“How long since you’ve been fucked, wife?”
Months.
Since before I left for Scotland. But he knew that, because it was him who controlled when I got fucked. I don’t know why he hasn’t fucked me, I don’t know how he hasn’t—I haven’t denied him. I’ve all but begged at his feet. Sometimes I think it was punishment for this, for sleeping in West’s bed.
But then he’d say something cryptic, and I felt like I already have the answer to end this torture
“Should I fuck you?”
Please.
He grabbed my hand, holding it to his iron-hard cock. “Flip you around. Bend you over. Make you scream in another man’s bedroom. Is that how you’ll make it up to me?” He laughed. “I think that’s a gift for you.”
Grayson ran his nose up and down my neck, pressing his knee between my legs. When he spoke, his voice was vicious. “And you haven’t fucking earned it.”
He pressed me against the wall, my back biting against the cold winter window, then stepped off.
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“Lift up your nightgown. Show me my pussy.”
“But West—”
“Don’t fucking say his name,” he snarled. “Show me my cunt, Snitch. I might not be able to fuck what’s mine, but I can see it. I can see how wet it gets for me.”
The whir of West’s shower running was a clock ticking—but Grayson was a bomb about to go off.
I gripped the fabric of my nightgown, inching it up my thighs.
Grayson’s nostrils flared as my nightgown rose higher, the only sign I had that my Grayson was still in there.
A noise sounded and I froze—was West coming back?
Grayson’s eyes flashed, vicious.
I went all the way up, tugging past my thighs.
He took the lollipop out of his mouth, holding it an inch to the side, examining me. “Poor little wife, really needs to be fucked.”
His cock was an iron bar resting against his muscled thigh. I shifted on my feet, aching. I couldn’t stop picturing it inside me. Its weight. Its thickness. Would he stretch me, tear me, fill me up. It had been so long since Grayson had really fucked me.
He came back to me, pressing one hand above me on the window. The one with the sucker fell to my inner thigh. I was enveloped, caged. He breathed me in. His shirt stuck to his six pack so I could see every cruel flex as he took a ragged breath, as if with each inhale he was barely restraining himself.
I didn’t dare breathe, let alone touch him—afraid to shatter this moment. But then his head dropped to my neck, lips soft and warm on my flesh.
I sighed his name.
He jerked his head up, eyes zeroing on me. “Fuck yourself.”
I sucked in a breath. “What?”
He slid the sticky sucker slowly up my thigh, stopping at my groin. “Slide this sucker inside your cunt, Story.”
The warmth from his lips vanished from my neck at the coldness in his eyes and voice. Yet there was a wildfire blazing behind every icy action; it was the reason I reached down between my thighs.
I wanted the ice to melt.
I wanted him to burn me.