All Chapters of What My Husband Shouldn't Know: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

When the buttons on the dress are undone, Christopher slides the straps over my shoulders, revealing my braless breasts. He smiles as he sees the prickling areolas of my nipples and my chest rising and falling rapidly. I want him more than I can say in words.Without preamble, he captures my left breast in his mouth. His lips pinch my nipple with the pressure necessary to make me convulse.I arch my back to push my chest into his mouth. Christopher nibbles my nipple and I cry out in surprise. A fine line between pleasure and pain.He pulls my dress up, bunching it up in silhouette. He takes my right leg, which is crossed over his torso, and places it on the counter. He repeats the process with his left leg. I couldn't be more…open.My arousal wet panties weigh heavily with his ministration on my breast.I close my eyes, only to hear the sound of the fly of his pants being unzipped. He brushes his cock against my sex over and over, even with the barrier that is my panties.- Please...

Holy crap!Christopher is pissed at me, and I feel so guilty. And once again, the megalomaniac mister makes me feel like a child without saying a single word.Christopher glares at me and I can sense his anger.- So I say “no” and you do the opposite? - he murmurs.“I felt so sorry for him, and I didn't mean to piss you off, Christopher. I... I feel lonely sometimes - I lie. Actually, I wanted to irritate him, but now that fact can be changed.- Will the dog be your company? - He mocks in a low tone."You are," I whisper. An easy and affectionate approach can change his mind about the dog.- I? And why do you decide to go against me? - Christopher asks, his tone is now higher, nothing that a stranger might notice, but I know him well.For God! We don't need an argument over this.- Don't make all that speech for a puppy. If you're angry, fuck it, stop me, but don't take it out on him. I want him to stay, and for his own good, he better stay! I say it more firmly than he, or even I, wo

** porscha He's not answering. It's the second time I've called in fifteen minutes, and I haven't had any replies to the messages I've been sending either. Did he still remember being here at two? I hang up and look at the clock on the bar wall, seeing that it's almost midnight. There are still two hours before my boyfriend thinks my shift is over and he can come pick me up. And here I was thinking we'd be lucky today, if I left early, to have an amazing night. Shit. I need to fix my car. I can't keep depending on him for rides. Music plays around me, customers laugh to my right, and one of the bartenders fills the cooler with ice on my other side. I start to feel restless. If he's not picking up, then he's either asleep or left. Both mean he'll remember me when it's too late. He's not always reliable, but this wouldn't be the first time, either. That's the problem with turning your friend into a boyfriend, I think. He still thinks he can get away with it. I grab my shirt and bag from

Moving to the next row, I put my things aside and crawl around, looking under the seats to the left and right, feeling around on the floor. A long pair of denim-clad legs are in front of me, and I look up to see a man sitting on the bench with a handful of popcorn on its way to his mouth. He keeps looking at me with raised eyebrows. “Sorry,” I whisper, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I dropped my drink and my phone dropped and slipped somewhere in here. Mind if I look...? He hesitates a moment and then blinks, sitting up. — No, you can look. He puts his stand aside and stands up, pulling something out of his pocket. - Here. He flicks on his phone's flashlight and crouches down, illuminating under the seats. Immediately, I see my cell phone under the seat next to his and pick it up. Thank you, Lord. We both stand up and my shoulders relax. I can't buy another one now. I run my fingers over the screen to see if it has any scratches or if the glass has cracked. - He picked up? -

porscha “I don't think this is a good idea,” I tell Nick, pulling my stacks of milk cartons out of the back of his car. “I feel like a freeloader. My boyfriend shows off that peculiar lip slant where you only see a part of his teeth. "And what are you going to do then?" He looks at me, pulling out my collapsible drawing table and lifting it up. "Are you staying with your parents?" I notice his blue eyes half-closed, probably from lack of sleep, as we walk up the porch steps of Aaron Browns' house to drop off our things. Our new home. The last few days have been crazy, and I can't believe this man is your father. What are the odds? I wish we had met a little differently. Not going to the police station at two in the morning to get her son – my boyfriend – out of jail. “Stop it, I told you,” Nick says, heading back to the car to get more stuff. “It was my father who offered us to stay here. We just have to do the housework, and that gives us a chance to save up for a new place. A better