So I aim to make her cum again, dipping into her pussy with two fingers before drawing them out. I press a hand against her chest and ease her onto her back.
“Lay still for me, Angel,” I breathe, placing my head between her legs. “I’m about to take care of you right now, but when I’m done I’m going fuck you senseless. Make you milk my cock again. Sound good?”
“So good,” she breathes with an adorable smile, and after she replies I suck on that clit and fuck her pussy with my mouth. No hands required. It’s just enough.
Her body reacts to every touch, every trace of my tongue.
When I nibble, she bucks.
When I suck, she moans.
When I lick, she grabs my hair.
It’s perfection, really. I have to admit that right now, I don’t feel like a married man. I feel like a young college boy with much more control.
My eyes shift up to the ring on my left finger, on the hand that is gripping Angelina’s waist.
I made a vow seven years ago to remain loyal to my wife till death do us part, and I should feel terrible about this act of sin I am committing behind her back, but I don’t.
I feel a splash of guilt circulating through my blood stream, but that is it. It isn’t potent, nor is it dominating my emotions. It’s minimal and it’s sad to say that I will probably get over it very soon.
How?
Because this angel with my face between her thighs is probably the greatest thing I have ever had the pleasure of tasting in a very long time. Her pussy is delectable, so juicy and sweet.
Christ, I could eat her all fucking night long—forever if I wanted.
Yes, I have Colette back at home, but let’s face it. She isn’t up waiting for me. She isn’t expecting me to call or tell her about my day. She probably isn’t even thinking about me, dying for me to fuck her.
But Angelina, I know she’s thought about it. I know because I’ve thought about her one too many times.
I jacked my fucking meat off to the mere thought of her—before all of this. I’ve just busted my load deep inside her cunt.
I can’t take that shit back. I can’t fight this. I want to… but I just can’t.
This girl is officially mine now. There is no turning away.
There is no fighting what we all knew was bound to happen.
Shit. There is only so much rejection a man can take before he finally just… gives into temptation.
NINE
Colette
* * *
I am livid.
Normally, Griffin responds to my text messages, no matter how harsh they are. He’ll either text back or he’ll call to try and settle disputes.
Of course I won’t respond because I like to see him pleading, but tonight is different.
He has been very distant the past few days… more distant than usual actually. The night we argued about me being the “good wife”, I realized one small thing. He was becoming truly fed up.
He was finally losing patience with me. Sick of my complaining, my bitching. Never has Griffin stormed away from me like that. I’m not sure if I should take that as a good sign or a bad one.
When I sent that text, I can’t lie and say I wasn’t expecting an argument because I was. I wanted him to argue because arguing means you care… but he didn’t.
Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m doing this for his attention or because I’m really upset that he isn’t home… or because I really can’t stand him right now and if I’m in misery he should be too.
I did some investigating, looking into San Diego’s weather. He is right. There is a storm, but so what? It doesn’t seem too bad.
Maybe he didn’t respond because he’s searching for an airline that isn’t afraid of a little rain. Good. Let’s hope that’s the case.
Sighing, I walk into the bathroom, clutching the edge of the porcelain sink. I study my tired green eyes, my damp, golden hair. I am exhausted. I worked late last night in my study, continuing a masterpiece that is nowhere near done. The gallery will love it when it’s complete, though.
I’m too tired to start again tonight. I’ve worked on it all day. I’m not too tired to have a little fun though.
I stand up straight, tilting my head as admire my reflection. I trace my fingers down the bend of my neck, running them across my bare shoulder.
I need touch… some attention.
Hmm… it’s been a while since I last saw him.
Maybe tonight will work out since Griffin will be staying the night… not that he’ll actually care to find me not home if he just so happens to arrive.
With a light smile on my lips, I walk to my closet, humming a tune by Lenny Kravitz as I take down one of my favorite black dresses.
It’s slimming, and reveals a decent amount of cleavage. Not too much to make me seem like a slut, but not too little to make me seem modest.
I walk back to the sink, open the cabinet below, and take out my blow dryer. I give my hair a quick dry, still humming, and when I’m done, I style it, half-up, half-down.
I put on my dress next, slipping my feet into red pumps. I give my teeth a brush, my face a simple application of makeup, and then add a spritz of perfume to my wrists and around my neck.
Walking back to the bedroom, I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, admiring my rapid concoction.
Beautiful.
Simple.
Good.
Shutting the lights off, I leave the bedroom and head downstairs towards the kitchen.
Arianna is reading a book by Jasinda Wilder at the table, and when she hears me coming in, she looks up, lowering her novel. Her eyes immediately dart to my dress and curiosity fills her irises.
“Mrs. Boyd? It ten o’ clock at night. You have plans this late?”
“I do, Arianna. I will be back soon, but don’t wait up.” I walk towards the door, grabbing my keys off the key hook. “Oh, and can you make sure my bathroom is clean when I get back?”
She nods. “Sure, Mrs. Boyd.” Her lips press.
She knows I’m up to no good, but I ignore her motherly stares and make my exit, slamming the door behind me and heading for my car.
