to glance at Jack whose face is hard with fury, his eyes focused as he deftly navigates the light post-midnight traffic. Somehow my right thumb manages to text:
I’m so sorry. I don’t know how he knew. All is ok.
I turn the phone over for ten seconds to hide the slender glimmer of light emanating from it and then turn it over again.
New message:
I’m worried. I can call the police.
I reply:
No. He’s calmed down. I’m so sorry. Everything is ok.
Sean:
Please text me later.
I want to respond, but look up to see we’re already approaching the Lincoln Center and I don’t want to risk Jack seeing what I’m doing.
Fifteen or so minutes later, we enter the parking garage underneath our building and Jack parks as I slip the phone back into my jacket. He gets out, slamming his car door hard before walking around the car in brisk strides. Despite what I told Sean, I am afraid, even though I’ve never seen Jack act aggressively towards me in all the years we’ve been together—not even verbally. In fact, that was one of the reasons I fell so desperately in love with him. I’d briefly dated a couple of guys at college who were sweet and caring until we would get into some banal fight and they would feel disrespected or rejected or some other ego crap and then start throwing insults about or objects around the room. But never Jack. I’ve always felt so physically safe with him. The brooding beast with me now is not the man I know.
The passenger door swings open.
“Out,” he orders, his raspy voice low and rough.
“Go up,” I mutter nervously. “I’m gonna stay.”
He leans down over me and unfastens my seat belt, grabbing my arm without using his full strength and pulling me out of the car.
“Let go of me!” I shout as he tugs me effortlessly to my feet.
He grabs my right hand with his and marches me firmly to the elevator. Still very drunk from the strong beer I stupidly drank all night to settle my nerves, I’m unsteady on my feet and disorientated.
“Let go of my hand!” I exclaim, trying to sound assertive as I attempt to pull it away.
He ignores my request, his chest rising and falling visibly.
As we arrive at our apartment, he unlocks the door and holds it open, using his hand to usher me firmly inside.
I yank my arm away from him. “Touch me again!” I shout coldly as I spin round to face him, daring him with my eyes. The fear I felt in the car is now weaved with fury—the fury that I’ve unsuccessfully tried to keep a lid on for the last week and a half—and with indignation at his hypocrisy. As he takes a step toward me, I turn to the stairway and start to walk upstairs.
“Hey!” he shouts after me.
I turn around to see him right behind me, following me up, and I start to run, my mangled leg smarting with every panic-stricken step. I rush into our bedroom and thrust my hands against the bedroom door hard, but can’t compete with his strength as he pushes back against it and enters the room, filling it with his volatile masculine energy. I let out a breathy whimper as I back away, afraid to breathe. Several tension-fraught seconds pass as he holds my frightened gaze.
“What were you doing there?” he asks, visibly shuddering.
“How did you know I was there, Jack?” I spit out. I’m obviously deflecting, but I can’t stomach the thought that he had me followed.
“Don’t play games with me! Why the fuck were you at that cunt’s house?”
“Don’t call him that! He’s my friend. How about you answer how you knew where I was? Did you have me followed? How dare you?! I’m not some piece of property that you can just follow ar—”
He takes another step towards me. “Don’t fuck with me!” he barks, angry veins protruding on his broad forehead.
I retreat a step, my back now pressed against the wall. Why the hell am I this damn nervous? Jack’s been screwing around, literally fucking women that I know, for God knows how many months. It’s I that should be incandescent with rage. And yet I am afraid.
“You’re scaring me,” I utter nervously.
His features soften slightly in response and he takes two steps back, calming his breathing, but still paralyzing me with his formidable stance. “I want to know what you were doing there. If I have to go back to Brooklyn to get the answer out of your plumber friend, I will. You have ten seconds.”
“It’s not Sean’s fault. It’s mine.”
“Go on.” His steely blue eyes are violent and terrible, his voice a bestial growl.
“I wanted to see his friend’s band play,” I stammer, not wanting to drag Sean’s sister into this.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to get out of the city,” I offer unconvincingly.
I’ve always been a terrible liar, especially where Jack is concerned. As his glare holds me hostage, I’m aware of the audacity he has to make me feel like this; aware that I never wanted to do this; that until today, I had turned down every man who ever tried to get close me in the last three years—and there were more than a couple. I’m incredulous that he can be this upset after the countless times he has pissed all over our marriage vows.
