Page 21 of Phobia
The thrill had my blood pumping through my veins, a gnawing hunger chewing through my stomach and heat building in my balls.
I tapped the inside of her boots, forcing her legs apart so I could step between them, her dress straining.
“Where do you belong?” I asked her, bringing my face close to hers.
Her long neck worked with a swallow, her eyes growing heavy. “With you.”
“And where’s that?”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “In Rockchapel.”
Bracing one forearm above her head, I leaned into her and squeezed her hip with my other hand, a pulse forming under my fingers. “Where in Rockchapel?”
“At home.”
I nodded. “Whose house is that?”
“You—” I interrupted the thought, my fingers digging into her bony hip, the sharp yelp falling from her lips had my cock straining. “Ourhome,” she corrected.
“That’s right, Little Rabbit. You belong here in Rockchapel with me, in our home, because you’re mine. You understand that, don’t you?”
Mine.
She was in an absolute daze, her chest working overtime to catch up with her labored breaths, her pupils dilating.
“Nod your head.” Katrina forced her eyes to widen, her head weaving. “And I’m yours.” The hand clutching her hip descended, my fingers brushing against the outside of her thigh, sending her flexing on her toes. Her head lulled to the right, bending her neck in an offering to me. I sloped forward, feathering my lips softly against her hammering, heady pulse. Each pump felt closer to a stroke against my cock. I tested the cord in her neck with my teeth, her breathy intake musical in my ears.
Footsteps registered in my ears as people neared the Founding Father figures. “Who’s this asshole?” a guy with a thick New England accent announced, breaking out into a laugh.
“One of the Founding Fathers, I think,” a nasally female voice replied.
“Looks like a douche.”
Katrina’s eyes flared as I gathered the fabric of her dress upward, my hand slipping under it. I gripped her upper thigh and her head fell back, her lips parting and her eyes lowering.
“Adam,” she murmured as my fingers inched closer to the heated juncture where her thigh met the apex of her pussy, saliva pooling in my mouth at the thought. Her legs parted as wide as the dress would allow her to, and I sunk to my knees.
Now I was gonna taste her.
“Ugly son of a bitch,” the man announced, his voice closer now. “Look at him.”
“He’s kinda cute,” the woman said.
My wife’s fingers sunk into my hair, her nails scraping against my scalp. I bunched her dress at her waist. Resting my forehead against her taut stomach, I caught the muted glint of her belly button ring. My teeth snagged the bow on her panties, grinding against the flimsy thread, affixing it in place, teasing her. Her arousal permeated, the throes of excitement warming my chin. Her grip on my hair tightened as I dragged my teeth downward, coming upon her clit.
“Ah,” she hissed out upon contact.
I laughed against her, rolling my eyes upward to meet hers. “They might hear you.”
“Good,” she replied. “Maybe they’ll see all the dirty things you do to me when you think no one’s watching.”
My fingers toyed along the tiny seashell stitching against the leg band of her panties. “My favorite thought is someone seeing how fucking pretty you look with my cock inside of you.”
Tunneled inside her mouth with saliva dribbling over her chin and tears leaking from her eyes with my fingers wrenched in her hair to keep her in place.
In her tight little cunt where I kept my punishing strokes short and firm, driving myself into her with a brutality she felt under her belly button that only she’d ever been able to handle.
Burrowed inside the stretched ruffled ring between her full plump ass cheeks, I’d worked in over the months since I’d gotten her back. I liked her on all fours while I sank into her inch by delicious inch, while one of her hands gripped helplessly at whatever was under her to keep her in place while she played with herself with the other.
