by Anthology
K. Langston
When is the last time you fucked your wife?
That shouldn’t even be a question for a man like me. A man who loves his wife as much as I do.
Know how long it’s been for me?
Months.
Nearly two to be exact.
But it feels like fucking years at this point. If it’s not the kids cock-blocking me, it’s our friends, her parents, her job.
The goddamn dog.
Don’t get me wrong, we have sex.
Lots of sex.
But it’s the quiet kind.
The sneaky kind.
The kind where you just can’t…
Let go.
Scratch.
Scream.
Spank.
Tear at each other like animals. I know that sounds barbaric as fuck, but I don’t care.
I need to fuck my wife.
And I don’t mean lay her down in a bed and fuck her, I mean…
Fuck. Her.
On every surface.
Climb every wall.
The boys have gone to my in-laws for the night, and I’ve planned a romantic dinner at home.
Alone.
Rubbing my ever-present hard-on, I groan. I just hope I can hold out
for dessert.
I’ve even gone as far as soliciting the help of her best friend Katy. Though, she didn’t have to do much convincing in order to drag Maddie away from work for a spa day. I’m glad she gave in. The woman needs time to herself every now and then. This new case she’s working on has been hard, and my baby has been stressed.
I look down at my straining cock.
It’s been hard on all of us.
Tonight, I’m going to take her mind off of that and everything else going on in our crazy little perfect life.
Shut out the world and just be…
Us.
I’m expecting her home any minute. The dining room table is set.
Strategically placed candles offer a romantic glow, something I know she will appreciate, and will have her slipping those pretty pink panties off faster than I can smack that ass.
Tonight…
She’s mine.
I’m greeted by the smell of dinner when I walk through the garage door and into the house. I smile, recognizing the meal right away.
My favorite.
The lack of chattering from two unruly boys immediately garners my attention. All I hear is Stapleton crooning “Tennessee Whiskey” and that’s enough to make me smile even bigger, excitement fluttering in my belly.
I make my way into the kitchen and Holden spots me immediately, quickly taking me into his arms. Before I can draw in the air needed to speak, his lips claim mine and my back kisses a wall.
His tongue is a force of nature.
Demanding.
Controlling.
So fucking hot.
When his blue eyes meet mine, they glimmer with heat and a whole lot of need. “I really want to feed you first, babe.” He massages my neck with his hand. “I really fucking do. But I’m not sure I can sit across from you long enough to consume food and not eat you instead. What do you say I fuck you now and we eat later?”
Is it possible to love this man more than I already do?
I smirk, thinking of all the naughty little things he’s got planned for me. He may be a simple man but there’s no lack of imagination on his part whatsoever.
“Where are the boys?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Your parents’.”
“Whatcha cookin’?”
“Grilled chicken tacos with some of that hot salsa you love so much.”
I groan, making a big show of it. “I don’t know. I think I wanna eat first. I’m so hungry.” My mouth is on his neck now, licking.
Tasting.
His grin is exceptionally wicked as he bends at the waist, hands moving to my knees to inch my skirt up. He could have easily unzipped it, but it’s clear…
My man means business.
“Don’t tease me. That will get you bent over the table before you can dip your first chip.”
Our table has seen a lot of miles. It’s his favorite surface in the whole damn house. Something about it being the perfect height and just the right kind of wobble.
One hand dips between my legs, long fingers seeking.
Eager.
Pulling my panties aside, they glide easily through my wet flesh and I moan, the sound cutting through my throat desperately as I lose myself in the heat of his touch.
It grows hotter.
And hotter.
Until…
“Owwwwwwwwww… Holy fuck!”
“Fuck yes, baby. Scream for me.”
“Holy fucking hell!”
Holden stiffens as I cry out again, realizing my screams aren’t born of pleasure but ungodly pain. I push him away, scrambling to close my legs.
“What is it, babe?”
“My vagina! It’s on fire!”
“On fire?”
“Burning. Jesus Christ. I’m dying!” I look around, searching for relief, but my eyes land on a bundle of peppers instead. “Holden, did you wash your hands?”
“Well yeah, but…” He trails off, his face stricken with guilt. “Aw fuck!”
“What?”
“Shit! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’. I shoulda wore gloves. But all I could think about was makin’ you scream.”
“Well, you succeeded in that.” I can see the remorse heavy in his eyes, and I howl in frustration once more.
I don’t care how sorry he is right now, this shit burns like a motherfucker, and I want him to die!
“I know you didn’t mean to do it,” I breathe through the pain. “Just figure out a way to help make it stop.” I cup my vagina and cross my legs. “Hurry up! My vagina is falling off, Holden. My vagina should not be falling off!”
“Your vagina better not fall the fuck off,” he says, looking around the room. For what? I have no fucking clue, but he better find it.
“It feels like there’s a million paper cuts between my legs and some demon of Satan is pouring lime juice all over them.”
This is a special kind of pain. The kind of pain you never forget.
Like childbirth.
