AFTER A LONG AFTERNOON NAPPING next to my husband during which I spent at least fifteen minutes secretly salivating over his indecent body while he snoozed, I climb into the shower and let the cool water soothe my lightly tanned skin and wash the cloying sweat and muggy heat of the car ride away. I get out of the shower, step onto a blue and green mosaic floor, and massage coconut oil all over myself before sliding a short white chiffon summer dress over my naked body. I’m not going to bother getting fully dressed as I’ll be getting ready for tonight’s party in an hour or so.
“You hungry?” I shout as I head downstairs barefoot to make a salad. I want to put something in my stomach before we get to the party so I don’t end up pigging out on petits fours.
“Sure,” Jack replies from upstairs. “I’ll be down in ten.”
I plug my phone into a speaker pod and flick to my classic ’80s pop playlist featuring Cyndi Lauper, Duran Duran, Lionel Ritchie and other gloriously kitsch numbers. I take the romaine, arugula and home-made vegetarian pâté that darling Babs gave us out of the fridge.
The gorgeous beach-style kitchen, all off-whites with white-washed cupboards and intricate wainscoting, has a large bay window behind it looking out onto a manicured lawn. All around the back of the property, tall trees block the view from all other houses. It is private and heavenly.
Fifteen minutes of ’80s pop later, Jack comes down fully dressed for the party in a crisp grey Gucci shirt and black pants that he ironed when we arrived. His hair is still damp from his shower and a hint of fresh cologne perfumes the air around him. The man smells sinfully good. I forget to breathe for a second as I catch sight of the suggestion of brawny muscles under his shirt and make eye contact with steely eyes under thick eyebrows.
Jesus, just kill me now.
Sometimes just catching sight of his capable male body makes me feel small and feeble and so ridiculously aware that I’m a woman.
Opening the fridge, I help myself to a bottle of homemade beer that Frank gave us and take a swig before singing to the music, half mocking and half loving the wonderfully cheesy Bryan Adams number.
“Do you want one?” I ask, holding up my bottle of beer as I head over to the sink to rinse the salad greens.
“No. I’m gonna drive tonight.”
“You don’t want to take a cab?”
“No need, baby.” Jack rarely likes to relinquish control in public, and that includes drinking alcohol in large crowds of people.
I glance back at him sitting behind me at the kitchen table that looks like it was made from a huge log of driftwood that has been sliced through and copiously varnished. He watches me in amusement as I embrace a very camp song with ’80s crooner aplomb. Jack knows from the numerous visits to karaoke bars that my friends and I used to drag him to when we were first dating that I can do a mean George Michael when I’m in the mood. I turn to see him grinning at me, eyebrows raised.
“Not dancing?” I ask, faux-innocently.
“I’m saving it for the partay,” he replies mock-enthusiastically.
“Oh, sure. I can’t wait to see that.” I smile and take another sip of beer as I continue prepping the salad. “I need to call Stella. I want to see if Kevin’s coming.”
“How is he?” Jack asks.
“He’s good. Still slowly working his way through the entire gay population of SoHo.”
“Wasn’t he dating someone?”
“Yeah, that artist guy. They broke up a few months ago. He was totally faithful the whole time they were together, so he’s been going a bit mental the last few weeks.”
“There’s no one else he’s into?”
“I don’t think so. He’s been spending some with Mason.” Shit. “But, uh, I think they’re just friends. Well, friends.” I say, my stomach lurching.
I kick myself the second Mason’s name comes out of my big mouth. Though I haven’t seen him for a long time, Mason is a new friend of Kevin’s and a very close childhood friend of Cameron O’Neill. I spent a bit of time with him when Cameron and I were close at college, but I’ve only bumped into him once in the last couple of years, just very briefly. I don’t even know if Mason and Cameron are even friends anymore.
“Mason?” Jack asks, irritation roughening his voice. “Livingston?”
