2. Desire

Rosalie

    What Eli and I have, is...... complicated. But it didn't feel that way tonight. And I don't know how to feel about that.

I’ve just taken a step when the door bangs open and Eli is standing there, sans jacket, nostrils flaring, and eyes a vortex of desire.

The temperature shoots up instantly and I swallow. “I…I was going to heat you some dinner.”

He walks toward me, eating up the distance in two strides, and wraps his hand around my throat. “Be my dinner.”

And then his sinful mouth captures mine.

I’m lightheaded, absolutely ensnared, and completely taken with my monster of a husband.

His tongue thrusts between my lips, claiming mine, and my heart feels so light, my body floats on the clouds as I wrap my arms around his neck.

My curves mold to his hard muscles and I hang on to him for dear life.

When he pulls away, I breathe. “Whew. What a good night kiss.”

“If you believe I’ll stop after a kiss, you’re in for a massive surprise, Mrs. Jones.”

“Yeah? What do you intend to do?”

“Kiss every inch of your body, then fuck you for all the times I couldn’t.”

I want to ask why he couldn’t before, but he pushes me against the bed and claims my mouth again and I’m a goner.

Tomorrow is for questions.

Today, I want to feel the best day of my life.

ELI

    Somewhere in the back of my consciousness, I’m fully aware that I shouldn’t be doing this.

I flip her onto her stomach, my hands stroking and rubbing everywhere I can touch.

The last thing my wife needs is my cock nudging against her arse, demanding access inside her or growing rock-fucking-hard at the thought of claiming her.

Owning her. Engraving myself beneath her skin. And yet, apparently, I couldn’t care less about any possible side effects of my inability to stay away.

The scents of roses and flowers and depressingly familiar candy floss saturate my nose until I’m full of her. Her smell, the feel of her soft skin beneath the roughness of mine, the visual of her creamy flesh compared to my tan complexion. The gentle, absolutely ravenous moans she releases as I rip her zipper open.

“Can you stop ruining my dresses?” she mumbles against the pillow, staying completely still as I shove away the blasphemous thing keeping me from her.

“I lack the capacity to be gentle when it comes to you, Mrs. Jones.” I roll her hair around my fist and lower my lips to her ear. “But you knew that already when you teased me all night long.”

“I…did no such thing.” Her voice drips with forbidden desire and flickering lucidity. She’s so fucking beautiful, I can’t look her in the eye without feeling the burn in my bones.

“Is that so? Did I imagine your hand and legs not so accidentally brushing against my thigh?”

“Hmm. Maybe. Did it work?”

“Do you want it to work?” I run my hand down to her arse, stroking the thong that slips between the crack and then slap the inviting flesh, and she groans, her lips parting. “Judging by how wet and ready you are, I’d say you definitely do. Don’t you know it’s advised to steer clear of murky waters?”

“I was never good with following advice.” She wiggles a little, her breathing growing shallow. “I’m so bad at that. Ask my therapist. Or maybe don’t.”

“Silly, silly fucking girl.” I slap her arse again, and her head slumps forward. “You shouldn’t want me.”

“I could say the same about you. But we’re here now, so do something. I’m a little sore, but I can take it.”

“You can take my cock plowing inside you, huh?”

“Mmm.”

I lick the shell of her ear, something I discovered she loves. A shaky breath rushes out of her as she whimpers, her flesh turning hot to the touch.

And I’m done for.

Fucking finished.

I lose my goddamn mind.

A groan leaves me as I slide a pillow beneath her stomach so she’s settled in an erotic position. With another slap to her arse, I lift up the thong’s elastic band, then let it snap down on her flesh. Her throaty moan echoes in the air, and my dick hardens and strains against my briefs as if her lips are wrapped around it.

I swiftly chase away that impossible image as I unbuckle my belt. “This is going to be fast and rough, beautiful. I can’t slow down or take it easy.”

“Yes, please.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Why do I love the sound of her begging? If she so much as said please outside of sex, I’d let her have anything—my goddamn sanity included.

I shove down my trousers and briefs in one swift go. My engorged cock bobs against my half-exposed abs, precum shining at the tip.

My fingers find her clit and I rub her in methodical circles. She’s so wet, my fingers drip with her arousal and an obscene sound fills the bedroom.

My wife grows pliant, her legs opening farther and her moans turning throatier and deeper.

“Call me beautiful again.” She lifts herself up, her fingers clenching into the mattress.

When I say nothing, she cranes her head to the side, probably to get a look at me. However, I wrap the belt around her throat and hold it and her hair as I shove her face down.

Parting her arse cheeks, I slide my cock against her soaking slit, up and down, in a torturous rhythm that tightens my abs.

Her muffled moans fill the air and she tries to wiggle, to invite me inside her glistening cunt, but I resist.

Barely.