My ire breathes fire into me, emboldening my voice. “Or maybe it’s—oh, I don’t know—because my husband’s fucking half of Manhattan?! Maybe it’s because I wanted to do something—anything—to help me erase the image of the man I’m in love with screwing those women?! Or maybe because I can look at him without picturing his tongue down another woman’s throat. Or maybe it’s because I will never be able to forgive you unless I do to you one percent of what you’ve done to me.” I break down as I finish the sentence, glancing at him through tear-strewn eyes.
“What did you do with him?” His voice is almost unrecognizable—deep, menacing, yet quivering for the first time since I’ve known him.
“Is that all you have to say?”
He takes a step forward. “I said, What did you do with him?” He repeats the question slowly and stiffly as if each word causes him physical pain.
“We kissed,” I respond defiantly, not a note of shame in my voice.
Jack glowers at me, anguish twisting his face. “What else?”
“Nothing else.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Did you touch him?”
“No.”
A flicker of relief registers on Jack’s face.
“At least you won’t have to deal with the image of your wife sleeping with someone else,” I add, wiping away hot tears from my eyes. “I would give anything to remember that feeling.”
And with that, an intense, unexpected wave of nausea hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me unsteady on my feet as excruciating sickness consumes my body and foul liquid from my stomach floods into my mouth.
Fuck.
I realize I’m about to vomit up the alcohol I’ve been downing all night to calm my nerves just in time to rush to the en-suite bathroom and lean over the toilet as I start to retch and purge a night’s worth of beer.
Rushing in behind me, Jack leans over me, holding my hair back with his hands. “How much did you drink tonight? God damn it!”
My stomach contracts and I vomit again. Fire hits my throat and the retching weakens my already fragile system, knocking the wind out of me.
“Damn it!” he exclaims.
“Stop,” I utter weakly as I expunge the last of the beer, pulling the handle to flush the toilet as I sit down on the cool tiles of the floor. My throat burns and my head throbs, but I feel instant relief as the fog and nausea subside. As strength seeps back into my limbs, I sense Jack behind me, watching me for long moments. Without speaking, he leans down and lifts me up, forcing me upright onto my feet.
“Stand up,” he commands. Though only nine inches taller than me, he seems to tower over me like a giant as he takes off my jacket and starts removing my clothes.
“Jack, don’t!” I shout.
I try to force his hands off me but have meager strength left in my body and certainly can’t compete with his muscular arms. He sits me on the toilet seat and removes my boots, socks and jeans, then lifts my T-shirt over my head, revealing my bra and cleavage.
“Jack!” I cry, trying to push his hands away.
Unmoved, he unhooks my bra before grabbing a towel from behind him and wrapping it around my body. Reaching under the towel, he pulls my panties down past my feet, watching my face as he does so. As easily as if he were picking up a bag of groceries, he lifts me up and onto the ceramic bottom of our bathtub where I sit, arms hugging my bent knees as he takes the towel off me.
I put my chin to my chest as he turns the water on and grabs the showerhead before checking the temperature with his hand and letting the tepid liquid flow over my head, back and all the way down to my feet. He squeezes shampoo onto his palm and rubs it through my wavy locks, making soapy suds fall down my neck and onto my naked body. Grabbing a sponge, he washes my back, shoulders and legs, wiping in circular and then long strokes before standing up to get my toothbrush to which he applies a bead of toothpaste, using his strong fingers to pry open my mouth.
“Open,” he commands firmly, pushing his thumb into my mouth.
I comply instantly and he inserts the toothbrush between my lips and brushes my teeth, using the showerhead to rinse the foam out of my mouth when he’s done. He makes me close my eyes and washes my face with the sponge and then rinses my hair, forcefully massaging my scalp with his fingers to get the suds out. As he shuts the water off, he reaches for another large towel which he wraps around my body before leaning down, picking me up and carrying me over to our bed which he sets me down on. As he leaves the room, I sit up and quickly pull a sheet over myself, trying to catch my breath.
