The Husband Game

by Wylder, Penny

And I swear, those words make his eyes flash, make him get every bit as hot as he made me earlier. His lips curl in a smile that’s more sensuous than before, slyer and knowing. “Be careful what you wish for,” he warns, as he leads me out of the coffee shop and deeper into his world.

  3

  We wind up stopping by a nearby bar, a surprisingly tasteful little spot that, despite having lived in this area my whole life, I’d never actually set foot inside before. It looks like a total dive bar from the outside, but inside it’s all cozy ski lodge vibes, with a roaring fire pit and fun, locally-themed cocktails. I sip on one that’s named after one of the main streets in town, some delicious rum concoction, while Charlie enjoys a Hartford twist on the Manhattan. As far as I can tell, that just means even more whiskey.

  But Charlie barely seems to notice the drink. Or anything around us, except for me. The whole time we talk in the bar, we inch closer to one another, until we’re sitting pressed together in side-by-side chairs, his arm draped over the back of mine, his free hand tracing easy patterns on my thigh as we chat. The sensation of his fingertip trailing over my skin drives me wild, makes my heart race and my skin itch to get closer to him.

  But he’s a master teaser.

  We chat about nothing and everything at once. About childhood memories and favorite movies and what we really think about family holidays—we both have a love-hate relationship with Christmas, it seems. We love the time spent with our families, but we hate receiving presents.

  “Nobody ever gets you exactly what you want,” I say, while he laughs along in agreement.

  “Right. You ask for fingerless gloves and you’ll get ten pairs of mittens instead,” he replies. “Or, in the case of my family, a bunch of yarn and some patterns so you can knit them yourself.”

  I snort. “DIY bunch, are you?”

  “You have no idea. My great-grandfather built our whole house from scratch. The rest of every generation of males since has spent our whole lives trying to live up to that level of self-reliance.”

  “So, are you a carpenter on the side then?” I grin.

  “Of course.” He winks at me. “And a landscaper, gardener and home-grown chef besides. Not to mention by age 10 I’d already learned how to raise, care for, and slaughter my own chickens…”

  I gasp. “You kill them after you raise them yourself?”

  “Only when they’re already sick, or they stop laying eggs,” he replies.

  I swat his chest. “That’s positively heartless. How could you?”

  He arches a brow. “What, and eating eggs from chickens someone else has treated horribly, who spend their whole lives in cages, that’s better?”

  My cheeks flush. “Well, at least you don’t know the animals you kill.”

  “I think it’s better to know them. More respectful of the sacrifice they’re making for you. In modern times, we’ve gotten so far away from the natural life cycle. We forget what’s natural. What’s normal to experience, throughout our lives.” There goes his hand again, tracing patterns along my thigh, higher and higher, until his fingers hover an inch from my hip, and God, all I want him to do is take it further. To touch me right now, pull me to him so I can sink into the kiss I’ve been thinking about all goddamn day.

  “So what is normal to experience?” I whisper, my lips mere inches from his, a span of space that’s starting to drive me absolutely wild.

  “Everything,” he replies easily, his gaze sweeping across mine. “Pain. Pleasure. Loss. Desire.” His hand pauses to go flat against my thigh, his whole palm taking up half my leg, I swear.

  My whole body tenses. Between my legs, my pussy practically aches when he says that last word. Desire. Fuck. I certainly know a thing or two about that, after a day spent at his side. I lick my lips almost absently and notice the way his gaze drops to them again, tracing the pattern of my tongue. “I want that,” I murmur, under my breath. “I want to experience everything.”

  Because, as much as I’ve loved my career so far—getting what I wanted, being in a position where I can support myself and write full-time—it does keep me from living fully sometimes. I get so consumed by work. Even today, all I was thinking about earlier at our coffee date was my guilt over blowing off my assignment, and how I needed to get back to it.

  But there has to be some kind of balance. Like Charlie says, we need to live our lives fully. Experience everything. Including pleasure, desire. Including days when we allow ourselves to blow off our responsibilities for a minute and just follow what our bodies tell us to do.

