Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
“Sumner.”
“Hold on, I’m apologizing for the way I’ve treated them in my dreams.” I lick to the opposite nipple and take it into my mouth on a groan, because the taste of her is actual milk-and-honey-flavored heaven. “I’ve done some very bad things to these tits in my head, Britta.”
Her fingers slip into my hair, twisting, her body writhing with a little more insistency every time I suck deep. “Like what?”
I shake my head, mentally admonishing myself for bringing this up. “Shit a man doesn’t do to his wife.”
“Tell me,” she whispers.
“No.”
“You’re holding my throat, and I wouldn’t have expected that from you.” She fits a hand over mine, and we squeeze her there together, her pupils dilating in the darkness. “And I like it.”
We’re down to three pumps, ladies and gentlemen. “Britta, please . . . ,” I groan, moving my hips faster, slapping hard between her thighs. God, oh God, I’m not even inside her yet, and my life is flashing in front of my eyes.
“Sumner, you’re going to do these things with me . . .” She wets her lips, her words releasing in a harsh exhale. “Because if you do them to someone else, I will have to murder them with my bare hands.”
At first, I’m not sure I heard her correctly. But . . . did I?
I did.
My wife is possessive.
Part of me wants to laugh out loud because the very idea that I could even consider another woman is so far outside the realm of possibility, she has no idea. What women? Where? I’m blind to every last one of them. There’s only Britta.
Mainly, however, I’m fucking outraged that she might spend a single second feeling jealous. My wife? Jealous? No. Never. I enabled her to track my location on her phone as a formality, but deep down, I didn’t think she needed it with any kind of immediacy.
I drag my open mouth up her throat and fasten it over hers, suctioning her into a hard kiss before pulling back an inch, leaving our foreheads pressed together. “I’ve never thought of spitting on and slapping another woman’s tits. Only these.” I massage her breast in my hand, listening to her breath stutter in and out, gratified to see wonder instead of hesitancy. “Mentally, I’ve pushed these sweet things together and fucked them so many times. Come on them. Made you lick it up—”
I’m not even finished yet, and she’s shoving my jeans down, leaning up to snag my mouth in a frantic kiss. Together we work my pants down below my hips, followed by my briefs, but I catch her wrist before she can attempt to fist my cock.
“Next time, Britta, I’ll let you play with my dick as long as you want. But tonight, I’m barely going to hold it together long enough to give you head. And I really, really need to get my tongue in it. If you think I’ve been fantasizing about doing filthy things to your tits, it’s nothing compared to how nasty I’ve been licking this pussy.” I kiss her hard, nip at her chin with my teeth. On my way down her body, I stop at her tits, and looking her in the eye, I spit on each of them once, rubbing my saliva everywhere with my fingertips, then slap at them gently. Harder, sharper, when she arches her back and moans to encourage me.
Son of a bitch, she’s into it. Nails digging into my shoulders, hips refusing to stay still as I smack those beauties and watch them bounce, shake for me. I’m rubbing my erection against her thigh, and the friction is making me see double.
Get down there and make her come.
I’m running out of time, and there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m leaving this bedroom until she’s not only satisfied but convinced she just had a religious experience. But I can’t keep my hands off her tits, even as my open mouth skates down her belly, laps at the soft skin there, then takes bites out of her sexy hips. I press my face into her mound and inhale deeply, letting the honey scent of her soak into my fucking bones.
“I’m taking your panties off now, Britta.”
“Yes,” she rasps. “Okay.”
“Damn.” I bite her through the damp cotton. “My wife is fucking soaked.”
She tears at the comforter. “Sumner. Please.”
“I’m getting there.” I slide my fingers into the waistband of her thong and begin peeling it down, revealing inches of golden skin. “Just want to enjoy these final few seconds before everything else in life is ruined for me.” Glistening bare flesh. Completely bare. I’m not expecting it. I don’t have a no-hair preference; I just have a preference for my wife—and this is what she looks like. Smooth and aroused and mine to satisfy. “God damn, Britta. Fuck. Look at that pretty fucking cunt. I can’t believe I get to have it.”