He returns a minute later, barefoot, with his jacket off and a large bottle of coconut water in his hand. “Drink,” he orders, angling the bottle so that the rim pushes against my lips. I take a long swig and he holds the bottle in place so that I can’t put it down until I’ve drunk half of its contents. “Better?” he asks as I finish.
I nod.
As Jack sits down on the edge of the bed that I haven’t been in since the night that I found out about his affairs, I recoil, edging my back against the headboard we made together out of planks of reclaimed white oak that we sanded and varnished. My soaked hair is dripping water down my back and neck and onto the towel wrapped tightly around me. The air is dense with tension, punctuated by the rising and falling of Jack’s chest which cuts through the fraught silence.
“I know why you did what you did,” he says, his voice trembling.
Yeah, well, you’re the expert in adultery.
I say nothing, but stare back at him silently, annoyed but still intimidated by his wrathful masculine aura. His eyes bore into me, daring me, trapping me in some silent arena where we duel without moving a muscle.
As I will him to get up and leave, abruptly and without saying a word, he yanks the sheet off me, grabs my waist and jerks me toward him. I let out a gasp as he pushes me down onto the mattress and climbs on top of me, using his hands to pin mine to the bed on either side of my head.
“Let go of me!” I shout, struggling to free myself from his immovable grasp.
“You are my wife, Jessynia. Do you hear me?!” he growls savagely into my lips, his breath hot. “You belong to me. No man will ever touch you again. Is that clear?”
I whimper, staring at him imploringly while trying to free my arms from under his strong hands. He contemplates me for a few seconds before moving his lips onto mine, licking the seam between them and pushing his large, determined tongue into the wetness of my mouth as I squirm beneath him.
“Jack!” I shout in a moment of respite from his tongue as I try to catch his eyes.
He swallows my exclamation with his mouth, once again inserting his tongue deep into me as I writhe under him. Propping himself up onto his elbows, he positions his dense body firmly on top of me and I gasp as I feel the huge erection beneath his pants which presses between my legs.
Jesus.
He keeps a firm hold of my wrists without hurting me and starts to devour my neck, freeing my mouth momentarily. I want to shout Stop, but somehow the word won’t come out.
“Jack, please…”
Positioning his face over mine, he stares down into my pleading eyes and then at my wet and tender lips again, studying them like a famished lion would a gazelle. His eyes are spheres of topaz with a core of obsidian contracting in the center. They’ve always changed color depending on the lighting, and right now they are an incandescent blue. As his glare weakens my body, he once again envelopes my lips in his, charging his tongue into my mouth as I contemplate pushing my knees up to pry him off me. He is too big, too strong—stronger and taller than most men. On the best of days, I could barely resist him, but now, weak and shattered, moving his determined hands more than a couple of inches would be a physical impossibility.
His bulky, rock-hard chest dominates my soft flesh, forcing awareness of the indecent male body that is underneath the shirt that separates us, awareness of the solid mass of sculpted muscle that he hides under the professional-looking exterior that he shows to the rest of Manhattan. And right now, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt the true force of his body so acutely.
I continue to whimper underneath him as he interlaces his experienced fingers with mine, his dominant tongue penetrating the soft warmth of my mouth, spearing deep into me. He kisses me as if he hasn’t tasted me in years, as if he needs me to survive, as if my mouth will bring him back to life. As I try to lift my arms, he lets out a groan as his mouth drifts across my throat, sampling my neck again with the full surface of his tongue. Moving up, he licks my lips roughly until they part for him and pushes his relentless tongue into and out of my mouth… slowly, smoothly and deliberately, again and again and again.
Shit.
As his persuasive tongue explores me, I’m becoming increasingly aware that despite every second I’ve spent trying to resist him, despite everything that has happened between us, and as much as I hate him right now, a warm tingling of unwanted pleasure is teasing my groin, building up until I feel my sex start to contract gently.
Fuck! Why am I feeling this?