  Charlie’s smile widens. “There’s one more place I’d like to show you in town, if you’re interested,” he says, and his voice comes out lower this time, curled with suggestion.

  “What’s that?” I whisper, breathe, barely able to keep my wits about me long enough to make my tongue work. My head swims with desire. All I want is him, all over me, every inch of me.

  “My place.” He arches a brow.

  My heart hammers in my chest, a caged animal thrashing to be released. “Fuck yeah,” I reply.

  * * *

  We barely make it through the door of his apartment—a three story building in the up-and-coming part of town, not too far from campus, although far enough away for the worst of the student parties and the loud touristy streets to only serve as a dull, distant background roar.

  The moment he slams the door behind me, he pins me against it, and then finally, finally, his lips collide with mine. He kisses like a man who’s experienced drowning before. Hard, fast, desperate. My whole body opens like a flower for him; my legs spread so he can slide a thigh between them, my arms slide up to drape around his neck as he forcefully parts my lips, his tongue invading my mouth, claiming me, swirling against mine.

  I moan a little, and he chuckles softly, mouth still clamped to mine, before he draws back to kiss his way down my jawline.

  His hands, meanwhile, have minds of their own. They trace down my curves to my waist, circling it, his hands so big they fit all the way around my waist with barely a gap—and I am not what anyone would call a tiny woman. Decidedly regular-sized. Which means his hands…

  And fuck. What do they say about guys’ with big hands…?

  I arch my hips up against his, and sure enough, the hard press I can feel crushing against my belly tells me everything I need to know. Fuck. He’s huge. Huge, and already as hard for me as I am soaking wet for him.

  “I’ve been fantasizing about touching you all damn day,” Charlie murmurs against my neck, right before he gently nips the delicate skin there, his teeth just hard enough to make me gasp as a tiny jolt of pain joins the rush of pleasure flooding through me.

  “Not as much as I’ve been dreaming about it,” I assure him, tightening my grip around his neck as I turn my face to kiss his cheek, his jawline. He’s clean-shaven, but there’s still a light 5 o’clock stubble there, enough to graze my cheek and make me shiver from the friction.

  His hands, meanwhile, maintain a solid grip on my hips, pushing me back and into the hardwood door behind me. Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the surprisingly modern, minimalist decor of his apartment, before his lips tracing down my neck to my chest distract me all over again.

  He takes his time. He unwraps me like I’m a damn present. First he peels my shirt off over my head, tosses it to the floor, but when I reach for his to return the favor, he catches my wrist and arches an eyebrow at me, a playful smirk on his face. “It’s my turn right now,” he says, his voice low and confident in a way that makes my belly flip, my pussy tightening with want.

  Fucking hell. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. I can’t remember ever being this turned on. “Whatever you say, sir,” I reply, and heat flares in his gaze, white hot, where it fixates on me.

  “Very good,” he murmurs, the approval sending a pleasant hum of heat through my veins, as he bends down to kiss along my chest until he reaches the edge of my bra. He reaches around me with one hand and deftly unclasp
s it before I can so much as offer a hand, and then he slides it up and off my arms, tossing it aside with my shirt.

  I reach up to run my hands through his hair as he presses his face back against my chest, that light stubble grazing the sensitive skin of my breasts, as his tongue traces its way toward my already hardening nipple. With one free hand, he massages my other breast, his fingers moving expertly, tracing around the areola, zeroing in, until both of my nipples stand rock hard, despite the relative warmth of his apartment in comparison with the New England chill outside.

  I moan a little and arch up off the door to press my body closer to his. He chuckles softly in the back of his throat, his smile widening with clear approval.

  “You like that, hmm?” he asks, his mouth vibrating against my chest with the last word. Then he drags the flat blade of his tongue right over the hard bud of my nipple, and another shudder passes through me, one I’m powerless to resist.

  “Yes,” I breathe, letting my head fall back, as he leans in to suck a little harder at my nipple, his tongue pressing against it, digging into me.