Or an unexpected dick in the ass.
“Guess that gives a whole new meaning to fire down below, huh?” He smirks.
Narrowing my eyes, I silently plot his imminent death.
That puts his ass in gear.
“Okay, okay. Lemme think.”
He rushes over to the fridge, staring blankly inside before finally pulling out a jug of milk like it’s the answer to everything.
“Are you kidding me?” I shriek.
He shrugs. “Or we can stuff it full of bread?”
“I swear, if I wasn’t in so much pain I would kick you in the nuts!”
He fishes his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “Stay calm. No need for violence. Google will know what to do. Surely, I’m not the only idiot who has fingered his wife after handling Serrano peppers.”
Lord, I hate to think of the many women who have suffered this same fate. I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to breathe past the pain, but it only seems to get worse by the second.
“Yep, I am not alone. Tim from Tampa says to try yogurt.”
“Holden, I’m not putting food in my vagina. Fuck Google, fuck Tim, and fuck you!”
“But it’ll be so much fun to clean up.”
“I really hate you right now. I’m never giving you another blow job as long as I live.”
“Okay, now that’s just crazy talk.”
“Holden, please,” I beg.
“Wait…here’s one where they took a milk bath. Says it works pretty fast. The casein in milk binds with the oil in the peppers and washes it away.”
“Then you better haul ass to the store and buy all the milk they have, damn it. Before I die.”
He snatches the keys from the counter,
kissing me on his way out the door. “I’ll make this up to ya, babe. I swear.”
“You better.”
It’s been a week since the incident. That’s what we’re calling it anyway. Thankfully, the milk worked. The burning subsided rather quickly and surprisingly, it does amazing things for your skin. I’d been hesitant to let him touch me intimately ever since. It’s hard not to associate my husband’s fingers with indescribable pain. And he does a lot with those fingers.
Crazy, sexy, hot, wonderful things.
I need to move past it.
Enough is enough.
This morning had been the final straw, watching him get the boys ready for school. He walked around the house with his shirt off the entire time, taunting me. Those damn low-hanging jeans made my mouth water, accenting those divots I love to worship. If I didn’t have to be in court so early, I would have jumped his bones when he got back from dropping off the boys, but as usual, work got in the way.
This has been the longest we’ve ever gone without having sex since the boys were born, and it’s killing me. I’ve grown accustomed to dirty little quickies in the pantry and being bent over the couch when the boys are at school or playing outside.
It doesn’t have to be rainbows and butterflies all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I need him to make love to me sometimes. I think we all need the gentleness of a lover between hot, dirty fucks, whether it be a kiss or a touch. Something as simple as a whisper can provide such a deep level of intimacy between a couple, but it’s the delicate border of pleasure and pain that really exposes us, that allows us to open up to one another on the most basic, primal level.
Like when Holden is slapping my ass and pulling my hair, whispering words of adoration and degradation in my ear.
The man can build a fire inside of me like no one else.
Shifting my legs beneath the table, I sigh.
“How’s your steak?” he asks.
Shoving the plate away, I frown. “Not as good as yours.”
We agreed on supper out this time. Safer this way. Especially if I was going to let him touch me tonight.
“We can go to the Dip if you want.”
“Well, why didn’t you suggest that before?”
“Because I wanted to sit down and have a nice, quiet meal with my wife without having to play referee to the boys.”
He’s so full of shit.
“You’re trying to get laid tonight, aren’t you?”
He shifts in his seat, adjusting himself with a pained expression on his face. “I’m fuckin’ dyin’, babe.”
I lean forward on a harsh whisper. “Will you keep your voice down?”
“Will you take your panties off?”
Of course, our server chose that exact moment to return to our table. That shit-eating grin on his face told me he’d heard what Holden said.
So fucking awkward.
The man has no shame.
“Can I interest y’all in any dessert?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m gonna have dessert all right.”
I kick Holden’s leg under the table, handing the server my half-eaten steak. “Check please.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He smirks, skipping off.
I kick Holden again but he doesn’t even flinch. “You ass.”
“What?”
“You’re so not getting laid tonight.”
“Oh yes, I am.”
I smile sweetly. “We’ll see.”
I pay the bill, leaving dude one hell of a tip, and I’m pretty sure one
hell of a mental picture, then I lead my wife to the truck. I don’t say a word on the way home, allowing the tension to build even further. She’s all talk.
The woman cannot say no to me. Not when she knows I’m going to eat her alive.
The second her feet cross the threshold of the house, she’s mine.
My growl is predatory, downright feral as I push her against the wall, last year’s family photo crashing to the ground next to us.
I waste zero time, falling straight to my knees then pushing the thin fabric of her dress up her tan thighs. “I’m ready for my dessert.” I nearly weep at her feet when I find her completely bare underneath. My tongue darts out to taste her, teasing with a few long swipes before I can’t control myself any longer. I lap her up like a starving dog.
One that hasn’t eaten in a little over a week.
I latch on to her clit, suckling the small bud in my mouth before letting it go with a loud smack.
