Page 81 of The Sculptor

“That may be so,” I tell him, “but for now, this is beginning with you balls deep down my throat.”

“Shut up, Ray,” he growls, “before I stop playing your little game. You know my patience is limited when you’re on your knees.”

Empty threats.

At least for now.

He might be impatient, but he’ll wait because this is his favorite, me on my knees, his cock in my mouth as I stare up at him with wide eyes as he uses my mouth for his own pleasure.

Ignoring his impatient tittering, I dip my hands into the waistband of his pants and tug slowly—excruciatingly slow.

“Dammit, Ray. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

A game we’ll both enjoy winning.

Smiling, I keep pace and reach for his boxers. At my touch, his cock jumps against the fabric. “Mmm…” I take a deep breath, flashing one more coy look at Duke before kissing his cock through the fabric.

“Don’t let go, husband, or I might stop.”

Anticipation is such sweet torture.

“Swear to…” His eyes pinch shut, and he throws his head back once again. “I don’t even fucking know what, I swear. I can’t think right now. But I can promise I will return the favor, wife.”

He’s back to threats, which really is all his fault. He started this over a freaking cookie.

“Just relax,” I whisper softly, making him snap.

“I can’t fucking relax. All I can think of is snatching you up and bending you over a chair.”

Poor thing. What a hard life he leads.

“Maybe I can help you,” I tease, finally lowering his boxers and taking his swollen cock in my hand.

He grunts, his cock jumping in anticipation. “Please, Ray, I fucking beg you. Please don’t torture me.” He sounds so helpless, so vulnerable. “Please, just put me inside you.”

I smile. This man is never short on telling me how much he desires my body or even my company. He’s always been open and honest in that regard. It’s the other deeper secrets he likes to keep to himself.

But intimacy—that’s always been our love language.

He is the other piece of me. We fit together in perfect harmony.

Together, we’re whole.

Opening wide, I take him past my lips and push forward as far as I can until he hits the back of my throat.

“Oh, shit, Ray. You were made to kill me.” He tries adjusting his angle to get deeper, but I grip him at the base and take control by sliding him out and licking the swollen vein from root to tip.

He hisses through his teeth, his knuckles turning white against the counter.

But I don’t give him time to rest before easing my lips over his tip and swirling my tongue around the head. His knees buckle, and I think that’s it. He’s done. I might as well bend over, but he doesn’t stop me.

Instead, he pulls in a shuttering breath and rights himself against the island. “One more of those, Ray, and playtime is over.”

Inwardly, I smile. He acts like he’s doing me a favor standing here, enduring a blow job from his wife.

Let’s see if we can fix that.

Gripping him, I move my hand in a steady, up-and-down rhythm. When I see his neck muscles straining, I ease the head of his cock past my teeth and suck, bobbing my head in time with my hand.

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