“Has anyone ever made you scream like this?”
“No.”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes! Shit! Please!”
He laughed and then lifted his mouth higher, to her other breast. He took it in his mouth and brought his arousal tantalisingly close to her entrance. Sophie lifted her hips, trying desperately to take him in deep, to feel him inside her, but he kept moving out of her reach.
“Please,” she whispered over and over, as her orgasm began to make her brain fog.
“Use my name,”
“Alex,” she substituted, and now she said his name, over and over again.
“Say, Alex, fuck me.”
She blinked her eyes open, confusion breaking the spell for the briefest of moments. He moved just inside her, and then pulled back out again. His desertion made her moan.
“Say it.”
“Please fuck me.”
“Alex, fuck me,” he corrected.
“Alex, fuck me,” she repeated through gritted teeth. She pulled at her wrists, a dark emotion combining with her total, rampant need for him.
“Yes,” he muttered. “Good girl.”
He drove his length into her hard, so that her breasts wobbled and her body shuddered. She cried out in relief as finally she felt his whole length in her body.
“More, please.”
“Alex, fuck me,” he reminded her.
“I don’t understand.”
“This is what I want you to say to me, from now on.”
“But …”
He pulled out of her, his dark eyes glinting as he stared stubbornly at his wife. His own desire was obvious. His cheeks were dark beneath his tan and his arousal was rock hard. And yet he stayed away from her as though it were as easy for him as anything in the world.
“Alex, fuck me,” she mumbled, too torn up by her desire to refuse. A time would come to untangle the damage his words had caused. But it was not then.
He thrust into her once more, hard and Sophie cried out as she felt an orgasm bursting upon her soul. It was fierce and hot, and it made her whole body convulse. Alex waited until her breathing slowed, and then he reached forward and unhooked the belt.
With a monumental effort, he pulled away from his wife and stood. He didn’t look at her as he walked across the room and scooped up his clothes. He pulled his shorts on, but it was agony to do so. The fabric against his sensitive arousal made him want to take her back in his arms until he exploded.
But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing that he was just as crazy for her as she was for him. Hurt at her duplicity was a force that he found easier to process as rage; betrayal was better expressed as cold resentment.
Sophie sat up and rubbed her wrists. They were pink from the belt. Her insides were quivering and now, satiated by the release of such a tremendous orgasm, she sat in stone-cold shock.
What the hell had just happened?
“Alex …”
He was buttoning up his shirt, his back to her. His pants followed suit. Then, patiently, his face calm and certainly without emotion, he turned to face her. “Yes?”