“Well, I don’t really know,” I stammer, lamenting the faux pas. “I’ve never seen him and Kev together. Stella told me that they’ve been spending some time together, but I… I don’t think they’re that close,” I stumble, trying to backtrack in an effort to smooth over the error of mentioning Mason’s name given the Cameron O’Neill connection and Jack’s unexplained hatred of anyone or anything to do with him. “I haven’t seen Kevin in over a week,” I continue as I try to change the subject, glancing back to find Jack’s features darkening. “I’m missing my daily dose of slanderous bitchiness.”
I pop some spicy arugula into my mouth and rinse a knife, hoping Jack won’t fixate on the subject. As I start to unwrap the pâté, the music suddenly freezes and I turn back again to find Jack standing right behind me.
“Hey!” I protest. “No fair, Wilder. Just because you can’t appreciate good musi—”
Without uttering a word, Jack is upon me, his hard muscles pressed against the soft semi-bare skin of my back. He towers over my barefoot frame, his forceful arms dominating me effortlessly. One arm snakes around my waist, forcing me against him, as he dips his head to kiss the left side of my neck, loudly breathing in the scent of my freshly washed and oiled skin and lemon-scented locks. His damp hair strokes my face and a hint of day-old stubble rubs against my flushing cheek.
Fingers grasp my wrist, forcing my knife-bearing hand onto the counter as his lips find my left ear. “Let go.” His voice is a rough rasp, his breath heavy on my skin.
Instinctively I do as I’m told. “Jack, we don’t have time. I need to—”
He doesn’t let me finish, instead twisting his right hand around my damp hair and pulling it hard, yanking my head back and exposing my neck which he devours with his tongue and teeth and lips like a ravenous animal.
“Jack, please…” My voice is little more than a whimper, laced with fear and hesitation. As hot as Jack is, I still feel so damn uneasy when he touches me—remnants of the hurt I feel over him touching those other women. I think back to the conversation we had today and know that I have to try to relax and trust him when he runs his hands over my body.
He lets out a groan on hearing my feeble protest and uses his left hand to infiltrate the top of my delicate dress, pulling it down roughly to expose my round breasts, still oily from a liberal application of post-shower coconut oil. A rough gasp emanates from his throat as he palpates and toys with my soft teats that respond to his fingers by contracting into hard points.
“Jack, we don’t have time…”
My hesitant protest goes unacknowledged and I pull my left hand up to his dominant, invading arm and grab it instinctively to try and pull it away. In response, without uttering a word, he grabs my arm and forces it behind my back, using his right hand to hold it in place before resuming his exploration of my body as the prod of his erection against my buttocks signals his ferocious arousal. My skimpy dress is clearly no protection against Jack’s determined body and I whimper, in awe at his indecent masculinity and still thoroughly pissed at how uncharacteristically timid I now become whenever he breaches my defenses. Ever since discovery day, there’s a part of me that feels like a virgin who’s being explored for the first time when he probes my quivering body, and Jack—a man who always had a more than healthy sex drive—seems more turned on and determined to have me than ever.
I hardly have time to think about the shift in the balance of power between us before he uses my hair to pull my head back, slides his lips next to my ear and in a voice filled with desire and menace whispers, “I warned you to be careful what you wear around me, angel. Remember?”
The ferocious yearning emanating from him overwhelms me and I let out a quiet moan as tingling pleasure caresses my core, setting my sex to blissful attention. “Jack,” I whimper.
A hoarse groan leaves his throat as he kisses my neck, pulling my dress down so that both straps are now off my shoulders, leaving my natural breasts fully exposed. I struggle against him for a second as he brushes his fingers over my hard nipples, pushing his crotch hard against me, forcing me to acknowledge the threat of his ambitious erection.
“Baby, be very careful,” he threatens, his lips pressed against my neck so closely that I can feel his breath. A hand lifts the hem of my dress, gliding skillfully up my slender, oily thighs, exposing the curves of my butt. He slides his hand over my abdomen and between my legs, gently exploring my smooth, hairless pubis, holding me firmly in position as he looks down at my half-naked body.