I jump in, starting it immediately and leaving my house.
It takes ten minutes to get there.
When I arrive, I pull into the parking deck and shut my car off, applying a careful line of gloss to my lips. I pucker and pop them, then tuck the lip-gloss container back into the purse in my passenger seat.
I grab hold of my cellphone, my clutch, and push out of the car, adjusting my breasts through my reflection on the tinted window when the door is shut behind me. Once I’m satisfied with my look, I go for the entrance.
These condos are extravagant. Elegant. The chandeliers are a dead giveaway of how much money people put into paying their mortgage here… not that money really matters to them. It’s all about good living.
I ride up the elevator, up to floor six. When I’m out, I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips as I walk towards room 612. I knock and pull away, planting a hand on my waist.
I hear footsteps on the opposite side. They stop and I know he’s peeking out of the peephole.
I smile at it, and in an instant the door swings open. His eyes are wide as he meets mine, and a grin sweeps across his sculpted mouth as he sighs.
“Damn,” he murmurs, folding his arms and leaning against the door. “It’s been, what, two weeks since the last time I saw you? I was wondering when you’d show again.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, I just need an escape right now. Who better to come to than the master of escapes himself?” I grin and he smiles smugly.
“You know that’s what I’m good for.” He drops his arms and stands up straight, taking a step back. “Come in.”
I walk through his door, drifting down the foyer and making my way to the familiar living room.
I love this place. His white leather couches, the glass coffee table, and the white-tiger fur rug. It’s appealing to
the eye… to a woman like myself.
Griffin doesn’t like animal fur or white leather. He hates white furniture period, the reason why our home is disgustingly bombarded with black or brown leather or suede couches.
The designer was so hung up on him, taking his side. Stupid bitch.
Footsteps sound behind me and I glance over my shoulder as he walks into the living room with a thick, rectangular silver case in hand.
That silver case contains all the magic. He walks around me, winking before sitting down on the couch. I peer towards his open laptop and the collection of papers on his dinner table.
“Did I interrupt you?” I ask.
“No.” He shakes his head, opening the case in hand. “Not at all. I actually need a break right now. Things are fucking insane. My mind isn’t clear.”
“Really?” I walk around the coffee table, taking the spot right beside him and watching as he pulls out a small plastic bag and a razor. “Why are things insane?”
“Just are.” He lines up the white powder on a magazine, sorting each thin line evenly. Two for me, two for him. “That’s work shit. It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters,” he murmurs, dropping the razor and turning my way, “is us right now. Right?”
I smile up at him as he runs a hand across my jawline. “Right.”
Leaning forward, he presses his soft, rosy lips onto mine and I sink against his chest. “You look great tonight,” he says.
“I know. Thanks.” It’s nice to receive a compliment every once in a while and he does just that. Every time I see to him. That’s how this all started, really.
I was fed up with Griffin, and this guy I saw very often, mainly for stuff related to his work. He always made small talk, stayed in touch with Griffin. I quickly realized he wasn’t staying in touch for Griffin. He was doing it for me.
Even in sweatpants and my hair tied up he’d call me beautiful. And he’d stare at me with those warm, brown eyes and make me drift down his path more and more with each visit.
We vowed not to say names when this started and whenever we are around Griffin together we don’t say much to each other or look at one another for too long. He would notice.
Griffin notices everything.
“Where is that husband of yours?” he asks, pulling away from me and quirking a brow. “You only swing by when he isn’t around.”
He leans forward, his face hovering above one of the white strips. Covering one nostril, he inhales, and I can picture the blow instantly hitting his brain.
He makes a pained expression, but I know the feeling. The pain—the sting—always comes but it passes so quickly you don’t even think twice about it. And once it hits, you feel unstoppable.
“He is in San Diego,” I sigh, leaning forward when he pushes the magazine across the table in front of me. I snort like there is no tomorrow, ready to feel the high. It stings like a bitch going straight through my nostril but I love it.
Swiping at my nose with wide eyes, I sit back, looking towards him. “He was supposed to come back home tonight but there is a storm.”
I refuse to tell him that we argued because I was ignorant enough to demand him to make a way back to me, no matter the storm. I don’t want him to think of me as imperfect.
“You should travel with him. Get out of the house more.” He rests his arm on top of the couch behind my head.
“Pssh.” I wave a hand. “Been there. Done that. I went on one business trip with him a while ago and it was the worst decision I could have ever made. All he did was answer calls and work on papers. It was like I wasn’t even there.”
“Who says you have to sit around? Let him work while you go exploring. Make fun for yourself.”
I shake my head. “I don’t like to explore new things alone.”
“Yeah.” He smiles, revealing two dimples on his clean-shaven face. “I forgot I’m the one who got you into this.” He looks down at the lines of coke.
I fight a grin, rubbing my nose again. “You wouldn’t happen to have any wine, would you? Maybe some of that relaxing jazz music?” I slide closer to his side, running my hands down his chest and across his rock-solid abs.
