Page 42 of Wicked Spite
“Fuck, Penn,” she whimpers, teetering on the edge. “So close... don’t stop.”
I curl my fingers inside her just right and that’s it—she’s done for.
Reagan’s body convulses as she crashes over the brink, screaming my name so loud I’m sure the entire house hears it. Her juices flood my mouth, and I lap them up greedily until she’s whimpering from overstimulation.
I withdraw and stand up slowly, savoring every second of watching her come apart beneath me. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths; mascara streaks down her cheeks; lips smeared with remnants of blood and saliva.
The same fingers I just pulled out of her are licked clean one by one as she watches.
I lick my lips, savoring her taste as I watch her chest rise and fall. Her eyes meet mine, still glazed with the aftermath of her orgasm. Slowly, I push my sweats down, finally freeing my hard, aching cock. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of me—long, thick, and ready to claim my wife.
“You’ve hit the husband dick jackpot, baby.” I start jacking my cock slowly, enjoying how her gaze flickers between fascination and lust.
Reagan’s expression shifts instantly to one of sardonic disbelief. She props herself up on her elbows, lips curling into a scathing smirk. “Please,” she scoffs. “If this is a jackpot, I’d rather take my chances on those rigged carnival games.”
My eyes narrow at her biting sarcasm. Without another word, I scoop her up off the counter. She gasps and immediately starts clawing at my t-shirt as I stride out the bathroom door.
“Put me down!” she protests, her nails digging into my skin through the fabric.
With a swift motion, I slam her back against the wall,pinning her there with my hips. I reach behind me to yank off my t-shirt, exposing ink that covers my chest and arms.
“You wanna watch my tattoos as I fuck you, hellfire? All you had to do was ask.” My voice is a low growl, echoing in the hushed room as I notch myself at her entrance.
Her breath hitches, but her defiance doesn’t waver. “You’re seriously fucked up,” she mutters.
Her words are a challenge, one I accept eagerly. “You say that like it’s news,” I hiss, pressing my forehead against hers. My breath mingles with her rapid, shallow inhales. “I may be a virgin, but I’ve seen enough, watched enough, and experienced enough that nothing about how I’m about to fuck you is going to be innocent.”
I grab a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and drag her close so she can feel my dick pressing against her center. “This is going to ruin you for anyone else,” I promise.
I push into her slowly, savoring the tight warmth that envelops me. She gasps and clings to my shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in my skin. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the threats, the power struggles, the games we play.
Then I’m thrusting hard, and she’s arching against me, incoherent moans spilling from her lips. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper as I drive into her with the same speed and force I give football.
“Fuck.” She breathes out. “Harder.”
I obey without question, increasing my pace until we’re a blur of sweat and motion. Her head tilts back against the wall, lips parted in ecstasy. I lean in close enough to feel her breath mingling with mine.
“You like this?” I whisper harshly. “You like being fucked by your husband?”
Her only response is a strangled moan as she digs her heels into my back. It spurs me on—harder, faster—until we’re both teetering on the edge.
I grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises as I pound into her relentlessly. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples hard and begging for attention through her thin tank top. I take one into my mouth, biting down lightly before sucking hard through the sheer cotton.
I adjust my angle slightly, driving deeper until I’m hitting that sweet spot inside her that makes her scream. Her nails rake down my back again, drawing blood this time.
“Yes,” she cries out. “Right there... don’t stop...”
I feel her tightening around me, the telltale signs of another orgasm building rapidly. My own climax is nearing too; every muscle in my body coiled tight with tension.
“Come for me,” I demand, increasing the pace even further. “Come all over your husband’s cock.”
Her body convulses as she reaches her peak, screaming my name once more. The sight and sound of her unraveling pushes me over the edge too. With one final thrust, I bury myself deep inside her and let go—hot waves of pleasure crashing over me as I spill into her.
Slowly, I ease out of her and gently lower us both to the floor.
Reagan leans back against the wall, trying to catch her breath while giving me that same defiant look through half-lidded eyes smeared with sweat and mascara.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and lean in close enough to whisper against those swollen lips. “Now who’s seriously fucked up? You just fucked a psycho.”
