Page 88 of Stolen Vows

Her fingers tighten in my hair as she grinds down on my lap, seeking friction. I capture her lips again, the kiss deep and filthy. She whimpers into my mouth, and the sound shoots straight to my cock. I’m painfully hard, straining against my sweatpants.

My wife rocks against me, desperation making her movements rough and uncoordinated. The heat of her core rubs deliciously along my length through the thin fabric of our clothes. I groan into her mouth, my hands gripping her hips tighter as I guide her, showing her how to move, how to grind against me in just the right way.

“That’s it, sunshine,” I murmur against her lips. “Just like that. Fuck, you feel so good.”

She whimpers, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she lets me control her tempo. Her head tips back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. I can’t resist. I lean in and drag my teeth over the tendon.

She cries out, a desperate, needy sound that has my cock throbbing. Her pussy grinds down on me, the fabric of her shorts damp against my straining erection. God, I can’t wait to feel her without layers of fabric between us.

“Graham, oh god.” She’s breathless, hips undulating against me faster and faster as she chases her pleasure. I can feel how close she is, the way her thighs tremble and her breath comes in short, sharp pants.

“That’s it, wife,” I growl. “Come for me. Let me have it.”

My words seem to push her over the edge. Her back arches, and her mouth falls open on a silent scream as her orgasm crashes over her. I can feel her pulsing, throbbing against my cock even through our clothes. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

So fucking hot that my balls tingle, and my orgasm rocks through me.

I groan, my fingers digging into her hips as I come, my release pulsing hot and wet against the fabric of my sweatpants. Francesca collapses against my chest, trembling and panting as she comes down from her high. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as we both try to catch our breath.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of our ragged breathing and the hum of my computer monitors. I force my fingers to unclench from her hips, but it takes effort. My pulse is still hammering, my body still wound too tight.

She’s soft and boneless against my chest, her breath warm where it fans against my collarbone. If I close my eyes, I could almost pretend this is something more.

Her heart pounds against my chest, gradually slowing as the aftershocks fade. I stroke my hands up and down her back, soothing and grounding us both.

“Holy shit,” she murmurs against my neck. Her voice is sex-rough, languid with satisfaction.

A slow, victorious grin spreads across my face. “Yeah, sunshine.”

She lifts her head, her eyes heavy-lidded and sated as they meet mine. A lazy, contented smile curves her lips, and it hits me square in the chest. I did that. I put that look of utter satisfaction on her face. Pride and possessiveness swell within me, tangling with something deeper. Something that feels dangerously like adoration.

I brush a lock of hair off her damp forehead, tucking it behind her ear. She leans into my touch, nuzzling her cheek against my palm. The simple gesture, so trusting and affectionate, it makes something ache inside of me.

“Okay, Francesca?”

She grins, brushing her lips against mine in a soft kiss. “More than okay. But I think I need a shower now.” She stands up slowly, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. She drags her gaze from me to the security camera feed and back to me once more.

My cock twitches at the invitation, already starting to harden again.

Francesca saunters toward the door, hips swaying with each step. My eyes linger on her curves, barely concealed by the thin cotton shorts and camisole. She pauses in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. An impish grin tugs at her lips, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Enjoy the show, husband,” she purrs. Then with a wink, she slips out of my office and pads down the hallway toward her room.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand over my face as I lean back in my chair.

“Jesus Christ.” I’ve lost my fucking mind. I tell myself it’s the tension, the stress. That it’s just been a while since I’ve had a woman like that, soft and eager in my lap.

But it’s bullshit, and I know it. This isn’t about sex. It’s abouther.

I’d like to think that I’m strong, patient and logical. But Francesca Carter seems to be my weakness in every regard.

I drag the camera feed to the center monitor, changing the nine squares to one. The one in her bathroom. I hadn’t added it to the main grid, mostly because I never intended to check it. There are cameras in every room of my house as a precaution.

But she invited me to watch. It’d almost be rude of me not to do ask she asks. Disrespectful as her husband.

My logic is thin, but right now it feels iron-clad.

The image on the screen flickers to life, grainy black and white giving way to the soft glow of the bathroom light. Francesca steps into view, her back to the camera as she faces the mirror. Even through the slightly pixelated feed, I can see the flush on her cheeks, the wild tangle of her hair from my fingers.

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