I gradually unbutton his dress shirt, eager for my palm to touch his hot skin. He looks down at me with heated eyes, lips tilted up with satisfaction.
“You know I have everything you want and need, Colette. Unlike Griffin, I will never fail to please you.” He swoops me into him, and I clash against his bare chest. I yelp a bit from the possessive tug and then giggle, looping my arms around the back of his neck. His eyes drop to my lips, and his face goes a bit hard.
“Ride my dick, baby,” he whispers into my ear, the tip of his nose skimming my cheek. “Ride the shit out of it, and when you’re done I’ll treat you to some of that wine and jazz… maybe even a little bit more to keep you happy.”
“More like what?” I return, voice breathy.
“Like me eating that pussy ‘til the sun comes up.”
“Oohh, really?” I grab his face in my hands and crush his lips. He smiles behind it, all the while unbuckling his belt and shoving his dress pants down, all with me on top of his lap.
I didn’t put on any panties because I knew this would happen. It always does and I always enjoy it… maybe a little too much.
There is something about this vow I break. There is something about having two men want me that drives me crazy. I feel superior. I feel strong and in control, and I also forget about my worst issues. The past.
Griffin aches for my pussy, but I hardly give it to him because I’d much rather share it with the man that has nothing on me.
I’m not his wife. I’m not even his girlfriend. We get high together, and when we commit this sin it feels like I am fucking a stranger.
I love the danger of that.
The twisted riskiness.
How much he envies Griffin.
Though he is far from a stranger to me now. He knows what my body enjoys.
So when he lifts my hips and crams his cock into my pussy, I toss my head back and release a breathy laugh. I laugh because he will keep trying and trying to own my pussy, fucking me raw with desire, but knowing I will never truly be his.
He will keep showing me attention, even when he doesn’t feel like it because he yearns for the rare taste of me, a sexy, married woman with no boundaries.
I laugh because he is not my Griffin. Frankly, I am over Griffin now.
Humph.
Too bad I can’t just let him go.
Poof him away like the magic I snort occasionally.
TEN
Angelina
* * *
“Get up here,” Griff growls.
The bass in his voice swirls me in desire. I flip onto my stomach, looking up at him as he sits at the head of the bed. His chiseled face is relaxed, chocolate eyes glazed over due to the drink he had not too long ago.
Lightning strikes the sky and he looks towards the open balcony door.
“Haven’t had enough?” I ask, crawling up the bed to reach him. My hands go outside his legs and I lick my lips as I hover right above his manhood.
His eyes flicker down for a brief moment before pulling back up to mine. “Not even close, Angel.”
I grin, my palm drifting up his thigh. “Should I take care of that?” We both look down at his hard, anxious member, and he smirks.
“It’s only right.”
Leaning forward, I grab hold of him and kiss the tip. He groans, tensing beneath me. “Relax,” I whisper.
When I look up his throat works hard to swallow. I stroke his smooth flesh, the veins ridging across my palm. He tenses again, as if it feels so good he’ll cum in seconds.
I have longed to taste him for quite some time now. Like really, truly taste him. I have wanted him to run across my tongue for so long that I mentally sigh when my tongue finally finds the head of his cock and licks.
“Yeah,” he murmurs as I wrap my entire mouth around him. “Suck that cock, Ange
l.” His wish is my command.
In an instant I swallow him whole, cupping his balls in my free hand and dragging a heavy moan out of him. I look up the entire time, watching him watch me.
Something about his heated stare is so hot and so daring, turning me on by the second.
His eyes are on fire, sparking with true lust and yearning. I moan as I lift up and then sink back down, sucking his full length into my mouth, gagging as he touches the back of my throat.
Griffin’s head falls back and he sighs so loudly it makes me walls quiver.
When his head drops again, he grabs my arm and pulls me up. I stop, allowing him to drag me up, bringing us chest-to-chest.
He lifts my hips, and as I get into a wide squat, he eases me on top of his cock. Each hard, savory inch tips me closer and closer to the edge.
I balance myself when he’s all in, my hands on his shoulders.
Nostrils flared, jaw locked, he cups my ass and whispers, “Fuck me, Angel.”
And I do. I ride Griffin so hard and so fast I feel like I’m losing myself. Each fill of his thickness, each hit against my g-spot, pulls me closer and closer and, goodness, I can’t help myself.
“You like how my cock feels inside of you, Angelina? Huh?” He leans forward, holding me closer as if he never wants to let go.
“Yes,” I pant, bouncing on his cock, circling my hips, soaking every inch.
“It’s exactly what you dreamed of, right?” He’s breathing heavy, voice husky and deep. “I know it is ‘cause this pussy—fuck, Angel, this pussy is everything I’ve dreamed of and so much more.”
Damn it. I swear he always knows what to say to drive me right to the edge.
I straddle his lap, and he squeezes my ass in his large hands, spanking me with each bounce.
Each spank is encouragement for me. Each dirty little mark on my skin not only means I am about to climax, but that he is too.
“You feel so fucking good around me.” He sinks his teeth into my chin. It’s not painful or light. It’s just the right amount to provide pleasure.
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