  When he draws back this time, he ever so gently nips me with his teeth, making me gasp again—that pleasure and pain contradiction feels so surprisingly good. But he’s already moving on, sliding over to work at my other nipple, all while his free hand traces down the smooth, flat plane of my belly, until his fingers reach the hem of my jeans and delve beneath them. Not too far, just far enough for the tips of his strong, calloused fingers to graze the fabric of my panties, the silken slip between me and the jeans.

  “You know, you taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, moving away from my chest now, kissing his way back up along my neck until he’s whispering in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “I can’t wait to taste your pussy.”

  I swallow hard, my breath catching in my throat. “Please, sir.”

  His eyes flash again. He likes when I call him that.

  I do too.

  “In good time,” he promises me, and then he reaches down to finish unclasping my jeans and pushes them down around my knees. In the warm apartment, I can feel how wet my panties are now. Slicked between my legs with telltale moisture.

  Fuck. I haven’t been this turned on by anyone before. I’ve never felt so desperate to be fucked. I’d start begging right now, if it weren’t for the fact that Charlie chooses that moment to start kissing his way back down my body. That man sure does know how to distract a woman with his mouth.

  He reaches the edge of my panties and hooks his teeth around them. Then, in one swift, definitely practiced move, he peels my panties down using only his teeth.

  Fuck.

  I swallow again, harder this time. “Charlie…”

  “Lila.” His eyes flash up to meet mine, as he kneels before me. I run my hands through his thick blond hair again, savoring the almost wavy quality, and how silky smooth the strands feel between my fingers. He looks hot as hell, kneeling like this before me. Gazing up at me with fire in his eyes. “I’m going to make you come now,” he says, and my belly tightens once more.

  “Fuck yes,” I manage to breathe, before he pushes me back up against the door, my ass flat against the wood. He pulls my legs apart, just wide enough so he can fit his face between my thighs. There’s that stubble again, but against my thighs it feels like a match against a striker, setting my whole body on fire.

  His tongue traces along the outer edges of my pussy lips first, tentative, tasting. Then, just as my heart rate starts to slow a little from the initial pounding, he presses his tongue between my lips and runs it along the length of my slit, slowly, all the way from back to front.

  Another moan escapes my throat, lower this time. Inadvertent.

  He chuckles softly, and the heat of his breath alone is enough to make me suck a sharp breath back in through my nose. But he’s far from finished. “You really do taste fucking incredible,” he murmurs, before he pushes his tongue between my lips again, harder this time.

  His hands slide back to grip my ass, pulling my hips closer to his face. I tighten my grip on his hair, as much to keep my balance as anything. Because fuck, if I’m not about to go weak in the knees from this treatment.

  His tongue lashes at my slit, from back to front, running over my already swollen clit with each stroke. I’m aching with want, and this touch alone is nearly enough to set me over the edge, my breath hitching and my heart racing in my chest.

  But Charlie isn’t about to let me come that easily. He stops licking my clit and instead pushes his tongue inside my pussy. I gasp at the sensation, as the thick, flat blade of his tongue curls inside me, then traces down my front wall, a slow, expert stroke. I let my knees sink a little, arch my hips toward his face to grant him better access, and let my head fall back against the door as he licks and sucks at my pussy, his tongue moving in faster and faster strokes.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m right back at the brink again, my toes curling inside the shoes I still haven’t kicked off. “Fuck, Charlie… I’m…”

  I can’t even get the words out. Because right then, he draws out of me, and licks my clit, hard, his tongue flat and soft and driving me wild. I let out a cry as the orgasm hits me, pushing me over the edge into pleasure, as the whole world goes fuzzy at the edges, my body pulsing with heat.

  But Charlie doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, tonguing me until I’m shaking and gasping again, building right back up toward another orgasm. He pauses only long enough to shoot a heat-filled look up at me, drinking in my reaction to him. “Come again for me, Lila,” he orders, less a request than a command. One I can’t possibly resist.

