“Tell me what you want, Skittle,” I order as I trail kisses down the side of her neck, trying to keep some semblance of control.
She arches up into me, a whimper breaking free as she grabs my hair with both hands, pulling me closer.
“I want you to do whatever you want to me. Show me what my husband likes,” she whispers into my ear before biting my lobe.
Any control I may have had disappears in an instant. I yank her closer to the end of the desk so that her ass is right on the edge, then hook my fingers in her panties, pulling them roughly down her legs.
Once free, I spread her wide and run my nose over her mound, inhaling deeply.
“Mmm... Smells like mine,” I growl before licking her from clit to ass and back again, savoring the musky taste of her on my tongue.
She writhes under my touch, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips as I feast on her like she's my favorite meal—mostly because she is.
I lick, suck, and flick, all the while feeling her body grow tauter and tauter until, finally, with a shout, she comes all over my tongue.
“Oh god. That was, that was...” She struggles to find her next words, making me smile.
“That was just the beginning,” I warn her, sliding my pants down and stepping out of them before walking around to the opposite side of the desk. She follows me with her eyes, tilting her head back to look at me as she tries to figure out my next move.
Hooking my hands under her armpits this time, I pull her toward me, far enough that her shoulders are still comfortably on the cool smooth wood beneath her but her head hangs over the edge. Her hair cascades down like a Technicolor waterfall, just long enough to skim the floor beneath it.
“Now, it's my turn. Open your mouth, Skittle. I want to feel your lips around my cock.”
She does so without hesitation, opening wide, allowing me to slip the head of my cock into her mouth. She sucks for a moment before lathing the end with her tongue, making me hiss with approval. Slowly, I inch farther inside her before pulling back. Each slide makes my cock wet, each glide back in goes a little farther until I'm bumping the back of her throat. She gags a little, but I don't stop. I know she’ll let me know if it's too much, and I'm curious about how far she can take me. She coughs as I pull all the way out and sucks in a deep lungful of air as I rest the tip just on her tongue.
“Good girl, Skittle,” I praise her as she opens her mouth wider, allowing me to push farther inside, this time holding still as she swallows reflexively around me. “Holy fucking shit,” I shout as the muscles of her throat milk me.
I pull back again, her cough and gasp making me even harder still, and yeah, maybe it makes me a bastard, but watching my woman, no, watching my wife choke on my cock is bringing me two seconds away from shooting down her throat already.
“Okay, you're too good at this, Skittle, I'm going to come if you carry on with that shit, and the only place I'm coming this morning is in your pussy,” I tell her, helping her sit up before lifting her off the desk.
Spinning her around, I bend her over so her breasts press against the desktop and her spectacular ass brushes against my sensitive cock.
"Jesus, Skittle, you beguile me. The things I want to do to you.”
“Like what?” she rasps with a pant, her hands tightly gripping the edge of the desk.
“That's for me to know and for you to find out. Hold on. This is going to be hard and fast because you make me lose my fucking mind.”
I bend a little and nudge my cock at her entrance, which is slick with her own arousal, and surge inside. I don't stop until I bottom out and my groin presses against her ass.
"Fuck," she curses, and I couldn't agree with her more.
I have to hold still for a minute while I think of baseball and business mergers or this will be over in a two-stroke poke.
"Fuck me, Asher," her husky voice begs, and fuck her I do, hammering into her over and over, knowing tomorrow she'll have fingerprint-shaped bruises on her hips, but neither of us cares as we chase our release.
Her pussy ripples around me, gripping me like a vise. Exquisite torture at its finest.
“Come now, Skittle!” I roar, unable to hold back for a second longer.
I push deep inside her, her scream signaling her fall over the edge, mine following right on its tail.
I barely refrain from collapsing over her as I struggle to recover from the best sex I've ever had in my life.
“Mother of god,” she gasps as I stand and slowly pull out of her, inwardly cursing when I see my cum running out of her.
