Page 93 of The Games We Play

“Can you take it, Puppet? Were you not fully satisfied last night?” His hand travels down my ribs, and I squirm under the tickling sensation.

“I was. But then I slept, and it was like a reset button.” His fingers travel down my spine, and I arch my back, pushing my breasts into him. X growls his approval, dips his head to take my pebbled nipple into his mouth, and rolls me to my back.

“Well, Little Wife, let me remind you of what all we did last night.”

He moves to my other nipple and slides his hand between my thighs. His fingers tease my entrances, and I’m already wet for him. I’m always ready for X.

“We don’t have much time before we have to go. I’m afraid this will have to be quick,” X reminds me, and I pout, popping my bottom lip. X nibbles it and then kisses my nose. “I’ll be sure and take care of you tonight, after our—game.”

My body hums with excitement, and I lift my ass, my pussy clenching around nothing as it greedily waits for his cock.

He moves his finger and lines himself up with my center, slamming into me. My vagina aches from all the marital sex and positions X had me in last night. I cry out, and he stills, letting me adjust, then starts a steady rhythm.

“My fucking wife,” he says against my breast, and I run my fingers through his hair.

“If you’re a good boy, I brought some rope for our honeymoon tour,” I purr, and his cock jerks inside of me.

“Oh fuck,” he moans and bites on my shoulder as he quickens his pace. I scratch down his back, wanting him closer, wanting to become one with him.

His five o’clock shadow grazes my nipples, and the sensation sends shivers down my spine. I slide my hand down between us, and X leans back on his knees, lifting my legs to either side of his face, and I work my clit as his hunter-green eyes gaze down at me. My toes curl, and the orgasm burns through my core and nerve endings.

X kisses the instep of each of my feet and quickens his pace, shoving my body up the bed as he thrusts deeper and deeper inside like it will never be enough. He presses his hips into me, his legs tensing and muscles jumping as he comes and fills my pussy with his hot cum. I wrap my arms around his body and hold him close.

“Well, Mr. Collins.”

X groans and pulls back to brace himself over my body.

“Nope, you still aren’t calling me that.”

I laugh and brush my thumb across his bottom lip. “Are you ready for our first day of marriage counseling? I hear the first year is the hardest.”

Forty-Eight - X

Tess looks like theepitome of breathtaking as she sits beside me in the velvet chair. Her eyes are bright as ever, and a smile curves her perfectly red lips. I reach over and take her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips and kissing the tips of each of her fingers.

Her gaze lands on me, and the slightest hint of pink heats her cheeks.

I lower her hand back to the chair and she resumes her task at hand.

“So, you see, Mr. Johnson. How we met was somewhat unconventional, but we’ve overcome so much, way more than I think a normal couple would ever endure, so I’m not sure we really need counseling. What do you think?”

She slides to the edge of her seat as she eagerly awaits the counselor’s response after telling him every detail of how we met, starting from the night I chased her.

“I believe he’s preoccupied, dear. He’s missing a tongue after all,” I say, and her excited expression falters.

“Well, he could at least try. It’s not that hard. I didn’t cut out his vocal cords.”

I laugh as I push to my feet and face Puppet’s masterpiece in front of us.

Lincoln Johnson sits in his office chair, his legs tied to the base and arms tied to the armrest. When I proposed to Puppet, and we got married, we had a difficult time deciding what to do for our honeymoon.

Any couple could stay on a hot beach and drink all day. Snorkeling didn’t exactly fulfill either of our fantasies, and a resort just felt like a waste. Neither of us wanted a relaxing getaway. We wanted something much more exciting.

When Puppet asked for a list of people who were at the auction that she danced with, I was more than happy to oblige. We sat for hours, planning, tracking, and coming up with our honeymoon tour. We booked our hotels, under aliases, of course, and made it an around-the-world-in-however-long-it-takes-to-find-retribution type of trip.

And what better way to start out with the first man to put his hands on my wife? The man who thought he could buy her at the disgusting auction. The monster who preys on unsuspecting women who willingly come to his office looking for ways to save their marriage.

“Mr. Johnson, I believe my wife isn’t satisfied with your performance. We have some serious problems that we need to work out,” I say.

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