Page 57 of Six Month Wife
He doesn’t. He doubles down.
When he dips lower, tongue plunging inside me, I cry out—raw and broken—rocking against his mouth without shame. He moans into me, the vibration sparking deep in my core, and I swear I see stars.
Every flick, every suck, every deliberate stroke is a promise.
He’s not letting me go until I fall apart for him.
My body tightens, nerves singing, the pressure coiling hard and fast. I’m so close I can barely breathe.
He senses it—presses his mouth firmly against me, tongue circling my clit while his lips close around it and suck, slow andperfect.
I shatter.
Pleasure slams through me like a freight train. I gasp loudly, from somewhere deep inside. I clutch his hair as everything tightens, then breaks.
My thighs lock around his head. I’m shaking so hard I can’t think, can’t breathe.
But he doesn’t stop.
He keeps going, relentless and reverent, like he's not satisfied until I’m twitching, half-sobbing, completely wrecked. Every nerve lights up, my skin buzzing, heart stuttering.
By the time it’s over, I’m limp. Boneless. Brain short-circuited.
He kisses the inside of my thigh before rising, and suddenly I’m weightless. In his arms. Carried like I weigh nothing at all.
My legs wrap around him instinctively, like my bodyalready knows where this is going. His heartbeat thunders against mine as he walks us to the bedroom, his eyes locked on me, dark, primal, and full of something I can’t name.
He lays me down like I’m breakable. Like I’m his.
The sheets are cool against my back, but he’s all heat, looming above me, stripping off his clothes with that quiet, controlled urgency that makes my breath catch.
Then he pauses, breathing hard. “Condoms in my wallet,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Left it in my pants… back in the living room.”
I blink, dazed. “Seriously?”
He grins—crooked, flushed, gorgeous—and presses a quick kiss to my mouth. “Don’t move.”
Then he’s gone, bare ass disappearing down the hallway in a blur of muscle and urgency.
I lie there catching my breath, still trembling, heart pounding. And when he returns—condom packet in hand, wild-eyed like he sprinted a marathon—something about it guts me. The mix of lust and care. Of want and restraint.
He tears the wrapper open, his eyes locked on mine, and my whole chest squeezes. Not from need, but from whatever this thing is we’re pretending not to feel.
The night is his now.
And maybe… so am I.
I don’t want to admit that. I’ve fought too hard to stay detached, to keep this transactional. But no matter how much I push the thought away, it keeps coming back.
Especially when he touches me like this.
16
Parker
The sun is creepingthrough the window, throwing enough light to make everything look calm, like it's a normal day for a young married couple.
It’s anything but.
