Page 108 of Kings Fear No One
“My pussy!” I squeak, and he laughs, rubbing me some more. “Yes, touch my pussy. Fuck my pussy. I want to feel you.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmmm.”
He slips his fingers inside me, pumping them in and out. He sucks on my neck, his large body like a wall that keeps me trapped against the bathroom tiles. The shower sprays hot water on us, wetting my already slippery pussy.
I find his heavy erection and begin returning the favor. My hand feels small in comparison, wrapped around his veiny, velvety girth.
We come almost at the same time, with Logan’s fingers deep inside me and mine encircled around him. He makes no attempt to free me, keeping me pinned against the shower tiles, smashing his lips to mine in another heated kiss.
“You are so god damn sexy.”
“Even with my shower cap on?”
“Especially with your fucking shower cap on. Sexiest fucking shower cap I’ve ever seen,” he grunts, teasing me like only he can. He can barely keep from grinning as he nips at my neck, and I giggle.
It’s one of many showers.
A new ritual of ours, we make lengthy, X-rated showers a thing more often than not. We mark a lot of other places in the apartment as X-rated too—Logan’s insatiable appetite becomes a regular occurrence where sometimes he must have me then and there.
Against the kitchen counter. Bent over the living room sofa. In the hallway on our way to the bedroom. Once on the balcony late at night when we’re certain everybody’s asleep.
The intensity of his desires is startling at first.
I’ve never been in a relationship that’s sexual before. The few guys I’ve dated have never gotten more than a handhold and a few kisses out of me. I’m not prepared for what the libido of a healthy, testosterone-riddled adult male entails.
But I quickly discover I love it. My appetite for him is equally as insatiable.
I learn all the different ways to feel pleasure. My body awakens to the many good feelings Logan can draw out of me.
The pussy throbbing. Heart pounding. Deep shudders and curled toes.
I’m a tingling, dripping, writhing mess whenever he’s through with me.
I’m speechless the first time he buries his head between my thighs and his mouth does things to my pussy I’ve only ever read about.
“My fucking gorgeous wife and her gorgeous fucking pussy. I want a taste.”
I can only moan for the next few minutes to come. His warm tongue traces every fold, every inch of flesh. It pushes into me and makes me arch against his face. My thighs squeeze together, instinctively trying to trap him where he is, where he’s bringing me a level of pleasure that feels unreal.
He responds by nibbling on the inside of my thighs. His beard’s rough and coarse on the sensitive skin. His breath so heavy and ragged, it’s yet another way he’s driving me closer to the edge.
I fall apart like I’ve got no bones. My body goes limp, and I scream his name for the neighbors to hear. He comes up, his lips slick with evidence of me, and kisses me to silence. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth and then tells me how good I tasted.
A shiver racks through me at my scent on his breath. At the way he’s made me feel so womanly and desired.
We settle into bed, already on the cusp of sleep. I’m feeling loose and lazy, the orgasm Logan’s given me better than any sleeping pill. He pulls me closer, his arm slung over my hips, and brushes his lips to my brow.
“I might need to go away again.”
Seven words that do the opposite of the orgasm—they jolt me all the way awake.
I tip my head up for a glance at him, my eyes going wide. Familiar worry churns in my stomach, queasy sensations I’ve hoped wouldn’t return.
“Go away?” I choke out.
“We’ve got trouble brewing. Abraham’s still out there.”
