by Trent Evans
Flying to him then, I plastered myself to his tall, muscled frame.
He kissed the crown of my head, and I burst into tears.
This can’t be happening!
My words tumbled out, between the sobs. “I…I have… s-so much to say. So m-much… to ask you!”
“Shh, we’ll get to it.” He stroked my hair, my cheek. Pulling me back, he gazed down at me, his grin bright and beautiful. “Let me look at my beautiful wife.”
His eyes were darker somehow, a haunted weight there I had never seen in them before. But I still saw what I needed, what I thought I’d lost forever.
Love.
God, how I missed this.
Despite my tears, my nose already running, I basked under his attention, grinning like a goofy kid. I knew this had to be a dream, but I was going to enjoy it as long as I could.
I hugged him again, fiercely. “I… I don’t want this to dream end.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This”—I squeezed him tighter, burying my face against the muscles of his chest—“I want to… savor it before it’s gone.”
“This is no dream, Diandra.” He pressed his hips closer, the prominent bulge at his crotch hard against my belly. “Does this feel like a dream to you? This is real — all of it. I’m home.”
My breath caught in my chest at the feel of his arousal, and it fanned the flames of my own. There was so very much to talk about — uncomfortable, painful, even scary things — but now wasn’t the time. Now, I needed my Martin.
As if reading my mind, he picked me up, sweeping my legs off the floor with stunning ease. Every second in his arms was a gift I cherished, the walk back to the bedroom one I needed to end… and never wanted to end.
He set me on the bed, his keen gaze staking me in place. I remembered that look… and all that came with it. It still frightened me, but my nipples were steel hard against my bra, my pussy already slick and hot. That look was as arousing as it was scary. The fear… made it even hotter.
Martin said not a word as he stripped off his clothes, and I beheld, finally, my husband’s body in all it’s naked, gorgeous glory.
His frame was tall, but very well muscled, the shoulders broad and heavily corded, thick veins standing out along the front of each one at the tops of his arms. He was even leaner now than the last time I saw him, the veins bulging in stark, mouth-watering relief along his powerful arms, the abdominals even more defined now, the enticing vee of muscle arrowing down to the dark pubic hair. His cock — oh God, his cock — reared up, the thick, hard length of it taking my breath way as it always did, the heavy testicles hanging below, calling out for the caress of my fingers, the worship of my tongue. The massive thighs were a trifle slimmer than the last time I’d seen him, but they still evoked awesome, masculine strength, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss and lick every last inch of that impossibly hard, packed muscle.
I wanted with every ounce of my being to reach out, to touch, to reclaim, to adore that male body.
But the look in his eye said otherwise. He didn’t need to say it. I knew it. We knew it. Things had changed with him.
With us.
It was all uncertain now, uncharted… and yet, that very unknown made it all seem fresh again. It was as if we’d never met before, that feeling of new discovery amplifying the electric, sizzling chemistry into the stratosphere, even as the dark dynamic we’d clumsily — and disastrously — dived into weighed heavily on both of us.
And yet, even that added more to it, that delicious mixture of excitement and danger and lust. It was new, but somehow still familiar — and I had no idea what was going to come of it, in the end.
Martin waited, a hand on his hip, the other slowly stroking the long, thick length of his penis, the head bulging bright red in the firm grip of his fist, the glistening moisture already beading at the slit.
How I wanted to taste it.
I slipped out of my blouse, the leggings I was wearing soon following. He took a step back, saying nothing, and yet signaling exactly what he expected. I stood up, and unsnapped my bra, letting it fall. I never ceased to be embarrassed when baring my breasts to him — it had always been that way — and this time was no different.
Yet, this time, the heat at my cheeks, the way I had to look at the floor as I allowed my breasts to bounce into view… it added even more heat to the moment. My pussy was positively dripping by the time I lowered my panties to my feet. I dared meet his gaze as I stepped out of them, the heat and possessive lust in his dark eyes, making me almost pant. He took his time, drinking in every inch of my offered, naked body, as if it was the very first time he’d laid eyes upon it.
I needed this in ways I couldn’t hope to understand.
Then, moving with a preternatural, animal quickness, he was upon me, driving the breath from my lungs as he brought me down hard upon the bed. I gasped as the warm, heavy weight of his hips settled upon me, his hard cock laid across my belly for a moment. I luxuriated in that simple, primitive delight at being rendered helpless below that powerful, animal male body.
Saying nothing, he took my hands in his, holding them against the mattress as he regarded me, pinned as I was beneath him, his gaze coursing over me hungrily, as if he was taking his time reacquainting himself with his possession.
Rearing up, the hard, hot length of his cock pulling away to bob over me, he let my hands go. I knew not to let them move from where he’d put them, the signal as plain, and implacable as his hands as they wrenched my thighs apart almost to the point of pain, making me utterly vulnerable to him.
My arousal was a fiery lake now, as the heavy head of his cock played amongst the swollen, wet lips of my cunt, my fluids mixing with his, teasing me, and yet imprinting its ownership upon my sex in that most elemental of ways.