“Mmm, don’t fight too hard, Jessynia. You know what can happen to me—and to you—when you try to resist me,” he whispers as his hand ventures between my legs, gently and expertly opening up the soft pink folds of my sex, which is juicy and warm and clearly waiting to be penetrated by the god behind me. Jack pants and pushes his erection against my buttocks as his fingers delve into the sweet, glossy syrup. “Oh, baby, that’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
He spreads my legs apart slightly with his feet, groaning as he penetrates my tight sex with his finger to prepare it for the pleasure of his entry. After gently sliding his finger into and out of the soft wet tunnel, gradually opening it up to ready it for his entry, he glides his finger up to my clit and makes circles around it using my own wetness, tenderly caressing, pressing and teasing it until I pant with aching pleasure.
He looks down at the side of my face and holds me tightly against him as I whimper. “That’s it, beautiful. I want to hear you scream.”
My nipples turn hard and a dewy mist of perspiration forms on my skin as Jack awakens the nerve-endings of my sex. After teasing the sweet spot for several minutes, he takes a step back and I feel him unzip his pants, keeping them on, but taking out his thick erection. His magnificent and unrelenting male form hovers assertively over my fragile half-naked female body as he positions his hard manhood between my legs, using it to tease the entrance to my body.
“I want to fuck you, angel. Hard. If you need me to stop, you have to tell me right now,” he says, his mouth near my ear.
My previously sassy, vocal participation in love-making was shocked out of me two months ago and I remain lamentably mute.
“I want an answer.”
“Don’t stop,” I respond after a moment.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” he breathes.
Satisfied with my submission, he groans as he gently pushes his ample cock inside my warm sex, pushing me forward slightly so that my hands are pressed against the top of the metal sink, my breasts hovering over it as I absorb the sting of the pain mixed with the ecstasy of his invasion.
I let out a moan as Jack continues to gently tend to me with his fingers while sliding his bulky shaft further and further inside my body from behind, his groans getting rougher the deeper he adventures. Despite the sweet juice lubricating my sex, he has to push slowly and carefully to make room for himself. Jack always told me how tight my body was, and now opening it up for himself seems to be a more delicate operation than it once was.
“You’ve always been a… very… good… little… wife,” he pants into my ear. “It’s not a good idea to let your husband catch your naked pussy cooking for him in the kitchen, baby… unless you want to be fucked until you can’t walk, that is…”
His right hand ventures from between my legs to around my throat, holding me in place as I whimper at the sensation of his primal masculine energy.
He places his left thumb onto my lips, pushing it into my mouth and against my tongue. “Suck,” he orders, and after a moment’s hesitation during which he tightens the grasp around my throat, I oblige, slowly caressing his thumb with my tongue before sucking it.
His sex responds by throbbing inside me and I hear him pant with relish, his euphoria exciting me desperately until I can’t stop myself moaning his name, at which point he leans his lips past my ear and very slowly licks the side of my face as the fabric of his shirt envelopes my bare back.
His breath smells so good—sweet and musky and so exquisitely male. He’s the most virile man I’ve ever been with in my life—that most women would ever have been with—and at this point, if he just brushes the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs, I’m sure I could climax. Pushing me forward so that I’m bent over the sink like a submissive housewife, he begins to thrust inside me fervently, like some convict who has just got out of prison and needs to screw something very hard.
Several minutes pass before he pulls out of me and pulls his pants off completely, silently leading me by the hand into the study next to the kitchen that looks out onto the secluded back garden. A fireplace frames the center of the room opposite a plush golden rug topped with a brown leather ottoman. An oversized beige microfiber sofa faces the fireplace on the other side of the ottoman, accompanied by chrome and glass end tables, with a computer desk up against the window.
Standing on the rug opposite me, he reaches down and pulls my dress up and over my head and throws it onto the floor, leaving me completely naked except for my wedding ring and my long hair which cascades over my shoulders and breasts.
Jack’s eyes roam hungrily down my body and back up to meet mine. “Take off my shirt,” he orders.
I swallow hard and take a step towards him, reaching up to unbutton his shirt as he stares down at me. As I undo the last button, he pulls the shirt off his light-caramel torso, revealing his sculpted chest, the broadest of shoulders and strong, athletic arms.
