My panties are white and lacy and his eyes flicker down along my body like he can’t get enough of all my exposed skin.
He wants me.
Not in a shallow, skin-deep sort of way, but a heavier want, like a weight pressing both of us down toward the bed, like the blankets and sheets are magnets and we’re powerless lumps of metal unable to stop what’s coming. He needs me like the pulse in his throat.
And I realize that I need him just the same.
He buoys me and keeps me afloat. He helps me tread water when sometimes all I want to do is to drown and be done with the torture and the uncertainty and the pain. He’s there, holding onto me.
He stops at the foot of my bed and kisses my shoulder. He sucks one nipple gently and cups my other breast before kissing my lips again. I let out a soft moan into his mouth and I want this so badly it hurts—my core’s pulsing madly and my hearts racing through my ribcage trying to desperately break free like a rampaging beast. I want him to take me as he always does—rough and free and wild—but I still hear all the voices from my life telling me to be careful, to go slow, to make sure I don’t do something wrong, that I keep myself pure.
I tell those voices to fuck off. I’m having this tonight.
Tonight, I’m Nico’s and he’s mine.
He slips off his jacket and tosses it aside. I reach up and unbutton his shirt with shaking hands. He smiles and brushes my hair from my face and there’s such a tenderness in the way he looks at my lips that I suddenly feel a lightning strike of certainty. I open his shirt and feel his hard muscles and let my fingertips trace the outlines of his black tattoos and the small gnarled marks of long-healed scars and I’m sure, so sure, that I want to do this here, tonight, right now.
I want to give myself to him completely.
Not halfway. Not just my body.
Not as some last-ditch effort to save myself from a worse fate.
I want him tonight. I want to live up to the oaths I took—the promises I made. To love him, no matter what.
Love. That word.
It’s strange. He kisses me and palms my breasts and squeezes my ass and releases a rough, animalistic moan, and love, love, is that really something I can feel for Nico? All I’ve ever known for him is hate and anger and regret.
But love? Can I actually love a man like this? Can I love a monster? Can I love a sinner?
The line between love and hate is gossamer thin and fading away with every moment he’s around and I think maybe, yes, just maybe, all the days and years and months I’ve spent despising him has actually been practice for this soul-eating love I feel spreading over my body, and without the teasing and the fighting and the bickering, I never would’ve survived this night.
But I’m ready.
He pulls my hair and kisses my neck and yes, god, yes, if this is what it’s like to be with a sinner then yes, I can love it, I can love it wholly and without reservations, because it feels too good to deny.
Imagine trying to stop yourself from feeling pleasure—it’s impossible. Imagine trying to numb yourself against a pair of rough hands that want to tease you and drive you wild and won’t stop until you’re moaning and writhing and begging.
I can’t do it. It’s like denying a hurricane or a tidal wave. Nico is my natural disaster, he’s my pleasure incarnate, he’s my sins made flesh and I want him to take me, ravish me, turn me into something I never once dreamed.
I want to be more.
He slips his hand down the front of my panties ad I moan as I throw myself at him.
He responds with enthusiasm. His fingers tease my soaking pussy and I can feel the wetness as he swirls around my clit and slides deep inside. I gasp in surprise and delight as he presses two fingers deep, moving them in and out, stroking me. I fumble at his belt, barely cognizant of anything around me, because the way he makes me feel is too overwhelming and too intense to deny.
I bite his lip as I manage to get off his suit pants. They pool around his ankles as I stroke his long, hard cock through his boxer briefs and marvel at how hard he is, like he can barely hold himself back either.
Like he loves this as much as I do.
I stumble back onto the bed and lean on my hands. He stares at me with fire in his eyes as he takes off his shoes, his socks. He drops to his knees in front of me and licks my nipples, my neck. “My wife,” he murmurs as he bites my lip and shoves me back. He peels off my panties and kisses my inner thigh. “My wife,” he says again. “My wife. My wife. All mine.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss as he moves up my flesh like he’s feasting on me. “My wife.” He licks my pussy top to bottom and I arch my back as my fingers dig into the blanket.