Page 52 of Honey Cut
I press her against the wall next to her door, slide my wet fingers free, and then wedge my hard length against her hole. “God, why can’t I fuckingstopwhen it comes to you—” I shove in, too wound up after the wedding, after tonight, to do anything but rut.
She takes it though, shuddering out a moan as I put myself where her husband was earlier and stroke into what he so obviously enjoyed.
“You feel amazing, honey,” I mumble.
It’s like having sex with silk, like fucking water, but it’s so tight too, and her tits are pressed against me, and I can smell the fruit I fed her. I’m going to come so fast, going to empty my balls inside her?—
There’s a knock at the door to the apartment.Fuck.
Isolde and I rip apart, and I only just manage to move into her room as the door swings open.
I hear footsteps.
“I see you’re changed,” Sedge says to Isolde.
I can’t see her now from where I’m standing, but I hope to God that she doesn’t look like she was just getting railed against the wall. Hopefully, her hard nipples and the all-over flush on her cheeks and chest will just look like the lingering effects of what happened up on the stage.
If Sedge happens to see me with my wet cock still out, though, that’s a different story. I step as far back into the room as I can, wincing at every rustle of my clothes.
“Yes,” Isolde says, and she’s using her Laurence voice now, her money voice. “I’m ready.”
“Is Mr. Thomas still up here with you?” Sedge asks. He doesn’t sound suspicious necessarily. Just curious.
“He went back downstairs so I could get changed,” she lies smoothly. “But he made me drink water and eat, just like Mark asked.”
“I’m sure Mr. Trevena will be pleased to know it,” Sedge says, and there’s no parsing his voice right now, not that there ever is. He always sounds wary and dry. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
Footsteps—Sedge’s, Isolde is still barefoot and silent—and then the firm close of the door. I allow myself a shuddering exhale.
That was too fucking close, andfuuuuck,what was I even thinking? What the hell am I doing, sticking my cock inside Isolde the first chance I get? I know she can’t be with me now that she’s married—and even before she said her vows, it was risking her marriage and my job and Mark’s trust to touch her.
And yet as I lean out into the hallway to check that I’m truly alone, it’s not guilt or self-directed fury that I feel. It’s urgent, animal need.
I have to,I reason with myself as I move back inside Isolde’s room.I can’t go down there like this.I don’t have a choice.
It’ll only take a minute—if that—and my balls are already pulling tight to my body as I squeeze the sensitive tip and then work my hand down in a slow stroke.
Now that my eyes have adjusted to the shadows in here, I can see that Isolde hasn’t even unpacked yet. The bed is still tightly made, with a suitcase resting on top, and her gown from tonight is in a crumple next to it. Two wardrobe boxes, still sealed, are in the corner. And hanging from the rod in the open closet is her reception gown, that godless little dress that nearly melted my brain last night. Next to it is a tuxedo—a classic one, not the all-black one that Mark favors here at Lyonesse—and pinned to the jacket is a note from Sedge to Isolde, telling her that he’d arrange to have both items professionally cleaned within the week.
I don’t make the choice to do what I do next. It is the inevitable outcome of tonight, of this weekend. Of the last six months.
I stroke my cock looking at that wedding dress and that tuxedo pressed together, looking at that expensive fabric, at the things they wore when they shared their first dance, exchanged bites of cake. At the dressIunhooked from Isolde’s body, as Mark watched from his new chessboard.
I think of Isolde’s tight little cunt under that dress, and I think of Mark’s eyes flashing at me from the bed across the stage, and I think of the yacht, and I think of Morois House, and I think of how sweet Isolde tastes and how Mark groans as he comes, and then I’m erupting, spattering semen all over Isolde’s gown and Mark’s tuxedo. Thick, long spurts, and I jerk myself even harder after I see my seed dripping off their wedding clothes. It feels amazing to pump all over the expensive tulle and wool, and my head falls back as I work the rest of my orgasm free with a series of rough grunts.
The blood pressure drop nearly takes me out, and I stagger forward and lean my head against the open closet door while I catch my breath. Pearly cum drips from the cuff of Mark’s tuxedo, and I watch its progress, satisfaction mingling with shame. He would love that, if he knew. My shame coupled with my bliss.
His favorite food.
nineteen
ISOLDE
Dawn is breakingas Mark and I walk back to his apartment. No, our apartment now.Home.
It doesn’t feel like home yet.
I yawn as we step inside and he closes the door quietly behind us, watching me. There’s no one else here, no one to perform for, but Mark reaches out and tucks some hair behind my ear. There’s an almost troubled look on his face when he does so, and he steps back and away before I can react.