I writhe underneath him as he keeps fucking my mouth with his tongue until my tense arms soften and go limp, all fight evading me. The smell of his breath is intoxicating. The anger in his lust is making me light-headed. My feeble attempts to resist him dissolve and my limbs begin to still as he ravages my mouth confidently with his, my body betraying me with every lick. Despite my efforts not to, I let out the tiniest high-pitched whimper of exhaled pleasure, which I pray he doesn’t hear as he continues his ardent exploration, pinning me to the bed, pushing his clothed erection unapologetically between my legs. Little gasps of unwanted delectation emanate from my mouth despite myself as my unwillingly receptive body starts to tingle and pulsate, my sex increasingly moist, unfurling like a young flower.
God, how can he still do this to me?
I look up to find his gleaming eyes eating mine, unblinking, a small knowing smile on his impossibly sculpted face.
“Tell me to stop,” he dares me as if challenging me to overcome my desire and say no to him.
He knows.
He knows that he has me.
He knows the power that he has over me—over any woman he comes near. He knows that my clammy skin is starting to get flushed, that my nipples are hardening underneath my towel and that I am starting to ache for him—an ache deep inside my body that only he can relieve.
The hurt part of me wants him to get away from me, wants to shout Stop! Don’t touch me! That side of me can barely stomach the idea of my cheating husband touching my precious body. If I hadn’t been drunk and sick, he wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere near me. And yet, every fiber of my body now wants to be devoured by him, to be caressed by his tongue, to feel him inside me as if having him take me will somehow prove to me that the man I adore really does love me and only me. A tremor of unwanted arousal reverberates through me, setting every erogenous zone in my body alight and I curse myself for allowing him to have this effect on me.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to,” he whispers, his keen gaze targeting my lips. “Tell me to stop.”
I feel trapped in the glacial swirls of his irises as I will the word Stop to come out of my mouth, furious at myself for the fact that I want him so damn much. I know Jack. I know without question that he’ll stop if I tell him. I just have to give the word.
“Say it, baby,” he whispers. “Say it and I’ll stop.” He licks my lips slowly. “Say it…”
I don’t. I can’t. I have no idea why, but the word won’t come out. As his determined virility possesses me, I forget to breathe for a moment at the sight of his pupils dilating. I observe my face in the onyx mirror in the center of his eyes and a breathy gasp is ejected from my throat as he moves his lips onto mine and holds my body hostage with his hard limbs.
“Open your mouth,” he orders, pushing his palms on top of mine.
I don’t comply, still profoundly pissed off that this arrogant, cheating asshole is still having this visceral effect on me. I stare back at him in a last attempt at defiance.
“Open!” he orders again more harshly.
Despite his betrayal, his aggressive dominance and the fact that I hate his guts so much part of me still wants to leave Manhattan and never see him again, the longing to be ravaged by this beautiful, damaged, lustful man weakens my resolve and I part my lips slightly before I can stop myself. He beams as he takes his thumb and runs it over my plump lips, inserting it into my mouth and against my tongue as my body begins to yield to his strength.
“Good girl,” he whispers, wrapping my damp hair around his right hand and pulling it back slightly so that my chin is lifted and my neck stretched back. I close my eyes and moan weakly and he lets out a deep, long groan of pleasure as his hips push against my delicate, wet body. The effect he still has on me is as overpowering as it is dysfunctional. It’s as though every movement of his godlike body is bringing me back to life.
“Open your eyes,” he commands, the dark threat in his raspy growl igniting flames of arousal and a veil of fear within me.
I do as I’m told and behold the sight of his wicked gaze searing into me as he firmly glides his tongue into and out of my mouth. Whimpers of reverence escape me as Jack kisses me fervently as if trying to devour, reeducate, punish and possess every part of me. The moist, warm opening between my legs aches with anticipation and it’s all I can do to stop myself from spreading my legs and begging him to fuck me.
“I’m going to teach you who you belong to,” he whispers, his lips pressed against my ear and his hand clutching my neck. “And who I belong to.”
Minutes pass in tense sexual exploration. After ravaging my mouth with his tongue, Jack straddles my body and sits up, watching my face as he pulls his light-grey T-shirt over his head to reveal the most insanely chiseled male body I’ve ever seen up close, with every flexing golden muscle sharply defined and the broadest of shoulders. The swirling ire inside me barely takes the edge off the awe I feel at seeing a man as powerful and breathtaking as him on top of me. I swallow hard, intimidated by his formidable, unabashed masculinity, and part my lips, breathing heavily as I pan up from his ripped torso to his blazing eyes which lock with mine fiercely. He moves his hands to my chest and starts to remove the towel that is wrapped around my body.