“Oh God!”
“He can’t save you now, baby.” I smirk, pushing her legs further apart. “Wider.” She obeys without hesitation as my tongue dips lower, seeking the dark place I know and love.
“Holden,” she breathes, threading her fingers through my hair, scraping those sharp nails into my scalp.
My dick grows harder.
If that’s even fucking possible.
I add two fingers to the mix, pumping them in and out until her sweet cum squirts down the palm of my hand. “That’s my girl,” I praise, looking up at her, her face all red and flustered.
Composure shattered.
I love watching her go from proper attorney to my slutty wife.
Rising to my feet, I move her to the side arm of the couch, bending her over. I lift her dress once more, exposing that sweet little ass. “I’m about to burn this pussy up, baby.”
“As long as you aren’t bringing the fingers of hell with you, by all means, fire away.”
I slam into her hot and hard, burying myself deep enough to earn a needy moan. She pushes her hips back, seeking more.
My baby always wants more.
Thrusting in and out, I increase my pace; fucking her so hard the couch begins to scoot across the floor.
“Oh God!” she screams before clamping down on me, that hungry pussy of hers begging me not to leave as she comes all over my cock.
The palm of my hand lands on her ass with a loud smack, adding to the erotic sound of skin slapping skin. But when she pulls one leg up, propping her foot up on the couch, I nearly lose my goddamn mind.
I reach around, rubbing her clit. “I love fucking you.” Wrapping my fingers around the base of her throat, I give her a gentle squeeze.
“Harder,” she demands with a wicked smile, twisting her head.
I comply.
Showing no mercy.
No restraint.
Barbaric as fuck.
Hot and dirty.
Just the way we like it.
* * *
The End
* * *
You can find Maddie and Holden’s story in book one of the MINE series, Because You’re Mine available on all platforms.
* * *
K. Langston is a small town country girl who writes with true passion and heart about what she knows.
Love, romance, and all things southern.
Authorklangston.com
Cockblocked~Featuring Dean Goldsmith & Grace Yeates characters from Until Now, the Not Yet series book #2
Laura Ward
“You need to rub one out. Tiny Tim needs some action. Research studies show that if you’re backed up with jizz, your equilibrium will be off. Could be the reason you’re throwing like a pussy,” Jon laughed into the phone.
I stopped at a red light and closed my eyes.
The fuck? Tiny Tim?
Breathe in—he’s been your best friend for eighteen years—breathe out.
Breathe in—he thinks he’s funny—breathe out.
Fuck, he’s probably right.
The Hummer behind me honked, and I opened my eyes. I pressed down on the accelerator of my Range Rover. A California King and this ride were my first purchases after the engagement ring. Gotta love a good signing bonus.
“Grace and I have a date tonight. That’s what I really need. Time with her.” Grace Yeates was my fiancé and the best person I knew. She’d trusted me with both her heart and her son’s. Nothing, not even getting drafted to the Chicago Bears foo
tball team, had ever felt so good.
Jon snorted. “You don’t need dinner, man. You need Otis Deepthroatis sucked. Man up and tell Grace what you need.”
After an obligatory fuck you in response, I ended our call. He was coming to the next home game, so I’d get a chance to bust his balls in return then.
Jon was a pig, but he had a point. At the ripe age of twenty-three, I was the starting quarterback for the Bears, and so far, my season had been shitty. My agent and members of the press kept repeating that this was a rebuilding year and to give it time. Ask any professional sports player to be patient during a sucky season and you’re likely to get nut-punched. Patience and athlete don’t play well together.
Our loss yesterday was embarrassing. The Green Bay Packers were our biggest rivals. I had to walk out of Lambeau Field to heckling from a bunch of dorks wearing Styrofoam cheese wedges on their heads. Really, who was the bigger loser?
Driving home today after our team meeting, I was tense. I needed a release. Big D stirred to life at the thought.
Grace and Finn had moved into my condo on Lake Shore Drive this past summer, and my life felt complete. There wasn’t anything I would change. Well, maybe there was one thing.
Privacy.
I didn’t need space from Grace, I need uninterrupted time and space to do Grace. Finn was four years old, and he was the happiest kid I had ever met. He just never left us alone.
Sure, we tried to wait him out, but as the kid got older, he seemed to need less sleep. We’d check on him when we were ready for bed, and there he’d lie, eyes wide open, ready to shoot the shit.
I loved him. I loved that little dude, but I also loved his mom. And I needed some lovin’ from his mom. Times were getting desperate. I was at the point of listening to… Jon. Sex might help my game. At this rate, it sure as fuck couldn’t make it worse.
“Red, you look amazing.” Grace walked out of our bedroom in a green mini-dress with floral stilettos. I took her hand in mine, pulling her close to me. Her lips were shiny with a light coating of gloss and I kissed them.
Grace grinned and used her thumb to wipe off my lips. “All you need is the press catching you wearing my makeup. They’d have a field day with that.”