  I come a second time, screaming now, unable to keep my reaction subdued. I’m too lost in the pleasure, the hot rush of him.

  He pulls back then, kisses his way up my body, leaving faint, slick trails along my belly, the edges of my breasts. When he finally kisses my mouth again, deep and hard, our tongues intertwined, he tastes like both himself and me all at once. The taste of my juices on his tongue drives me wild, and I wrap both arms around his waist, pulling him against me.

  “Fuck me,” I breathe, so turned on now I can hardly stand it. All I want is to feel him inside me, that thick cock I’ve only gotten hints of so far through his thick jeans.

  I glance down at it now, and I can see he’s hard as a rock, straining toward me. I reach down, and this time he doesn’t stop me, but lets me trace the edges of his cock with both hands, trying to gauge his size. Fucking big, that’s what.

  He smirks, watching my reaction. “You want my cock inside you, is that it, my naughty girl?” He leans up to touch my cheek, then runs his fingers through my hair, using his cupped palm to tilt my face so he can lean down and kiss me again, slower this time.

  “Yes, please,” I breathe when our lips part, and he smirks at me, more than happy to oblige.

  Before I can react, he reaches down to sweep one arm under my knees. I yelp, then laugh, as he carries me, legs kicking, across his apartment toward the bedroom. I catch more glimpses of his living situation along the way—a fluffy white sofa that looks comfortable as hell. A kitchen/dining area with modern features, lights that look like spaceships and an expensive repurposed wood dining table with metal scoop-back chairs around it.

  It’s hard to get a sense of whether this is his personal style, or whether the apartment came this way. It looks a bit like a model showroom. But then again, he might just have a really good eye for decor.

  I don’t have too long to ponder it. A minute later, he sweeps me into his bedroom, and then I’m distracted all over again, as he tosses me down onto the king size bed, the comforter nearly swallowing me whole. But he’s already stripping his shirt off, bending down over me—and thank god, because it lets me run my hands over his perfect pecs, his washboard abs that I swear would go perfectly on a billboard ad. He even has that V-cut near his groin that drives me wild, the one I’ve only ever seen on TV.

  Fuck he’s in good shape. “Hockey
keeps you fit, huh?” I ask with a wry arch to my eyebrow, as he bends down to kiss my neck again.

  “It is a rough sport,” he replies, with a grin. “But I like it rough.”

  Damn him. He knows exactly what he’s doing. My pussy practically throbs with the need to have him inside me. “Oh, I do too, believe me,” I whisper, and his grin widens.

  Then he pushes his jeans down, and I’m distracted all over again, because fuck. He watches me watching him, smirking. Man knows exactly how endowed he is. He teases me, taking a moment to pull down his boxers and release his cock entirely.

  The monster that springs free… God damn. “You are so fucking big,” I breathe, reaching out to touch him.

  It takes both of my hands to fully circle his cock, to trace from his base to the tip and back again, savoring the velvety soft feel of his skin, the hard core of steel beneath. He’s so fucking hard already. Just as turned on by me as I am by him.

  “You want my cock inside you, my naughty girl?” he whispers against my neck, his breath hot, making all the hairs along the back of my neck rise, and my body arch up with them against him.

  “Please,” I reply, not even caring if I sound desperate. I am desperate right now. Desperate to see if I can handle a cock this big, because I’ve never been confronted with one quite like it in my life. My hands continue to stroke along his length as he leans over me, watching me, a knowing smirk on his mouth.

  He pauses just long enough to roll over to his bedside drawer and pull out a condom. I watch as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, then expertly rolls it on himself one-handed. Then he uses one hand to press me back down against the covers, and his other hand to push my legs apart, until he’s lying between my thighs.

  I take advantage of the moment to wrap my legs around his waist, angling my hips up toward him to grant him easier access.

  But he pauses there, his gaze drifting over me, down the length of my body, his eyes white hot with desire, lips parted a little as he studies me. “God, you are so fucking hot.”