Page 114 of Wish I Might
The lube warmed quickly against the heat of her body as she patiently worked it around, then in, the delicate opening.Normally the single application would’ve been more than enough to ease the way, but two hours was a long time.Knowing her body would absorb the meager amount of moisture long before that two hours was up, she reached for the lube again.
Erring on the side of caution, she used a generous hand, and by the time she was satisfied that she wasn’t going to be extracting a bone-dry plug in two hours, her asshole was bubbling with lube.Annoyed that she hadn’t thought to grab a towel, Bailey wiped her hand on her butt—she was going to need a shower after this, anyway—and reached for the plug to position it at her now sloppy asshole.
Breathing slow, she pushed it in.
It glided in smooth, aided by the lube, but the lube couldn’t mitigate the stretch of delicate tissues, the pinch of discomfort as the plug slid in to its widest point.She paused, holding it there, waiting for the pain to pass, the ache to ease.And felt, with desire laced with dismay, the answering pulse in her pussy.
She’d always loved this part of anal sex, the part where the muscle, not meant for this use, gave its instinctive protest, its reflexive resistance.The pain that accompanied it was sharp, almost sweet in its intensity, and for reasons she’d never been able to fully articulate, it turned her on like nothing else.
Her pussy twitched and throbbed with each little spasm of her asshole, her anus’s struggle to adapt the richest of aphrodisiacs.And when the muscle finally relaxed and the plug slowly slid the rest of the way in to settle snugly and firmly in her ass, her pussy continued to pulse and weep, begging for relief.
Breathing hard, her hands shaking, she reached for the book.With a glance at the clock to note the time, she sent up a quick prayer that Queen Victoria’s lackluster parenting would keep her sufficiently distracted.Otherwise, the next two hours were going to be torture.
Cursing Nash, she opened the book and began to read.
* * * *
When Nash got home with a car full of groceries, the house was quiet.Bailey’s car was in the drive, but when he hauled in the first round of bags, there was no sign of her on the first floor.Curious, he went and stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, ears straining for any sound from above.
But he couldn’t hear anything.Deciding she was probably indulging in a Sunday afternoon nap, he went back outside for the rest of the groceries.
He was unpacking the bags when he heard the shower turn on upstairs.He paused for a moment, a head of lettuce in his hand, to picture her naked and wet.Then he shoved the lettuce into the fridge and the image out of his head.
He noted when the shower shut off a scant few minutes later, but kept moving, putting cans into cabinets and vegetables into the fridge, and he’d just finished putting it all away when she walked in.
Her hair was wet, twisted up in a clip on top of her head, and her skin was flushed and dewy from the shower, bare of makeup.She wore a pair of purple cotton lounge pants with a gray sweatshirt that hung loose to her hips, her feet were bare, and he thought she looked cool and fresh and comfortable, ready for a Sunday afternoon of relaxing at home.
Then he saw her eyes.
She wasn’t wearing colored contacts, so the hazel he loved shone back at him, bright and bold and wildly, desperately aroused.
He couldn’t ignore the answering clench in his gut, so he absorbed it, relished it, and sent her a wide, wide smile.“Hi, Bay.”
Her blazing eyes narrowed, irritation flashing, and she pointed an accusing finger.“You.”
“Me?”he questioned mildly and picked up one of the reusable grocery bags on the table to fold.It was either that or toss her over his shoulder, carry her off to bed, and fuck them both into madness.
“Does your mother know what a terrible, horrible man you are?”she demanded.
“Ah…”
She stepped forward, drilling her finger into his chest.“I read for two hours.Two hours, and I don’t remember awordof it.”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing.“Why?”
“You know why,” she ground out, incensed, and curled her hand into a fist.For a moment he thought she might actually punch him.Then she let it fall to his shoulder, and her head hit his sternum.“I’m never going to survive ’til Sunday.”
“There, there,” he crooned, and risked a pat on her shoulder.“It can’t have been that bad.”
She lifted her head to stare into his eyes.
“But I could be wrong about that,” he amened, taking in the desperate need in her gaze.
“I was reading about Queen Victoria,” she whined.“The least sexy thing I could find.It didn’t help.”
He wanted to laugh, but bit it back.“I’ve got a book on medieval carpet weaving you can borrow.”
“I’m going to try a podcast tomorrow, something niche and academic like tax law or mathematics.”
