Page 36 of Praise Me: Soldier

In the back of the cab I took from the airport, I rub my chest. Something I found out over time is that, in addition to my physical demands for July—and July only—my heart starts to hurt the longer I’m away from her and the kids. Right now, it feels ruptured.

Judging I’m about five minutes from the house we bought in the Chicago suburbs, I take out my phone and open the app that allows me to see a live camera feed to various rooms of my house. I installed the system myself, because I wasn’t about to leave my family for days on end without being able to get eyes on them. Know they’re safe.

As I’ve done frequently, I check the feed for our bedroom, sitting up straighter when I see my wife laying on the bed in nothing but pink thong panties. She’s on her stomach, knees bent, feet elevated behind her, leafing through a magazine. As I watch, she picks up the magazine and rolls over onto her back, giving me a look at the tits I’ve been craving like oxygen for five days. Almost as much as her daily spanking.

I realize I’m beginning to breathe hard when the driver turns his head slightly, casting me a quick glance over his shoulder.

There’s no calming me down, though. Not when she’s almost in front of me.

I’m an obsessed husband with balls that only empty for my wife.

It’s hard to be casual.

Therapy has been incredible for my PTSD and the nightmares that plagued me. They are few and far between and hopefully someday, they’ll be gone completely. I no longer fall asleep worried I’ll manhandle July while in the haze of a battlefield nightmare, my unconscious mind unable to temper my strength. God knows I’m rough enough with her in our everyday sex life. Here’s the thing, though. She requests it rough.

Begs for it in that husky whine of hers that is probably responsible for us having a second child so soon after the first. When she whines for something, I give it. Case in point, we have two sons now. Dylan and Hunter. Dylan, the youngest, is quiet and likes to nap with his arms thrown out, like he’s flying. Hunter never goes anywhere without a soccer ball. They’re miracles, our boys. And God, they love their mother. She loves them fiercely, too, and hates leaving for work every morning. There have been times over the last five years where she considered leaving her position as head of design at Donner Advertising, but she still needs that creative outlet. She’s damn good at what she does, too. My pride knows no bounds when it comes to July.

Neither does my lust.

Christ, I might come in my pants before I make it to the bedroom where she’s currently stretched out on top of the comforter, humming to herself. As I watch, she slowly drags the thong down her hips and thighs, twirling them around her finger before flinging them across the room.

She knows I’m watching her.

That’s the only explanation.

Thank God the kids are at daycare. If they weren’t, I’d have to lock us in the en suite bathroom, cover her mouth and bang her on the sink, the way I’ve done countless times since the boys were born. My drive to get my come inside my wife is a part of me that only balloons over time. It’s a necessity.She’sa necessity.

One I’m desperate for right now.

By the time the cab pulls up in front of the house, my hands are shaking so bad, I can barely run my credit card through the reader. The numbers are blurring in front of my eyes. My cock knows my wife is close and it’s beginning to stiffen for the first time in five days. Rapidly. I make a guttural sound into my wrist while climbing out of the cab, ignoring a call of hello from my neighbor, retrieve my duffel from the trunk and clamber toward the big Victorian we’ve been fixing up, room by room. It would have been complete, except I get uncontrollably horny watching her doanything.

“July,” I bark as soon as I’m inside the door.

All the shades are drawn on the windows.

Music throbs from the speakers.

I drop my bag, barely able to walk, my clothes suddenly far too tight.

“July,” I choke out, wrestling with my zipper.

When she sways naked into the room, even in my state of intense arousal, I take a moment to marvel over how confident she’s become. How self-assured and seductive. What a beautiful thing to bear witness to this woman thriving and know we belong to each other.

“Baby, please,” I say, my words nearly sucked up by the music.

“I know, Daddy,” she murmurs against my lips, her hand sliding deftly down the front of my pants to massage me in a fist, my groan echoing through the entryway and living room. “I missed you, too.”

“Too long. It was too long without you.”

“I know how you feel.” Our mouths find one another, opening at first touch, tongues meeting in a fleeting lick. “You’re alone in the house with your little girl.” She blinks up at me with innocence that gets my blood pumping even hotter, because it means she’s in the mood to play. “I’m walking around naked, even though you’ve told me to wear clothes so many times. What are you going to do about it?”

It takes me a few beats to respond, because I’m so focused on not blowing a load in my pants, but Jesus, she knows how to mold me in that hand. “You never do what you’re told, do you?” I snag her wrist and hold it with just enough pressure that excitement sparks in her eyes. “I think it’s time you had your little princess mouth fucked. Maybe once you’ve had your throat used, you’ll remember to put on underpants before parading through the house.”

“Just underpants, Daddy? No shorts or top?” she whispers, leaning in to work her tongue into my mouth, keeping it shallow enough to make me crazy, my breath puffing in and out of my nostrils like a bull before a fight. “Maybe you like peeking.”

“Go lay on the couch,” I growl.

My pulse is slamming in my temples as I watch her tight ass strut to the living room couch and lay on her back, one leg cocked sassily. Back arched to display her prize tits.

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