“Shit, Linda, I'm so sorry.” God, I’m such an asshole.
“No,” she snaps, standing up straight. She turns to face me, hands on her hips, eyes blazing with fury. “You take that back right now. I asked for it. I wanted you to fuck me and it was better than anything I fantasized about, and trust me when I tell you I've fantasized about it a lot. So don't you go tarnish that by saying sorry you…you...asshat.” She stomps her foot, making me smirk.
Amused by her outburst, I wrap my arms around her waist and yank her to me, plastering her body against the front of mine.
“I'm not sorry about the sex, Skittle,” I tell her honestly. “It was hands down the best sex of my life. I'm sorry I forgot to use a condom,” I add regretfully.
“Oh. Right, well, that’s on both of us, not just you. I'm on the pill, and I'm clean. I-I got tested after Vegas and I haven't been with anyone else since then," she admits quietly, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
“I haven't been with anyone since Vegas either and I'm clean too,” I promise her, and it's the truth.
I might not have known she was my wife, but I couldn't get the woman with the body of art out of my head. I measured all other women against her and each one was lacking. At the time, it pissed me off that I couldn’t get my dick to rise to anything other than the fleeting images of my mystery woman, but now I’m eternally grateful for that. My dick clearly figured out long before my brain did—there is only one woman for me.
“Really?” she asks, looking unsure but hopeful.
“Really. I have never broken my marriage vows to you, and Skittle, as long as we are married, I never will. This, I swear.”
She stares at me open-mouthed, and her eyes glisten a little as if she might cry at any moment.
“What? Tell me what you're thinking,” I tighten my grip on her, worried this was all too much after all.
“I think I'd like to have shower sex with my husband now,” she grins, her voice taking on that husky tone again.
My dick, which had just started to soften, now stands erect and proud. “Well, I aim to make my wife happy.”
“Happy wife, happy life.” she replies sagely, making me throw my head back and laugh.
That’s the plan.
Nineteen
Linda
“So, what are your plans for today?” Asher asks me over scrambled eggs and toast. Yesterday, after spectacular shower sex, he took me to the police station to file a report before taking the rest of the day off. My stuff was delivered shortly after we arrived home, so between the two of us, we got it all put away. We spent the remainder of the evening lounging around, watching movies and making ourselves more familiar with each other.
I have to admit, I like starting the day with him. I never considered myself lonely, but now with Asher here, it's easy to see all the little things I missed out on.
“I have a few errands I need to run and I need to go talk to my boss Tony to see if he can find a replacement for me. I might have to work the next few shifts until he finds someone,” I tell him honestly, waiting to see if that's going to be an issue.
He looks up at me before nodding. “I get that, and I really appreciate you doing this for me. I have a driver who will be at your disposal. I can drive myself to and from the office.”
“No, it's fine I can catch the—” I stop, realizing I was going to say train. A cold wash of fear consumes me, making me drop my fork t
o my plate with a clatter.
“Hey, it's okay.” Asher is up and out of his chair, pulling me to a standing position before wrapping his arms around me.
“Let my driver Davis take you, please. For my peace of mind and yours,” he offers, and I agree, knowing I already feel ten times safer.
“Okay, Mr. Hotshot, but I'm not being chauffeured around in a freaking limo, so get that idea right out of your head.”
He laughs but I'm not kidding. I might have grown up with money, but the attention it garnered always made me uncomfortable.
I know that seems crazy when my hair and tattoos do nothing but gain attention, but it's not the same thing. The attention I gained because I had money was usually from fake bitches who wanted to meet my daddy or fake assholes who wanted to be my daddy. They were not interested in anything about me beyond how much money I had in my bank account and which summer house I vacationed at.
“You can take your pick of cars. Davis has access to all of them. I'll give you his number and all of mine before I leave—and the key to the apartment.”
A dark scowl crosses his face as he remembers last night's fiasco, but I distract him with a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you.”
