Reluctantly, she grips the base of my cock.
Her lips part, and I see the gleam of her teeth. I wonder for a moment if I’ve made a horrible mistake. I’d really rather not lose my dick to the temper of my new wife.
But then her warm, wet mouth closes around my cock, and my brain short circuits. If I thought her lips were soft before, I had no idea how they could feel on the painfully sensitive head of my cock. They slide over and around, completely enveloping me. Her tongue flicks against the underside as she gently licks and sucks.
Fuuuucking hell, she’s good at this. It’s no wonder Oliver Castle was obsessed with her. If she sucked his cock like this just one single time, I could imagine him following her to the ends of the earth to get it again.
She slides her hand up and down the shaft, her mouth and fingers working in tandem. Her other hand reaches underneath to gently cradle my balls, stroking the underside of the sack.
All these sensations together are rocketing me toward orgasm . . .
Until she drops my cock and stands up again.
“That’s all you get,” she says.
God, her obstinance is infuriating. If I said the grass
was green, she’d call it purple just to spite me. I really should take this opportunity to teach her a lesson.
But she and I both want the same thing in this moment. A rare instance of our impulses aligning. And we want it so bad that desire outweighs malice.
Aida puts an arm around my neck, steadying herself while she lines the head of my cock up with her entrance. Then she wraps both legs around my waist as my cock slides all the way inside of her.
I grip her thick ass with both hands, my fingers digging into her cheeks. I hold her up as she starts to ride me, her arms locked around my neck, her soap-slippery body grinding against mine.
As hot as the shower might be, her pussy is even hotter. It clenches around my cock, squeezing me on the inward and the outward motion of the thrust.
I was wrong in my assumption that Aida isn’t athletic. She’s riding me with the vigor and enthusiasm of a sexual Olympian. I’m used to girls who pose themselves in the most attractive position possible, then lay back to let you fuck them. I’ve never been with someone so . . . eager.
As she gets closer to the edge, she starts to ride me even harder, her pussy like a vise around my cock. She’s slamming down on me over and over. The intensity of the strokes and the heat of the shower is making me dizzy.
But there’s no fucking way I’m tapping out. I press her back up against the glass wall and fuck her all the harder, determined to prove that I can dish it back to her twice as heavy.
When her eyes start to roll back, I feel a surge of triumph.
“Oh my god . . . oh my god . . . oh . . . Cal . . .”
I’m wringing the climax out of her. It’s going on and on, drawn out by every stroke of my cock. It’s so fucking sexy seeing that rebellious expression wiped off her face, watching her submit to the pleasure surging through her body.
I’m doing this to her. I’m making her feel this. Whether she hates me or not, whether she wishes it were anyone but me, she’s helpless to resist it. She loves the way I’m fucking her.
With that thought, I explode inside of her.
I mean, I really explode. The orgasm is like an atom bomb, hitting me without warning. My balls are ground zero, and the shockwave rockets through every last neuron, all the way out to tips of my fingers and toes. In the wake of that sensation, my brain can’t send any other signals. My body goes limp, and I have to put Aida down before I drop her.
I collapse against the opposite shower wall, both of us panting and flushed.
Aida refuses to meet my eye.
It’s the first time she hasn’t been able to look at me. No matter how I’ve tried to stare her down, she’s always been up to the challenge.
But now she’s rinsing off slowly, pretending to be totally absorbed by her cleaning routine.
She called me Cal. She never did that before. Except to make fun of me at the engagement party.
“So that’s it,” I say to her. “It’s official.”
“Right,” she says, still not looking at me.