Christ, no man can really look like this.
His beauty is enough to make you lose your mind. His abdominal muscles are hard and pronounced and I run my fingers up the bumps, gazing into his eyes softly. I smile before biting my lip, remembering the words he spoke earlier today about the effect that my smile has on him.
A ferocious, heart-stopping smile—the type of wicked smile that could stop any woman in her tracks—forms on his lips, his eyes narrowing as though homing in on their prey. I constantly feel like I’m on the verge of fainting in front of this lustful mass of naked muscle and savage energy. You could throw the man into a pit with lions and a spear and he wouldn’t look out of place. As though reading my mind, he reaches forward to steady me before gently forcing me to the ground, climbing on top of me and pinning me down onto the luscious golden rug. Extricating myself from under him is impossible as he restrains my arms and starts to kiss me, slowly pushing his tongue into and out of my mouth. Our lips collide, teeth nip and tongues dance for several minutes until I suddenly find myself brought up onto my knees and pushed over the large ottoman, my breasts and abdomen pressed against the smooth leather.
Positioning himself behind me, he runs his hands up my lightly tanned back and kneads his strong fingers into my small muscles, then leans down and places his tongue at the bottom of my back and licks all the way up to my neck, pushing the full surface of his tongue onto my skin before taking his swollen erection and caressing the wet opening between my legs with the head. I feel a jolt of pain around the tender flesh he is probing and realize that the second penetration will be much more painful after the battering my tight sex has already taken. I hate that pain is suddenly an issue again after so many years of having only occasional pangs of pain when he drilled me too eagerly.
Despite my torso being pinned down against the ottoman, I manage to turn my head and catch his eyes. “Wait… Stop… I can’t. It’s going to hurt too much,” I plead.
He lets go of his hefty shaft and leans over me, positioning his gifted mouth right next to my ear. “You’re in pain because you’re tensing up, baby. You need to relax your body so you can let me in.”
“Jack, I can’t… Please… It’ll hurt too much.”
“We need to get through this together.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t get the searing pain end of the stick.”
“I know. But you shouldn’t be in this much pain. You need to trust me. Once you do that, you won’t seize up and it won’t hurt anymore. No resistance. No bad memories. You belong to me, baby. And I belong to you. And only you.”
“Jack, I—”
“You have to learn to accommodate me, Jessynia,” he whispers into my ear sternly. “Like you used to. If I had it my way, I’d tie your hands behind your back and fuck you five times a day. Hard. I know I can’t do that, but you have to learn to accommodate me at least once a day again, like before.”
“Jack, I’m trying. My body’s—”
Before I can finish, he pulls me off the ottoman and pins me face up onto the floor. Kneeling over me, he positions his head over my sex and licks the between the soft, velvety folds with his tongue.
“Jack, don’t!” I object, not having been able to allow him to perform this so intimate an act—despite almost daily attempts on his part—since that drunken night when he dragged me away from Sean’s place.
“Quiet!” His voice is a menacing growl, yet as smooth and delicious as cream liqueur being poured over ice. “I’ve been wanting to taste you every day for the last month. You’re not going to stop me this time. I want you to feel safe, beautiful. Close your eyes.”
Wanting desperately to feel safe with him again, I close my eyes tightly and try to relax my body, remembering to breathe and to unclench my tense fists. He holds my abdomen in place with his hands as his experienced tongue starts to perform the softest, most tender licks onto my sensitive nerves, licking up and down, back and forth, pushing his tongue into my imploring clit so that it starts to throb and pulsate, causing a deep wave of bliss to shoot through my core and up to my belly button. My head tips back and my feet curl with pleasure as he alternates between using his lips, then the tip and the body of his tongue to bring me closer to ecstasy.
“You taste so good, baby,” he says before running his tongue down the soft, peachy flesh and thrusting it into and out of me, his thumb now pressing on the bud, making gentle circular motions. The greedy, forceful determination with which he’s pleasuring me is melting away all my reluctance and I let out a cry of pleasure, gasping Jack’s name as I grab his thick blond hair.