“Jack!” I whimper as I instinctively try to resist him and keep the towel around me.
His eyes widen in response as he forces my hands apart and off the towel, lifting them above my head and pinning them to the pillow while I squirm underneath him. He slides his assertive right hand under my towel, gently caressing my taut navel before grabbing the towel, pulling it from under me and throwing it to the floor, exposing my naked body, subduing any last remnants of half-hearted resistance. He lets out a throaty growl which frightens me a little as he contemplates my soft, round breasts and the erect nipples that he hasn’t touched for almost two weeks—the longest we’ve ever gone without him ravaging me.
“Jesus, angel. You’re so fucking beautiful. I could come just looking at you,” he whispers, stroking my nipples with his strong fingers.
He imprisons my chest with his dense pecs and moans with pleasure as he bites and licks my neck like a ravenous animal, the weight of his body dominating me exquisitely. Bending his knees and lifting his torso off mine, Jack places his mouth on my nipples which he licks with the gentlest of strokes, up and down, left and right, placing his tongue flatly and enveloping them delicately with his lips until I arch my back and throw my head back in an exclamation of pleasure. In response, he slides his right hand down my still-damp body until he reaches the soft wet flesh between my legs which aches and pulsates at the invasion of his fingers. He moans his satisfaction with a deep guttural exhalation as he feels how wet and ready he has made me before using his muscular legs to pry mine open, flexing his knees and propping himself up as he positions his head between my legs. He slips his hands under my knees and parts my legs further.
“Jack, no!” I implore, not ready for him to perform this so intimate an act so soon after the betrayal I still feel so acutely. “I can’t—”
“Shhh.” He extends his arm and places a strong hand over my mouth. “I’ve been dreaming of tasting you for days. You’re going to let me.”
I try to protest from under the hand clamped over my mouth, but it’s no use. He runs his fingers over the smooth skin of my pubis and down until he finds the wet opening to my body. He uses the sweet juice to toy with me, tease me, his fingers applying perfect pressure to the sensitive folds of flesh.
“Mmm, you’re wet, Jessynia,” he whispers with male satisfaction. “Very wet. And receptive. And ready. You can’t hide what I do to you…”
As the words fall from his throat, he places his experienced tongue onto the hood of my clit and with the gentlest of controlled strokes, he licks and sucks and teases the pink ridge until I’m gasping with uncontrollable pleasure.
“Jack!” I exclaim as his skillful tongue unleashes a wave of achy pleasure that leaves my back arching and my hand grabbing his thick hair.
“That’s it, baby. I want to hear you. Let go,” Jack orders smoothly.
Using gentle, expertly crafted flicks, his tongue caresses up and down the soft, hypersensitive bud until I’m panting, on the edge of an orgasm that I need like no other. Nothing Jack does in bed is an accident; every move, every lick, every unforgiving thrust is designed to turn me on so much that I become his slave, my body opening up for him, soft, wet, warm, welcoming, ready to take everything he wants to give, again and again. Wet juice lubricates my pulsating sex which aches for the relief of his penetration. Instead, it’s his tongue that spears into me as he places the firm tip of this thumb onto the knot of nerves just above and pushes and circles until I whine his name desperately. He toys with my body calculatingly, then pulls back, building the climax up and stopping over and over again just as I’m ready to go over the edge. I whimper with every flick, squirm with every blow of air and arch my back on the soft licks as a mist of dew leaves my skin glistening.
“Jack, please!” I beg, my body desperate to come and release the murky tension of the last two weeks.
“Not yet. You’re going to be coming with your husband inside you.”
Several long minutes go by as he tends to my sex in a way that no other man I’ve ever known has been able to do. On hearing another plea burst from my throat, he props his body onto its side, unbuttons his pants, and slides them and his grey Y-fronts down his legs and off his feet to reveal his large, hard erection, the sight of which makes me gasp internally.
Holy shit.
I can barely believe that a man like him can be real.
Moving up the bed, he forms a cage around me, propping himself up onto his elbows while laying his gleaming chest over mine. He places my right hand firmly onto his hard manhood and uses it to stroke up and down his thick shaft, the head of which he positions at the juicy opening to my body as my knees bend and legs part for him instinctively.