“I want to take you out to dinner,” he announces, surprising me.
"Erm, okay, but maybe we should wait until after my face heals,” I point out.
His eyes rove over my cheek and lip before he nods tightly. Lifting his hand, he gently rubs the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.
“How does it feel this morning? The swelling has gone down, but the bruising stands out more now.”
“It feels okay. The skin is a little tight, but nothing I can't handle. The ice helped a lot, I think.”
“Good, that's real good.” His thumb continues to move ever so slowly over my cheek as he stares into my eyes.
The moment is far less erotically charged than most of our other encounters, and yet, somehow, it feels far more intimate.
“How about after I've run my errands, I pick us both up some lunch and bring it to your office? You know, once you tell me where your actual office is,” I tease with a smirk.
“I like this idea,” he agrees as he looks at his watch and curses. “I have to go. I have a meeting in an hour. Get whatever for lunch. Davis knows where my offices are. Where's your phone?” He reluctantly takes a step away from me.
I look around and spot it on the counter, still charging from the night before. Thankfully, it was in my pocket when my bag was snatched, or I would have had to go through the hassle of getting a new one set up.
Walking over to the counter, I unplug it and hand it to Asher without thought.
“What's the pin?” he asks, making me squirm. Crap.
“Here, let me,” I offer, making him look up from the screen at me with a frown.
I see the moment he jumps to the wrong conclusion.
His face clears of all emotion as he says, “Right, sorry.”
I wince when his voice loses its usual warmth as he hands it back to me.
I stay silent, watching as he pulls out his own phone and gives it to me.
“The pin is six-one-nine-zero. Add your number, then text your phone. I’ve got to get ready,” he states, already walking away.
Dammit, I don’t want him thinking I have something to hide because that’s not it at all.
“Hey, wait,” I call, making him pause, but he doesn’t look back. With a sigh, I realize I’ll have to come clean. It's silly to be embarrassed anyway. “I'm not hiding anything from you, I promise. I didn’t mean to imply I don't trust you either. I’m just embarrassed,” I admit, feeling flustered when he turns to study my face.
“Embarrassed about what? Have you got a picture of a squirrel in drag as a screensaver?” he queries with a raised brow, making me snort.
“Erm no, and is that even a thing? You know what, never mind. I'm sure I really don't want to know the answer to that. No, it's my pin, it's cheesy,” I confess shyly.
I bite my lip before taking a deep breath. “The number is 0616,” I say with a huff and wait for him to tease me for it, but when I don't see any recognition in his eyes, I feel like a fool.
“Anyway, you’re right, you are going to be late if you don’t get a move on," I tell him, dipping my head to hide my expression.
I type my number into his contacts and message myself. When I hear my phone beep, I hand his back to him all while he stares at me as if trying to figure out why that pin would embarrass me.
“Chop chop, hubby. Time’s a wastin’,” I tut, hoping to distract him.
He smiles at the term hubby, looking down at his watch and cursing again. “Shit, I’ve got to run. I'll leave the keycard on the counter and text you Davis’s number. You can explain whatever it is I’m missing that put that look on your face when I get back.”
Shit. Busted.
He smiles at my scowl, placing a kiss on my forehead, which instantly placates me. “Have a good day, Skittle," he calls, snagging his jacket and briefcase from the sofa. He is out the door and gone before I can say anything else.
The room is silent now that he's gone, all the warmth and comfort leaving right out the door with him. I don’t move for a moment. I just continue to stand there staring at the door, almost hoping he’ll come back, before I scold myself for being needy. I’m not that girl.
I force my feet to move and head back to Asher’s bedroom. I mean, our bedroom. It's odd trying to make yourself feel at home in someone else's house. I guess it will just take time. Passing by the wall of windows, I notice the rain from yesterday has cleared, leaving nothing but blue skies and bright sunshine in its wake. A little vitamin D may be just what the doctor ordered for my sudden melancholic mood.