My grip on the belt turns deadly, until I’m sure it’ll snap under the pressure.

There’s nothing I’d love more than to claim her like a fucking animal and watch her blood mix with my cum again, but that sick thought would only make me lose her for good.

So I continue rubbing our juices together, the sound echoing in the air as the smell of her sweet cunt flares my nostrils.

“Eli…oh my God…” she mumbles. “Please…”

I can feel her thighs shaking as she rides and humps my cock. I remain still for a moment, watching her pink cunt sliding up and down my length in jerky, desperate movements that still look sophisticated and innocent.

Christ.

I never knew a pussy could look so fucking erotic, so beautiful that I want to ruin it. Ruin her.

Which is a goddamn problem, considering my attempts to put her back together.

Though, deep down, very deep in my black demented soul, I do want to break her to fucking pieces.

Maybe I’ll do that after I glue her back together so that she never finds her way out of my orbit.

My cage.

My fucking grip.

I thrust all the way inside her in one go. The sudden motion renders her frozen as a whimper falls from her lips.

Her cunt tightens around my cock, strangling me for dear life. I allow her a second to adjust, my harsh breathing matching her strained pants.

Once I feel her relaxing, I drive into her with collected deep thrusts until she’s entirely slumped over the pillow. “You look so fucking beautiful when you’re being torn apart by my cock, Mrs. Jones.”

She clenches around me, her throaty soft moans filling the air like a chant—witchcraft whose sole purpose is to dismantle me to fucking pieces.

“You’re the most beautiful when your tight little cunt is being railed by me. You’re dripping for me and taking my cock so well. That’s it, mmm, show me how much you’re mine, wife.”

Her little body rocks back and forth, her arse rubbing against my groin, and I slap it a few times. She releases stuffy long moans and I fuck her harder, deeper.

This is why I shouldn’t touch my wife. Why I abstained for fucking years from claiming her. Not only is it a sure recipe for her mental decline, but she messes up my control, brings down my walls, and turns me into this sporadic entity of unhinged impulsiveness.

I don’t stop when she screams into the pillow or when her body shakes and she milks my cock.

I don’t stop when she shivers and releases small moans.

I certainly don’t stop when she lies there completely spent.

If anything, I go harder and faster. My balls tighten, but I don’t let myself come.

Not yet.

Not now when this could be the last time I fuck her.

I blame my lack of sleep for my unleashed sickness.

“Oh God, Eli.” She tries and fails to look back due to my grip on the belt. “I’m so sensitive…”

“You shouldn’t have provoked me, then, shouldn’t have flaunted yourself in barely-there clothes and offered what’s mine to the public. Now you’ll take my cock as punishment and thank me for it like a good wife.” I slap her arse.

She groans.

“Let me…let me look at you.”

“No.”

“Please…I want to see you.” The desperate lust in her voice almost demolishes the very last of my resolve.

I’d give anything to thrust my tongue in her mouth as hard as I’m thrusting my cock, to own her in irrevocable ways that can’t be undone.

I pull out to the tip and almost flip her onto her back.

Almost.

The image of her frigid eyes and the unattainable void in her expression flash before me and I slam back in her again, tightening the belt so she stops talking.

Then I fuck her like a madman.

I fuck her so raw, she slides back and forth and the headboard hits the wall with loud bangs.

My fingers find her clit and she squirms, fighting the unavoidable, but I tease and circle and press her pleasure button until she trembles around me. Her muffled moans fill the air as my abs tighten, my balls grow heavy, and I come inside her inviting cunt in waves.

The release is even stronger than last night. This is why I’ve kept my distance. I knew whetting my appetite once wouldn’t be enough and that I’d need to do it again and again before I’d ever be satisfied.

Even now, as I watch a streak of my cum sliding down her thigh, I want to restart the ownership process all over again.

As she slumps forward, I release the belt, letting her head rest on the pillow.

I pull out mid-orgasm and decorate her red arse with my cum. She hisses at the contact against her sensitive skin and I part her cheeks, massaging it into the crack and pressing it into her virgin hole.

“We need to prep you so you can take my cock in this tight little hole, Mrs. King.”

I walk to her bathroom and wet a towel with warm water, quickly wipe my cock clean, and tuck myself back in before I grab another towel and go back.

My wife is still in the same position, but her legs are in the air, crossed at the ankles as she stares at the bathroom door.

Her expression is softer now, and some mascara is running down from her eyes, because she cries during sex, apparently.

And she couldn’t look any more beautiful.

Rosalie Jones is dangerous waters that I should never have tread. But, now that I've tasted her, felt her confirmed how fucking good she feels wrapped around me. I don't think I can go back. I don't think I want to go back from this feeling.

I'm in to deep. And it's the reason why I didn't want to fuck her in the first place.

And this marriage may be temporary, but she's mine. And I have enough time to fuck the thought of future lovers out of her.