Tutoring the Delinquent

My hand turns into a fist on the windowsill.

Last week, she was so blinded by flashes, she almost crashed her car leaving the parking lot at the university where she teaches. I thought security was airtight, but these vermin keep finding a way back in. They keep finding a way to harass my girl.

Mine.

Mine.

I close my eyes and breathe through the wave of possessiveness, counting to ten like I practiced with Iris. When we were first married five years ago, I would have punched through this window during bouts of greediness where Iris is concerned. Once our son and daughter were born, though, I had to start working on controlling the emotions Iris inspires in me. They’re still razor sharp and raw, but I’m not quite as destructive. Progress.

Sensing movement behind me, I turn to find the object of my obsession coming out of our walk-in closet, humming absently and putting on an earring. Oh my God, is she ever beautiful. She’s wearing a new dress. A silk one. Blue. It hugs her all over, especially in the ass.

Mine.

The center of my chest twists into a knot, my abdomen knitting together in anticipation of fucking. Christ, I am dying for a lick of her little wet pussy. She always begs for a rough pound after I’ve been feasting between her legs and that’s exactly what I’m in the mood for. A good, sweaty bang, Iris’s legs trembling around my waist, titties bouncing for Daddy.

God yes.

I start to unbelt my robe, but she catches sight of me and tilts her head. “Is that what you’re wearing for the interview? It starts in two minutes.”

A growl works its way free of my throat. “It’s our goddamn house. I’ll wear my damn robe if I want to.”

She’s battling a smile. “Okay.”

“I’m not annoyed at you,” I say quickly. “It’s all for them.”

“I know.”

“They hound you, honey.”

Here I go. I have to sit down on the edge of the bed and count to ten again. It helps when Iris comes over and combs her fingers through my hair, counting with me.

When we moved to Green Bay after the NFL draft, we were shocked to find the public’s fascination with our relationship had been growing since our days in college. Apparently there was footage floating around the internet of me walking out of the building after passing my Western Civilization test and throwing Iris over my shoulder. It had gone viral on TikTok.

Overnight, there were several Instagram accounts dedicated to us—and the interest didn’t end when we transferred Iris to her new school so she could continue to study, earn her degree and the scrutiny blew up my first year in the league. I was the hot new rookie on a winning streak and Iris was the pregnant, nineteen-year-old beauty watching from the glass box, high above the stadium, her heart in her eyes. My jersey wrapped around her. Ten security guards positioned on all sides—a requirement of my contract.

It's hard to blame people for being fascinated. Love this powerful isn’t typical.

It’s a fucking gift, just like every damn second with her.

“We don’t have to let them all the way in,” she whispers, nestling into the V of my outstretched thighs. “Just enough to satisfy their curiosity.”

I grunt, rubbing my face between her tits. “And then we come back to bed?”

She hums, a tremor passing through her. “Yes. Until the kids are ready to be picked up from nursery school.”

The mention of Allie and Christopher makes me smile. My son is four, my daughter three. They are curious and funny and brave. They are a mixture of me and Iris and I’ll never stop marveling over them. Along with their mother, they’re my life. My source of happiness. But my obsession? That’s for Iris alone. Its wild and without end.

I lick a path from between her tits up to the hollow of her throat, dipping and swirling my tongue there, absorbing her scent, her shiver, her tiny gasp of air. “You going to let Daddy fuck you in that pretty new dress, Iris?”

Her shivers turn more pronounced, her knees pressing together. “Yes.”

“Nasty?” I breathe at her throat. “In the other room?”

She can’t answer now, so she nods. Obediently. Biting down on her bottom lip.

My cock is stiff as hell in my briefs. Mouth is dry. How am I going to make it through this interview without dragging my sexy wife to a different floor and taking her doggy style on the floor somewhere? She loves it from behind. Especially when she’s naked and I’m fully dressed.

God, I’m turned on. When am I not?

Iris exists. That fact alone keeps my dick hard. End of story.

Over the last five years, our sexual relationship has become…intense. Even more so than it was in the beginning. It was always pretty obvious that she enjoyed my dominance—a lot—but now? Now she is entranced by it. The slightest wielding of my power can make her tremble, turning her pussy to cream in a heartbeat. Our bedroom is for lovemaking and we do that. Frequently. Slow and thorough and so fucking emotional, sometimes it takes me hours to come down. But we have a secret, soundproof bedroom on the other side of our walk-in closet so she can scream for her Daddy without anyone hearing. Where I can spank her tight ass and knock the headboard into the wall without someone calling the cops.