“That’s it, beautiful. Let yourself go.” His short stubble grazes my inner thigh and the sensation of his strong jaw so close to the most private part of my body leaves me trembling.
“Don’t stop,” I implore. “Jack!”
He blows and licks, alternating between firm strokes and gentle caresses. His lips envelop and circle the knot of buzzing nerves over and over until an overpowering explosion of one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever felt shoots through my body, leaving my sex contracting gently and my chest flushing pink. I pant, breathless, as the fierce orgasm undulates through my body in a glorious warm tsunami, leaving me limp and quivering as the high travels up to my brain while aftershocks pummel my body.
Jack watches me triumphantly before climbing on top of me, smiling as he positions his rugged face over mine. “I could spend my life watching you come,” he whispers, rubbing my lips with his fingers.
I breathe heavily, my limbs weak, any resistance leaving me as I try to recover from the kind of orgasm that Jack and Jack alone knows how to give me.
“You’re going to let your man inside you again,” Jack says. “You’re going to relax your body and let me do what I need to. We have to get through this pain thing, together. Okay?”
I nod and he lifts me with ease, pushing me facedown over the ottoman again.
“Relax,” he whispers. “I won’t hurt you.”
I try to relax my pelvic muscles as I feel the head of his erection tentatively explore the sensitive entrance to my body and slowly slide inside me. He slides another thick inch into me, then another, until he gets half-way in and suddenly rams the rest of his hard length into me as if losing control of himself. A short spike of sharp pain shoots into my cervix as Jack leans his rock-hard body over me, enveloping my back. He breathes my neck in with his mouth as he moves in and out of me, more forcefully now, perfecting the merciless possession of my body. I let out high-pitched whimpers, submission, pleasure, fear and reverence emanating from my mouth.
“Good… girl,” he whispers between grunts as I try to relax and breathe through jolts of pain and the exquisite invasion of my body.
Pushing his lips against my ear, he covers my mouth with his right hand, gagging me completely so that I can only breathe out of my nose as he hammers my cervix while groaning as though in pain and cursing. He thrusts hard for long, savage minutes, pounding rhythmically, driving into me, working hard for the orgasm he wants from my body.
As sweat pours off his warm skin, he withdraws from my ravaged body and lifts me up, laying me face up onto the microfiber sofa. He climbs on top of me, his eyes burning into mine as he explores my small mouth with his tongue.
“Look at me,” he commands, bending my right knee up to my stomach so that he can penetrate my tight opening more deeply, first finding the entrance, then sliding, hands-free, into and out of me, more gently this time. He moves the hair out of my dewy face, staring into my turquoise eyes as he does so.
“I love you, Jessynia,” he pants softly while still stroking his manhood with the inside of my body. “I’m sorry. You turn me into a fucking animal. I can’t control myself when I’m near you. Forgive me, baby.”
It’s stupid and illogical seeing what rocked our marriage to its core to begin with, but his loving words and the thought of everything he’s done to try to salvage our relationship leave me feeling weak and emotional and I run my exhausted fingers over his handsome face and smile back at him happily, adoringly, giving my body to him totally without any resistance. He breathes heavily as he glides into and out of the sex that belongs only to him, staring at my smiling lips and soft eyes until he suddenly lets out a deep, rough cry that leaves my heart fluttering with its violence. He climaxes inside me with a jerk, his body shaking and throbbing, and collapses onto me, his lips meeting the top of my glistening shoulder as he breathes me in with ragged, heaving breaths. I wonder for a second if there is any feeling better than the triumph of turning a man like him into a quivering mess.
As our entangled bodies dissolve into each other, Jack pulls out of me, breaking down as he covers my face and neck with kisses, declaring his love for me, telling me he can’t live without me.
Deeply ravaged by his unapologetic, adoring virility, I feel heavenly swells of relaxation and peace flood my shattered body. As my husband wipes the sweat from my face and wraps his body around mine, we soak in the post-coital bliss together, our limbs entangled as if one being.
