Overnight Wife

She gasps a little, shifting against me as her desire builds.

“That too,” I reply, grinning. “And for how fucking sexy you look in this dress… do you know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off of you tonight?” I murmur, my hands sliding around to grip her ass, pulling her against me quickly.

She can already feel the hard bulge in my suit pants, I’m sure. I’ve been hard as a rock since the moment we stepped into this enclosed space. “Probably as hard as it’s been to stop myself from getting too wet,” she replies, shimmying against me. “After all, I’m not wearing any panties under this thing…”

“I also married you for your dirty mind, you know.” I smirk.

“Dirty, or practical?” She arches an eyebrow with a grin, as down below us, the house lights dim, and the stage begins to brighten. “At least from here we have a view.”

Gently, I turn her around so she’s facing the window too. And then I draw her dress up, inching it higher and higher, my hands tracing along the hem as I do, fingertips trailing up the back of her thighs until I reach the crease where they meet her hips. I run my hands over her firm, tight ass, squeezing hard, drawing her back against me, grinding my hips against hers, before I dip one hand between her thighs.

She wasn’t lying. No panties whatsoever. And clearly the wet factor really was becoming a problem. I stroke a finger along her soaking wet slit, coating my fingertip in her juices, swirling it against her entrance.

“My wife really is impressively dirty,” I murmur against the back of her neck, my lips moving against her skin.

She shivers and arches her back against me. “My husband sure knows how to tease and toy with me,” she replies, her breath so hot it fogs the glass she’s leaning against.

Down below, the curtains part to reveal the stage she worked so hard on. The play that’s a culmination of my long dream.

Our dream, now. Like everything else in our life, we share it. And we work best together. United.

“You are incredibly talented, you know that, Mara?” I nod toward the stage. “Look at what you built.”

“What we built,” she corrects softly, leaning back to kiss my cheek, even as I continue to stroke her slit faster, feeling her growing even wetter beneath my touch. “We did this together.” Her hips arch beneath me, and I suck in a sharp breath as her ass grinds against my rock-hard cock.

“It’s sexy, how well we work together,” I reply.

In the foggy glass, I catch the reflection of her grin. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Below us, unaware, the play begins. The actors recite their lines—lines that, like I told Mara, the two of us have already heard at least a hundred times. But she’s right, too. There’s something different about tonight. About this being the real thing, the true first performance—even if there have already been reviewers sitting in on rehearsals for the bigger newspapers. Tonight is the night that will determine the play’s real performance. How the LA theater crowd—and the world’s bigger crowd on the whole—views it.

The anticipation and the adrenaline just make everything hotter, as I spread Mara’s legs gently, my fingers pressing inside her, one at a time, until I have three deep in her pussy and she’s breathing so hard half the glass is fog now.

“Fuck me, John,” she gasps, and I grin.

“That’s the idea.” I kiss the back of her neck, draw a stray strand of her hair up out of the way. “But first, I want you to come for me, wife.”

Her hips buck as she starts to rock against me. Her pussy still feels as tight as ever, but combined with the sight of her big, pregnant belly, it’s hotter than ever to watch her. To know that I put that baby in her belly. That she’s mine, as the ring glinting on her finger declares to the whole world.

Her head falls back against my chest and she lets out a long, moaning gasp as her first orgasm hits. I pin her against me, hold her body as she trembles, and keep moving my fingers inside her, loving the way her pussy contracts and releases around my fingers, grasping, convulsing with pleasure.

“God, you are fucking perfect,” I whisper.

Then I undo my belt buckle, and push down my pants, bringing the head of my cock to rest against her soaking wet entrance. I swirl the tip back and forth along her slit, coating myself in her juices, teasing, until she’s rocking back against me, one of her hands reaching back to grip the back of my neck, holding herself up.

“Fuck me, John,” she begs. “Please, please fuck me.”

I can never resist. Not when she asks me like that.