His burning eyes narrow as they watch my face. “You’re going to be giving me your tight little body, Jessynia. I’m going to have to make you understand that I’m the only man whose body you will ever touch. Do you understand that?”
I nod, completely submissive, and forget to breathe for a moment, transfixed as I am by the wild beauty of his face and his overpowering craving for my body. As I feel the threatening prod of invasion against my quivering sex, I whimper at the size of the eager erection readying itself to penetrate the tight tunnel that has belonged only to him for the last three years. I let go of his rigid shaft, the head of which is still positioned at the entrance to my sex, which pulsates, desperate for him to relieve my yearning.
His fingers disappear into my hair and he grabs a handful and wraps it around his fist, securing me in position as he lifts my right knee up to my chest to improve access to the inside of my body.
“Say it,” he orders. “You want me to fuck you.”
I do. My whole body wants him like I’ve never wanted anything. Every cell is alight, ready to receive, to give, to exist for him. I want to give my body to him, to belong to him, to feel him again like I used to, and yet, I can’t bring myself to say the words—words which I would have once said easily—after everything that has happened between us recently. I bite my lip.
“You will say it, Jessa,” he growls, his lips skimming mine. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“Jack…”
He places a hand around my throat. “Say it! I want to hear the words.”
“I want you to—” I start.
He smiles and licks my lips with a growl.
“Look at me,” he orders and as I peer at him in nervous, pleading anticipation, he teases and caresses the warm, inviting, silken opening between my legs with the head of his cock for an agonizing half-minute before slowly feeding the thick, hard length inside me and leaving me gasping with pain and pleasure. My sex is tight, not having been touched by him for what feels like an eternity, and I feel every inch of the large manhood filling me over capacity. He slowly withdraws to the tip and grunts as he thrusts back inside me hard, closing his eyes in bliss and nipping my bottom lip with his teeth. The tender muscles of my sex contract around him until ripples of pleasure drown out all other feeling.
The man is a god.
“I’m going to have to fuck you very hard, beautiful,” he breathes, interlocking his fingers with mine and pinning my hands next to my head, imprisoning me exquisitely while using the clenching walls of my sex to stroke and pleasure himself with. A gasp of awe at his unforgiving virility leaves me as he withdraws before pounding inside my tender sex again and again and again, occasionally stopping for a second or two, breathing heavily as he brings himself back from the brink of climax before resuming rhythmically. Hot minutes elapse as he possesses me, reminding me what he’s capable of, what sex should be like, how much pleasure he can give me, and to whom my body belongs. The ferocity in his blazing eyes paralyzes me as he rams himself inside me fiercely.
“You are mine, Jessynia,” he groans. “Do you hear me? I’m your husband and you don’t touch any man other than me. Ever. I’m the only man that touches your body. Is that clear?”
I nod, trying not to lose myself in his turbulent, possessive lust. It’s impossible to deny: the man feels so freaking good—so hard, so powerful, so right.
“Say it,” he commands gruffly, sending shockwaves into me with each thrust. “You are my property. Say it!” Shades of jealous anger roughen his words. “I need to hear it.”
“I’m… yours,” I whisper gently, surrendering to him.
“Good… girl.”
Sweat pours off his golden skin and onto mine, leaving us a wet tangle of hot, slippery bodies. The weight of him makes me feel safe and alive and so aware that I’m female. His thrusts are accompanied by groans that could make a woman come just on hearing them. He smells and tastes heavenly. He looks like a god. His body is like no other. I need it to survive.
His palms press into the mattress on either side of me and he straightens his arms, forming a cage as he watches my eyes fervently from above while gliding into and out of me like an experienced athlete perfecting his sport. Minutes pass before he bends his elbows and lays his torso on top of mine, bending and lifting both of my knees so that they are near my chest and he can fuck my sex at his leisure.
“That’s it. Stay there. Don’t move,” he whispers.
“Jack…”
“You’re going to stay right there. I’m going to teach you what it means to be a wife.”
He slides into and out of me slowly as he watches my eyes.
“I need you to come for me, baby,” he utters gently a few minutes later as he glides a hand down my body.
