Page 42 of My One Week Husband
I tug at her blouse, then rip it apart, and she gasps.
I shake my head, pressing a finger against her lips. “Don’t say a word, love. I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow,” I say.
She gives a quick, eager nod, then whispers, “Tear all my clothes off. I don’t fucking care. Tear them off like it’s all you want.”
The corner of my lips curves into a grin. “I don’t have to do it like it’s all I want. It is all I want.”
I yank her short skirt, tugging it down her legs, letting it pool at her heels, where she steps out of it.
She wears only the shoes, a white satin bra with lace trim, and matching knickers. I grab at the middle of her bra. Twisting it. Making the fabric squeeze her tits together, pushing them up above the cups. My dick throbs harder as I stare at those gorgeous globes. “You bought this for me to rip it off, didn’t you?”
She nods, panting out a yes.
“You want me to ruin this gorgeous piece of lingerie?”
“Yes.”
I tug at the satin fabric, yank it hard, then I grip the hook, jerking it off, not caring what happens to it.
I free her tits.
I grab them, squeezing and twisting, and she tosses her head back, moaning and groaning, her noises rising higher, growing even more desperate.
“My God, you love when I play with your tits, don’t you?”
She bows her back, arching, and moans, “Yes, like that. Just like that.”
I give her everything she wants. I want it too. The wildness of pleasure, the roughness of sex, the intensity of us coming together. I treat her tits like they’re toys, like I can do anything to them I want. I knead them as I bend my neck, drawing one delicious nipple into my mouth and biting hard. She yelps, grabs my face, and shoves me back against her chest.
I suck and devour her breasts, giving it to her just the way she wants. Her hips thrust against me as I nibble greedily. She moans, a delicious series of oh Gods and yeses. Finally, I release her tits, rise up, thread my hands into her hair, and kiss her neck again, dragging her head back, pulling hard.
She yelps.
Every moan she makes is a symphony, and I want to play her body, hear all the music she can make.
She’s better than the violin.
She’s sexier than a Beethoven concerto.
She’s more alluring than any Brahms.
I bring my lips to her ear. “You want to be ruined, don’t you?”
“I do,” she says.
“I’m going to ruin you by fucking you the only way you should be fucked.”
“And what way is that?” she asks on a savage pant. I lower my right hand, thread my fingers into the waistband of her knickers, grab them, and pull roughly, watching as the satin tightens against her pussy.
Tugging on the fabric, I turn it into a sex toy, pulling it up and down, back and forth over her wet clit.
She grabs my shoulders, thrusts out her hips, and moans.
“You need to be fucked by a man who wants you. By a man who is consumed by you and only you,” I tell her as I work the lace fabric up and down over the delicious rise of pleasure.
“I do, I do,” she gasps, savoring every tug and pull as I use the lace to get her off the way she wants me most.
Her fingers curl tighter on my shoulders, digging in, hanging on. Her eyes are closed, her lips are parted, and then she’s screaming out in pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes.”
I pull up the white satin, twisting it harder, dangerously close to sending her to her first orgasm.
Her hands go tighter around my shoulders.
“I bet you can come in seconds,” I grunt.
She gasps wildly, then she’s crying out, moaning and groaning and falling apart in pleasure.
Panting, gasping, murmuring.
My skin crackles with lust.
My dick has never been harder.
It’s thumping against my trousers, eager to bury itself in her.
I growl in her ear. “You’re so fucking dirty. Look at you coming in your own knickers.”
Her mouth parts, and she breathes out hard. “Do you like knowing you married a dirty woman?”
“I like treating you like the dirty woman you are. Now turn around, raise your ass, and tell me how much you want me to smack it.”
“So much,” she says, trembling as she turns around, presses her palms against the wall, and offers me that beautiful ass. I raise a hand high in the air, then bring it down hard on her flesh.
She shakes, crying out.
Then the other cheek.
She moans and groans.
I grip the flesh of her ass, squeezing it roughly as I gather all her hair in my other hand, pull it to the side, then tug it. “That’s what you want, don’t you? To know that I’m as wild as you are?”