I give myself a mental pep talk as I make my way into the bedroom, reminding myself to take a deep breath and brush my hurt feelings aside. I’m not going to lie, it still stings that Asher didn’t recognize the pin as the date we got married in Vegas, but in the end, does it even matter? He’s trying. I can see that with everything he says and does. I need to not sweat the small stuff and cut him some slack. There, pity party over.
I dress for the warmer weather—cutoff jean shorts and a Pink Floyd T-shirt that I’ve slashed in places and cut holes in, customizing it to fit my style. I shove my feet into my favorite pair of beat-up old white Converse sneakers and grab my cropped leather jacket from behind the door. My hair goes into Viking braids as I can't be bothered to do much else with it and opt for lip gloss with a cherry hue to count as my makeup for the day.
I grab the keycard, my purse, and the cash Asher left me until I can get to the bank to get my new card sorted, and shove everything into my pockets.
Checking my phone, I see there is a text from Asher with the number for his driver, Davis, so I enter it into my contacts and send Davis a message.
Davis replies instantly, telling me to come down to the foyer whenever I'm ready. With nothing else to do, I stick the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and head out.
Sam is on again today and when he spots me, he offers me a broad, genuine smile. “Good morning. How are you today?” he inquires politely.
I like this guy. He never looks at me like I don't belong here, treating me like he would treat anyone else.
“I'm fine, Sam. How are you?” It isn't until I get closer that he starts to scowl at me, making me think I might have been too hasty in my judgment.
“What on earth happened to you?” he asks, horrified.
He looks over my eye and lip, coming around his large desk to inspect me. I had temporarily forgotten about my injuries.
“I got mugged last night, but I'm okay now,” I assure him when his look darkens further.
I'm not one hundred percent okay, judging from the little wobble I had earlier at the thought of taking the train, but I've convinced myself the more I say it, the more I'll believe it.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you. Please be careful while you’re out toda
y, and if there is anything I can do let me know. My wife likes to dabble with herbs and natural remedies. She has a concoction she uses for bruising. I can get her to make you a batch, if you’d like? It smells like gym socks but it's a miracle worker, I swear.”
Touched by his kindness, I smile. “That would be awesome, thank you, Sam. I'm heading out to do some errands today, but I'm grabbing some lunch for Asher and me before heading home. Would you like me to pick anything up for you?”
His eyes soften at my offer, but he shakes his head, his smile even wider as he pats my hand. “My wife has packed me lunch, but thank you for your kind offer.”
I shrug. “Kindness doesn't cost a thing.” My mother used to say that phrase to me all the time growing up.
“Now, isn’t that the truth. Have a nice day, Mrs. Sloan.”
I jolt at his words but manage to cover it before he notices. It's going to take a while to get used to the name change thing.
“You too, Sam.” I walk through the door he holds open for me and wave goodbye as I head out into the pretty morning sunshine.
I come to a halt when I see a man dressed in a smart gray driver's uniform standing next to an Audi Spyder. I stare at him for so long he coughs and awkwardly waves his hand in front of my face to get my attention.
“Mrs. Sloan?”
I shake myself out of my daze and look to the man I’m guessing is Davis and back to the car.
“A Spyder? Really? Does he even own anything less conspicuous?” I ask with a huff, making him laugh.
“I don’t know how to answer that, miss.” His lips twitch, which I'm taking to mean a big fat no.
“Typical. I'm not going to blend in very well where we'll be going today. People are going to think I stole it,” I mutter as he holds the back door open for me. I slide inside and scoot across the butter-soft leather seats as he chuckles.
“I think with a driver dressed like I am, you'll be fine. Most people who boost cars don't steal the driver too.”
I nod, conceding his point. “This is true.” I smile, buckling up and turning to look out the window as he pulls away from the curb. Still, his words don’t stop me from feeling like an impostor.
Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel Page 9