His dexterous thumb ever so gently caresses my clit as he tilts his pelvis, varying the angle with every new thrust as if trying to stimulate me in the best way. I can’t deny how privileged I am to be fucked by someone as knowledgeable as him—a man so hard-working, so willing to do whatever it takes to help his woman find ecstasy. My core feels tight and as tension builds inside me, I start to pant and moan faster, gasping as Jack fucks me mercilessly for several minutes in an unequaled display of wild, virile dominance and strength.
“That’s it, beautiful,” he whispers, his lips skimming my ear. “I want you coming every day of your life. It’s me and only me who’ll be making that happen.”
“Jack!” I implore, never having felt more desperate for the release of climax in my life.
His fingers explore the buzzing nerves between my legs and he uses my own juicy wetness to trace tingling tracks, pushing, stroking, teasing.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “I want you coming right now.”
As his instruction comes out and he presses the tender knot of nerves hard, an unrestrained cry escapes me as the mounting tension explodes exquisitely and vibrant waves of orgasm ripple through my core leaving the walls of my sex contracting. My whole body is high and light as my chest and cheeks flush red and my limbs go soft and limp, exhausted from the sweet release which washes over me in perfect undulating waves. My limbs tremble as the high of the orgasm trickles into the tips of my fingers and toes like water filling a dry riverbed. Jack watches my face, a smile of triumphant male satisfaction on his lips as he continues to fuck me slowly while I try to recover from the rush and assault to my senses and not faint from the heady intoxication of nirvana.
His hands enter my hair once again and his lips meet mine. “You are my property, Jessynia. I hope that’s clear to you now,” he growls, restraining me mercilessly as I quiver under the weight of potent muscle.
To reinforce his point, he thrusts into me roughly, the head of his cock ramming my cervix hard as if to prove that my body is for him and him alone, that no other man will touch me, that only he can possess me with such passion and leave me ravaged and trembling. The prowess of the well-oiled machine on top of me and his unyielding domination leave me gasping, my mouth opening just enough for him to lick the tongue inside.
“You’re my wife and you’re going to take everything I have to give,” he pants into my ear in ragged breaths, sounding like he’s unable to restrain himself any longer. “I hope it’s clear who your body belongs to?”
I nod, my eyes locked into his.
“Good,” he breathes as he pushes in and out more fervently now, grunting and cursing until he finally closes his eyes and lets out a deep suspended exclamation and ejaculates inside my submissive body for a long minute, sounding like the orgasm is pushing him to the edge of insanity. He stays inside me, our sweaty limbs entangled in each other as he comes, thrusting a few more times before stopping in a cloud of heavy panting perfumed by the scent of sweat and sex. His slow withdrawal leaves my tight sex quivering as he collapses on top of me, holding me tightly. As our steaming bodies melt into each other for what feels like an age, I close my eyes and forget about anybody or anything else that has gone on between us and silently dissolve into my demi-god of a husband.
Jack’s brutal lips skim my dewy cheek as he wipes the sweat from my face. “It’s my fault,” he utters, forcing me to look at him with a tug of his fingers. “I know that. I’m sorry. I’ve never loved a woman the way I do you. Never made love to a woman the way I do you, or felt anything like what I feel when I’m with you. I will never hurt you again.” His voice cracks and his eyes mist over, closing for a second as he kisses me hard on the lips. “I love you, God damn it.”
I don’t speak, but soak him in. His thick, shiny blond hair is gloriously disheveled, his broad face glistening. His skin is hot and radiant. The mass of his dense chest makes me shudder. He is the most insanely beautiful man I’ve ever known and just looking at him makes me wish he would fuck me again.
“I’m sorry, for everything,” he continues, his voice raspy and broken. “There’s something in me that wants to self-destruct, to destroy the only thing worth anything to me. I’ll never do that to you again. To us. Never.”
As he holds me against him, kissing my face and neck over and over again, I close my eyes and feel him breathe me in as though inhaling the scent of some rare flower.
As his limbs envelop mine, l start to dissolve into blissful slumber. Right now, despite everything that’s happened between us, in the heavenly, protective warmth of my husband’s embrace, I don’t care about anything else.
