Her fingers glide through my hair. I press the flat of my tongue to her pussy through her panties, and her fingers form a fist. She pulls on my hair, making the need inside my skin spike.
My knees are in agony against the hardwood floor. I’ll regret this tomorrow. For so many reasons.
But her taste is on my mouth, and I want more of it.
I hook my fingertips in her panties and pull them down, baring her to me. Her scent fills my head. The lips of her pussy are like velvet against my tongue. I hold them open with my thumbs, exposing her pink inner folds, and I lick her clit.
She tastes like—
Like the ocean and late nights and life.
“Oh,” she pants, head falling back against the wall. “Beau. There.”
I lick her, gliding my tongue farther inside her to tease her center. I move my thumbs lower and hold her open a little more. I take my time—slow, sure strokes of my tongue—and I grab her knee when her leg starts to shake. I hike her leg over my shoulder, which immediately spreads her wider and opens her more to me. Her hips roll against my mouth, seeking relief, and I dip my thumb inside her, gathering some moisture and slicking it over her pussy. There isn’t much, so we’ll definitely still need to use lube, but it’s enough to heat things up a bit.
Sucking on her clit, I glide my thumb in and out—carefully, as I’m guessing she’s still a little sore from the other night.
I glide my thumb back, grazing her asshole, and she says my name again, more urgently this time.
I grin against her pussy. Bel likes backdoor action.
Of course she does.
But we don’t have time to go there today. So I suck on her clit, hard, and glide my hands up inside her sweater, taking possession of her torso with my grip. I feel goose bumps break out across her skin.
The muscles along her sides tremble. I move a hand inside her bra and play with her nipple.
Oh, she says.
Go, I say. I nick her clit with my teeth.
I watch her as she comes. Hips bucking against my face, tit firm in my hand, and her hands balled into fists in my hair. Her face is screwed up like she’s in pain, a flush working its way up her throat to her cheeks.
Mouth open. Eyes closed. Completely abandoned to her orgasm.
Completely abandoned to me.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed—like I’m the one who’s coming—and plant my lips on her low belly. The ridge of her C-section scar presses against my lips.
A memory carved into flesh.
The moment Maisie was born.
I wasn’t there. But I wish I had been.
Annabel gives my hair a tug. “Hey. Finish what you started.”
Don’t have to ask me twice.
I bend down and carefully—as carefully as I can, anyway—bend her body over my shoulder, careful not to hurt her tits.
To: John Beauregard ([email protected])
From: Annabel Langley ([email protected])
December 5, 2017 3:11 AM EST
Subject: what do I do
I’d call you, but since you’re somewhere in the Maldives with that supermodel you’ve been after, I didn’t want to interrupt y’alls’ love fest.
I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just spit it out. Ryan left this morning. He packed a bag and walked out of the house without a word. Maybe he’d already said all the words he’d wanted to say, none of them pretty.
Devastated doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling.
I’m not proud of how rocky our marriage has been. Making a life with Ryan has never been easy. I remember you warning me at the beginning. I didn’t want to listen, maybe because I was so in love after being so unlucky for so long, but now I’m kicking myself for not taking your concerns more seriously.
Deep down, Ryan is a good man. Or he was when we got married. But he’s changed so much since then. His career’s really taken off. He thinks I’m jealous even though I tell him I’m happy for him. And I am. I am happy for him. I know it’s what he wants, to be one of the big guys at the bank. He’s just turned into a different person, you know? He used to be sweet. Genuine. I could tell he had a bit of an ego, but I thought it was harmless. Now, though, it’s turned into this awful sense of entitlement, and this obsession with keeping up with all his fancy new friends.
I’m kicking myself for not seeing it sooner. We talked a lot about having kids when we were dating. But as soon as we were married, and he got that huge promotion to managing director, it all just…petered out until it stopped altogether. Everything. The sex (sorry if that’s TMI, but there you have it). The talking. It’s like we lost whatever connection we had in the beginning.