He captured my gaze then, once more pinning my wrists to the mattress with his big hands, and I let out a surprised, lost moan as that long, hard cock, mercilessly pushed into me, his thickness stretching me with that unbelievable mix of pleasure and pain that only a man as well-endowed as my husband could give a woman.
Only he wasn’t giving. Not this time — and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Pushing to the deepest part of me, until my voice was a high whine from between pressed lips, he took me.
I didn’t know what I expected, but it hadn’t been this — and it was even more wonderful for it.
So many questions swirled in my mind as my arousal spiraled higher and higher, the delicious maddening rasp of his pubic hair upon my clit threatening to make me scream as that heavy cock speared impossibly deeply with me, battering and plundering my poor pussy with a male arrogance I knew I would never, ever get enough of.
I was his — and he was reclaiming me. Confirming my rightful place not just his wife, but his sexual possession.
Please, I can’t… take this!
Time seemed to dissolve as he took me, the thrusts and sweat and panting breaths the lurid, sexual background for this intimate dance between husband and wife, reconnecting in the way that meant most, becoming one, merging our bodies, our hearts, our souls.
One.
My clit was positively on fire, my breath coming in fevered pants, Martin’s hot sweat dripping upon me, his cock continuously moving within the jealous clutch of my aching pussy, the feel of it threatening to destroy me now.
With a deep push, and a twist of his hips, his pubic bone grinding down upon my clit, he finally defeated me, my breath bursting from my lungs in a long, frantic moan, my orgasm exploding from from the depths of my being, overwhelming my entire consciousness with wave after wave of delicious contracting heaven, my pussy clamping upon his penis so hard it drove him over as well.
I grunted with each brutal thrust, his hips slapping down against me, my cervix singing with that pleasure-pain as the head of his cock battered it over and over, and over again. The hot bloom of his semen filled me, and tears came to my eyes again, so wonderful, s
o right did it feel.
His lips played against mine a moment, and then his tongue quested deeply, finding mine, dancing with it, his lungs sucking the breath from mine. He kissed me for long minutes, his penis remaining still deep within me, my pussy clenching and spasming around it as he claimed my mouth too, his teeth taking my lip between them, the animalistic nature of it threatening to fan my pussy back into flames once more.
Finally, he laid upon me, the male animal growl deep in his chest saying all that needed to be said, and I sighed with it, loving that heavy masculine weight rendering me helpless, completely at his mercy.
I was his again. I was where I was meant to be.
My Martin was back.
Chapter 22
He found her sipping from a steaming mug of coffee, sitting cross-legged between the couch and table in their living room, the massive ambience screen running in the background. It played a steady, ever shifting parade of views of landscapes, vistas, and symbols, the viewer spraying vibrant colors across the room — and showcasing the beautiful woman waiting there for him.
She pushed another mug across the table toward him, her big, luminous eyes watching him through the wisps of steam as she sipped once again. Her hair was loose, a thick fall of it all around her face, strands tucked behind her ears to keep it out of her coffee. Her snug blue top did nothing to hide the upper curves of her generous breasts, the black leggings clinging to her in a most fetching display.
Being back was the easy part. Reconnecting — emotionally — to a woman he had, for all intents and purposes, used like a sex toy was a considerably more challenging proposition. Still, that physical spark was still there — and if anything, it burned hotter than he could ever remember before.
As hard and upsetting as the events of the past few months were — for the both of them — it hadn’t extinguished the sexual connection between husband and wife.
Quite the opposite.
None of that makes what happened any less wrong. You’re not going to get off the hook that easily.
“I don’t know if—”
“Diandra, I need to say something.”
She went silent, those gorgeous eyes like twin searchlights, spotting and illuminating his guilt and hurt — the same emotions he knew both of them still grappled with, regardless of how good it felt to sink deep into the wet, hot clutch of his wife’s more than welcoming sex last night.
This was about much more than that.
Taking a seat on the couch next to her, he sat in silence a moment, trying to decide what to say. What could one say in this situation? Words couldn’t make everything right again.
He wasn’t sure he even knew what “right” even looked like anymore.
“That it was you — out there — is what I keep coming back to. What I did to you.”
“What you thought wasn’t me…”
Of course that mattered. In fact, it was the single most important aspect of what transpired.
It still didn’t come close to addressing what happened.
“I’m happy because I know that it was you… and I’m terrified because it was actually you. I know that makes zero fucking sense. I…I came back fearing that I wouldn’t have a wife to come back to. That you would have left me, or freaked out and simply run. Who could blame you either?”
She drew in a heavy breath. “I didn’t run. I’d never run. Not on you.”
The hurt inside… it hurt just a little less at those words. His self-loathing not quite so all-encompassing.
She’s a better woman than you ever deserved, you asshole.
“You could have hated me. Maybe you should hate me.” He looked over at her, and she returned his gaze. There was no reproach there, only intense interest. An earnestness that both encouraged him, and threatened to unnerve him. So, he kept going.
