The Way She Burns

Curtis, now eight, is in school for another few hours and then he has peewee football practice. I’ll need to be there, since I’m the coach. Started the whole league, really, at first wanting to show my wife that I can be around people. Tolerate them, even. And at some point, I actually started to enjoy myself. Curtis is popular among his friends, meaning children are constantly running through the house on weekends. Chloe keeps them entertained most of the time, until it’s time for privacy and then poor Dobbs is on babysitting duty.

I’ve had to raise his salary considerably.

Yes, Chloe’s little brother and our constantly full house have more than fulfilled our parental aspirations. We have our family of three and it’s perfect, no plans to add more—and frankly, no desire on either of our parts to give up a single second of surrendering to our obsession with one another. And we agree wholeheartedly that our family is complete. It’s ours. There is more love in my life than I ever knew was possible. There’s stability and trust and passion. There’s Chloe. My heart. My soul.

The reason I take every breath.

My gaze strays to the picture of Chloe sitting framed on my desk. It’s a photo from our first wedding anniversary. She’s in a dress made entirely of light pink feathers and a sparkly silver belt, a glass of champagne in her hand that technically she was too young to drink at the time. I’m holding her in my arms, our favorite place for her to be, my mouth sliding up the front of her throat. In my opinion, the best part of the picture is the boulder-sized diamond on her ring finger, letting the world know she’s mine.

Mine.

While looking at the picture, my cock has turned into a hard column in my pants, prepared for my tight wife. God, I need her. Now.

Sweat is beginning to form on the hollow of my throat, my hands flexing on the arms of my chair. I’m getting…almost dizzy, my eyes straying continually to the clock. Where is she? I need a fucking hit. I need to feed my addiction.

Chloe isn’t the only one afflicted with near constant longing. Hunger.

It’s times like this, when one of us is running late to our never-ending, two-person party, that it becomes starkly obvious that I wouldn’t make it a fucking day without being inside of her. Feeling her skin against mine. Hearing that baby talk in my ear and knowing it’s just for me. That I’m the only one privy to it. We are each other’s drug. We wake up in the morning and reach for each other before we’ve taken our first breath.

I stand from my desk and pace to the window, looking for the limousine in the driveway, on the road leading to the house. I’m not going to be able to wait until she gets home. I’m going to have to go find her. Track her down like the insatiable animal she’s turned me into. Wherever I find her, that’s where it’s going to happen. Hard. Fast.

Unable to wait another second, I find my keys on the desk and stride out of the office toward the front door, throwing it open and not even bothering with the lock. I jump over the side of my convertible Jag, thanks to the top being down, and rev the engine, peeling out of the driveway fast enough to leave a cloud of dust in my rearview. My fingertips dig into the steering wheel, leaching the blood from my knuckles. I take the turn at the top of the road at breakneck pace—and that’s when the limousine carrying my wife comes into view.

I floor it.

Roughly only a minute passes until my Jag draws even with the limo, Dobbs very wisely pulling over to wait for me on the shoulder. I throw my car into park on the opposite side of the road and leap out, already loosening the tie around my neck, my cock distended in my pants.

Dobbs rolls down the driver’s side window, visibly nervous. “There was a traffic jam in town, sir. We were stuck at the same light for half an hour.”

I’m poised to answer him, but my wife chooses that moment to get out of the backseat, her eyes dazed with need and she becomes the only thing I see. Christ, I forgot she wore that flirty little skirt this morning, all covered in daisies. The wind kicks it up now and I catch a glimpse of her white panties. The ones I special ordered with my name stitched onto the hip, preceded by “Property of…” They match the white socks tucked into her Mary Janes.

My mouth is watering. I’m so horny I’m almost staggering my way to her side of the limousine, my fingers closing around the zipper of my pants and yanking it down.