Page 15 of Always Alchemy

‘Better be quick then.’

It seems we’re on the same page, because she’s rearing up, and cursing as her knee momentarily slides off the side of the seat, and batting away the fabric of her dress so she can take my cock like the greedy girl we both know she is.

‘Put me inside you,’ I order her, removing my hand from her warm centre and grabbing her around the waist so she doesn’t go sideways again when she starts riding me. Probably should have done this in the back seat, come to think of it.

She makes a few adorable little noises of frustration and effort as she lifts herself over me, and holds her thong to one side, and feeds my impossibly stiff cock through the wretched hole in her tights.

And then she’s sliding my crown against her pussy, her wetness and mine coating each other like the best kind of lube, and I jolt. I have no leverage here to fuck her, so she’ll have to do most of the work, but fuck, does this feel incredible. And when she sinks down on me, the relief and awe and completion that consume me are like nothing else.

‘Arch your back if you can, sweetheart,’ I tell her, and she does, grabbing both my shoulder and the inner handle of the door to steady herself. I lower my mouth to the hard little nipple poking through her dress and bite lightly through the fabric, and her shuddery whimper is the best kind of feedback.

‘I need it quick,’ she gasps. ‘And hard.’

‘Yeah,’ I mutter against her tit. ‘And when I get you home, I’ll tie you up with this tie and fuck you nice and slow. I might blindfold you and make you blow me first.’

She moans. My classy, bold, intellectual powerhouse of awife still loves nothing more than for me to overpower her. Control her.

‘Ride me,’ I say, before biting down on her fabric-covered nipple, harder this time. I grip her hips and help her lever herself up and down on my lap, and fuck me, the sensation of her cunt dragging up and down along the length of my shaft is a fucking revelation.

Just like it is every single time.

I amnotgoing to last. It’s too dirty, fucking like horny teenagers in the car park of Britain’s most elite school.

‘Rub your clit for me,’ I mumble as I tease her with my teeth and tongue. She withdraws the hand that was gripping my shoulder and burrows under her skirts again. Her fingers brush against the base of my cock, but the moment they make contact with her clit, she’s riding me harder, driving herself down onto me with every stroke until her breaths turn to moans and she collapses, her temple resting on my hair as she brings herself to a shuddering orgasm.

Thank fuck. I let rip as hard as I can with a volley of hip thrusts as her inner muscles clench around me, and then that divine burst of heat is racing up my dick and I’m coming too, jetting hot ropes deep inside my beautiful, spectacular, and totally fucking shameless wife.

I raise my face to kiss her, to show her how much I adore and respect her, how completely besotted I am. Our kiss is as slow and gentle as our fuck was fast and rough.

Both ways are amazing.

Everyway is amazing with her.

It’s all amazing with her.

5

PATER NOSTER

BELLE

The team at Unfurl really doesn’t do things by halves.

I hesitate in the doorframe of the basement room I’ve been summoned to and survey my surroundings. My husband’s note merely said the following:

Belle Charlton

It has been too long since your last confession. Please see Fr Rafe at your earliest convenience to partake of the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

Only my darling husband would seethisas an appropriate wedding gift and a way to celebrate our anniversary… every year after.

It was two years ago today that we were married—and no, we did not marry in the sight of God. Instead, we had a beautifully heartfelt humanist ceremony ata vineyard just outside St Tropez, Chateau des Anges. We wrote our own vows, and they reflected everything we wanted to tell each other. To promise each other.

And no, my dad didn’t come. We knew he wouldn’t. In the eyes of the Church, and therefore in his eyes, it wasn’t a wedding, and we’re not married, and that’s okay. He gets to choose his views. His boundaries. And I get to choose not to tie myself up in knots over his reactions. It’s a slow process, and our truce is uneasy, but we’re getting there, and Rosalie’s birth has helped our relationship no end.

Most importantly, no one is riding roughshod over each other’s beliefs.

In a fit of spectacularly wilful disobedience to her husband, Mummy gave me away and hosted the chic wedding breakfast. I couldn’t have been more proud, or more grateful.

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