The Husband Game

His hands, meanwhile, have minds of their own. They trace down my curves to my waist, circling it, his hands so big they fit all the way around my waist with barely a gap—and I am not what anyone would call a tiny woman. Decidedly regular-sized. Which means his hands…

And fuck. What do they say about guys’ with big hands…?

I arch my hips up against his, and sure enough, the hard press I can feel crushing against my belly tells me everything I need to know. Fuck. He’s huge. Huge, and already as hard for me as I am soaking wet for him.

“I’ve been fantasizing about touching you all damn day,” Charlie murmurs against my neck, right before he gently nips the delicate skin there, his teeth just hard enough to make me gasp as a tiny jolt of pain joins the rush of pleasure flooding through me.

“Not as much as I’ve been dreaming about it,” I assure him, tightening my grip around his neck as I turn my face to kiss his cheek, his jawline. He’s clean-shaven, but there’s still a light 5 o’clock stubble there, enough to graze my cheek and make me shiver from the friction.

His hands, meanwhile, maintain a solid grip on my hips, pushing me back and into the hardwood door behind me. Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the surprisingly modern, minimalist decor of his apartment, before his lips tracing down my neck to my chest distract me all over again.

He takes his time. He unwraps me like I’m a damn present. First he peels my shirt off over my head, tosses it to the floor, but when I reach for his to return the favor, he catches my wrist and arches an eyebrow at me, a playful smirk on his face. “It’s my turn right now,” he says, his voice low and confident in a way that makes my belly flip, my pussy tightening with want.

Fucking hell. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. I can’t remember ever being this turned on. “Whatever you say, sir,” I reply, and heat flares in his gaze, white hot, where it fixates on me.

“Very good,” he murmurs, the approval sending a pleasant hum of heat through my veins, as he bends down to kiss along my chest until he reaches the edge of my bra. He reaches around me with one hand and deftly unclasps it before I can so much as offer a hand, and then he slides it up and off my arms, tossing it aside with my shirt.

I reach up to run my hands through his hair as he presses his face back against my chest, that light stubble grazing the sensitive skin of my breasts, as his tongue traces its way toward my already hardening nipple. With one free hand, he massages my other breast, his fingers moving expertly, tracing around the areola, zeroing in, until both of my nipples stand rock hard, despite the relative warmth of his apartment in comparison with the New England chill outside.

I moan a little and arch up off the door to press my body closer to his. He chuckles softly in the back of his throat, his smile widening with clear approval.

“You like that, hmm?” he asks, his mouth vibrating against my chest with the last word. Then he drags the flat blade of his tongue right over the hard bud of my nipple, and another shudder passes through me, one I’m powerless to resist.

“Yes,” I breathe, letting my head fall back, as he leans in to suck a little harder at my nipple, his tongue pressing against it, digging into me.

When he draws back this time, he ever so gently nips me with his teeth, making me gasp again—that pleasure and pain contradiction feels so surprisingly good. But he’s already moving on, sliding over to work at my other nipple, all while his free hand traces down the smooth, flat plane of my belly, until his fingers reach the hem of my jeans and delve beneath them. Not too far, just far enough for the tips of his strong, calloused fingers to graze the fabric of my panties, the silken slip between me and the jeans.

“You know, you taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, moving away from my chest now, kissing his way back up along my neck until he’s whispering in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “I can’t wait to taste your pussy.”

I swallow hard, my breath catching in my throat. “Please, sir.”

His eyes flash again. He likes when I call him that.

I do too.

“In good time,” he promises me, and then he reaches down to finish unclasping my jeans and pushes them down around my knees. In the warm apartment, I can feel how wet my panties are now. Slicked between my legs with telltale moisture.