Overnight Wife

God, she looked so fucking sexy. It’s a wonder I didn’t pin her down right there, but I was patient. I was enjoying the show, after all.

She lay back on the bed and started to finger herself, gasping softly with each stroke. That was when I couldn’t stand it anymore. I bent over her and took her hand, drawing it from her pussy and licking her finger clean slowly, my tongue hot against her skin, as I savored the salty sweet taste, her finger already coated in her juices.

I spread her legs then and pushed that nightgown up around her waist. Gripped the base of my cock tightly in one fist and guided myself to her entrance. With my other hand, I caught her wrists and pinned her arms over her head, telling her exactly where I wanted her, waiting for her to spread her legs wider for me, hooking her ankles around my waist, before I plunged into her.

God, that sexy little scream of hers undid me.

It’s enough to make me undo the top button of my jeans now, my hand stroking the edges of my cock through my boxers. Mara. Mara, Mara, Mara…

She’s all I think about. All day. It’s like I’ve been infected; like I’m addicted to that woman. And not only that, I’m lucky enough to call her my wife. I don’t know how I got so damn lucky, but I’m not about to waste it.

I slide my hand into my boxers, shutting my eyes to picture her face last night. That sexy little part between her top and bottom lips as she gasped. That soft mouth of hers, and the way her body arched up against me, her breasts digging into my hard chest when I drove into her again and again…

I start to stroke my shaft, my fist tight around the hard steel of it. I stroke my thumb over the top, feeling a bead of precum already gathered there, that’s how fucking horny this woman makes me.

I’m working myself up toward an edge when my door flings open without so much as a knock. My eyes jump to the doorframe, expecting to see Mara standing there, eager to call her over if it is, to have her join in.

But then I freeze.

It’s not Mara. It’s Bianca. Fuck.

There’s a desk in my way, blocking my cock from view—at least, so I hope—but still, it’s pretty obvious what I was just doing. I shove my pants closed again, and the zipper sounds deafeningly loud in this tight space, far too obvious. Still, I clear my throat and hope the flush doesn’t show on my cheeks.

“Bianca. Can I help you with something?”

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts. “I didn’t realize you were… um, that it would be a bad time.” Her face is bright red. Probably even redder than mine.

Still, she steps into the office, and shuts the door behind her slowly.

“What is it you need?” I ask, crossing one leg over the other to hide the inconvenient, still obvious bulge.

Her gaze drops toward the desk anyway, and to what I’m concealing behind it. “Nothing important. It was just a silly question about budgets, it can wait… until a better time…” She hesitates and glances up at me again, before she bites her lower lip slowly. “Unless, of course, this is a good time.”

I frown. “A good time for what?”

She hesitates again. Takes a deep breath. And then she steps toward my desk. Closer to me. “A good time for us to talk. About…” Her gaze darts down again. “Other things.”

“Bianca…”

But she’s already at my desk. Sliding onto it, in a way that all too obviously hikes up the hem of her skirt, revealing a clear slash of thigh. She’s not my type, never has been. But the move makes me wonder exactly how many higher-ups she’s used it on before now. “I wouldn’t blame you, if you were getting bored in here all by yourself. Or lonely.” She glances down again, pointedly, before her gaze locks back onto mine, her lips curved in a sly smile. “I can help distract you, boss.”

“No,” I say, more harshly than I meant for it to come out. I clear my throat with difficulty and rise from my chair. At least this conversation has been helping to kill my boner at a possibly record-breaking speed. “Bianca, whatever you think is happening here… it isn’t. Please leave.”

Her face flushes bright red, before it goes blanched and pale, emotions chasing themselves across her face. Surprise, then embarrassment… But she settles on anger by the end. Shoves off my desk with her fists balled. “Oh, so you prefer the butch muscular type, is that it?”

Not exactly words I’d use to describe Mara, but I can catch her drift. “I prefer my wife,” I respond coolly.