“It was easy to be angry with you though — because that got me off the hook for hurting you, didn’t it? It was a whole lot more complicated than that, and I… I don’t think I had the courage to face it. Not then, anyway. But that changed.”
“What made it change?” she asked in the softest of voices.
He dared touch her hand then, and she returned the caress, squeezing his fingers.
“It changed the moment I feared I’d never see you again. That I might… lose you.” The tightness in his throat reduced his voice to a gravelly rasp, but he had to say the rest of it. “I came back because I love you. I loved you even though I wasn’t sure who — or what — I was really loving. It was you, just the same. That sounds certifiably insane to me, but it’s the truth, Diandra. I came back knowing you might not love me anymore. But I couldn’t bear to leave things as they were. Unfinished. Unresolved. Unknown. I had to come back and tell you how I really feel. How I’ve always felt.”
Diandra’s eyes blinked twice, tears already welling. He wanted to hug her, to hold her, to make the hurt and guilt go away, if only for a moment. He wanted to make this better for her. And yet, he knew inside that there wasn’t any way to make this better.
Everything was new, different. There was no going back now, for better or for worse.
Setting her mug down, she rose up onto her knees, but rather than stand, she pivoted, laying her hands upon his thigh, gently grasping him. It wasn’t anger in that touch.
It was acceptance, it was gentleness.
“I thought that you would be disgusted and utterly enraged about what I did — and that you wouldn’t be able to stand even being around me anymore. I was so afraid that I had ruined everything by doing this, but in the process, I also discovered more about myself than I ever thought I would.” She squeezed his thigh. “Martin, you have to know that not all of what you did was bad, and in fact… most of it was good. Really good.”
Holy shit.
“I thought over and over about how to say this, how to word it in a way you wouldn’t misinterpret. But it was a lost cause. So, I’m just going to say it. I-I don’t want our marriage to be what it was before. The problem here is that what I want doesn’t matter… it’s what you want that does.”
Martin slumped back against the back of the couch, unable to believe what he had just heard.
“Did you just say what I think you said? Diandra, what about what I did to you?” He sighed, spinning the mug of coffee in his hands. “It was… wrong.”
“No, it wasn’t. It went too far, yes — but only because you didn’t know it was really me.”
His voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed it down. “Oh Christ, I… I would never have.”
She reached for him, caressing his cheek.
“Never.” He couldn’t help but grasp her hand, and bring it to his lips. “Never would I hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t… which means what I’m about to tell you will sound even crazier than it is.” She held his face in her hands, and leaned in close. “I… I want what we had again. What we had out there.” Her deep breath made her shudder. “I don’t know why. I probably will never know why. But I want it. I think I need it.”
Though he had thought about this moment a thousand times, this final reckoning between husband and wife… this wasn’t how he envisioned it going.
That his sweet, wonderful wife would actually want the depraved things he had done to her on Charon 90… it was something he wasn’t sure he would ever fully understand.
Why does everything have to be understandable?
What he did understand though was the deep arousal that flooded through him at the words, at the implication of what it meant for him. For them.
Far from the end of their marriage… this might just be the beginning. The start of what they should have been all along. Two people, together, exploring who they really were deep inside.
Like so much else about their lives though, it wasn’t going to be easy. It was not at all that simple.
As excited as the prospect made him, at finally being allowed to be himself, it was daunting too. For it meant she was putting hers
elf in his hands once more. For real, this time.
Be careful what you wish for.
“Martin… what? Please tell me what you’re thinking.” Her lips were a bitten bright red, a subtle vibration coming off her body in waves. Her fingers trembled against his skin, her thumb stroking the stubble at his chin.
He took both of her hands in his, and brought them down, pressing them to her sides, a subtle gesture of control.
“If this is how you want it, this is how it’s going to be.” He stood up, strolling around the table then facing her. He wanted to fall upon her like a lion upon its prey, but it wasn’t time for that.
Not yet.
Pointing to the floor at his feet, he spoke the words in a calm, unhurried tone. “Get on your knees. Right here. We have a lot of catching up to do, you and I.”
Her intake of breath was almost a shocked gasp, but the flaring nostrils and the sparkle in her eye said everything. But it took her mere seconds to place herself at that prescribed spot, her legs folded beneath her. She gripped her knees fiercely, her breasts heaving, deep cleavage bared, her eyes peering up at him.
“I… I’m afraid. Even with what happened.”
“You like it though, don’t you?”
She shook her head, looking down. “It’s stupid, but I… yes. I worry that… it won’t be the same.”
“That it won’t work without feeling like you’re not in control at all?”
“Y-yes.”
“You’re sure about that?” He adjusted the length of his now very hard cock jutting against the constriction of his pants. “Thought through what it means if you give up that control for real this time?”
“Yes. I… it’s all I can think about.”
“Last chance, Diandra. Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said, almost hissing it. Meeting his gaze again, twin bright tears coursed down her deeply blushing cheeks.
His wife never looked more beautiful.
“Please, Martin… I need you.” Her throat worked, her long lashes fluttering prettily. “I need you to be… Sir again.”