Page 72 of Wicked Spite
I grin against her palm, feeling the warmth of her touch and the roughness of her words seep into my bones. “Guilty,” I murmur, my voice muffled, so I lick her soft skin. She pulls her hand away with a scoff, amusement in her eyes.
“You are guilty of a lot of shit,” Reagan mutters, turning on her heel and striding back toward the makeshift bar in the corner of the room. Her tall socks hug her legs just right, and I can’t help but appreciate the sight as she moves.
I follow her, a smirk playing on my lips. Iris and Oakley exchange knowing looks before slipping upstairs, leaving us alone.
Reagan stands behind the bar, hands gripping the edge as she faces me. “So, what now? Do you want to play Scrabble?” she asks, eyebrow arched.
“Bartend me,” I say, sliding onto a stool in front of her.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” she demands.
“You know, that shit where you sit on the bar and pour alcohol down my throat,” I explain with exaggerated patience. “And then slap me.”
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath, but there’s a gleam in her eyes that tells me she gets off on this as much as I do.
I lean back, stretching my arms along the back of the stool. “Come on, baby,” I coax. “Do it for your loving husband.”
Reagan rolls her eyes again but reaches for a bottle of whiskey. I watch as she climbs onto the bar with graceful ease. She straddles it, before her leg swings over with practiced recklessness until she’s right there.
Her shorts aren’t even obscenely short, but her sweet cunt is right in front of me and now all I want to do is to suck her clit into my mouth through the cotton.
Reagan grips my chin, dragging my eyes away from her center until I’m looking at her and she shakes her head.
“Be my good boy and open up.”
I open my mouth like an obedient disciple waiting for his holy communion. The whiskey flows in a stream from the bottle into my throat, burning and exhilarating all at once. Her eyes never leave mine as she pours.
“Fuck,” I croak after a moment, swallowing hard against the burn.
She sets the bottle down beside her and looks at me. “And now what?” she asks again.
“The slap,” I remind her, grinning up at her defiantly.
She raises her hand and brings it down across my cheek with surprising force.
The sting is sharp and immediate, but instead of pain, there’s a rush of adrenaline that courses through me. My grin widens as I reach up to touch my reddened cheek. “Fuck yes, that’s what I’m talking about.”
Her smirk is a wicked curve of lips, promising delightful torment. But I’m done with playing the obedient pet. It’s time to indulge in another fantasy that’s been lurking just beneath my skin.
My hands slide down to yank at the tie of her shorts. Shedoesn’t resist; instead, she lifts her hips slightly, as if daring me to do it.
I pull the cotton down and over her legs in one swift motion and then freeze. No panties. A growl rumbles from deep within my chest as I drink in the sight of her bare skin, glistening slightly in the overhead lights of the bar.
“Goddamn,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.
My hands move with deliberate slowness up her thighs, fingers ghosting over the soft curve of her skin until they hook into the neckline of her tank top. With one violent tug, I rip the fabric down, exposing those creamy tits I fucking love. Her hardening nipples stand out like targets begging for attention or punishment. I’m good with both.
Her breath catches just a fraction as I let my gaze roam over every inch of exposed flesh. My hands follow shortly after, palming her breasts with a roughness that makes her moan softly.
“Don’t forget the socks,” she murmurs, catching me off guard.
“Fucking socks stay,” I retort sharply, but with a chuckle. She might have forgotten who’s really in control here. But then...
I grab the bottle of whiskey off the counter and let a thin stream of liquid coat her chest before bending down and licking it up, paying special attention to the liquor on her nipples.
Once satisfied I’ve done my duty as her husband to make sure I got every last drop, I sit back down so me and my pussy can have a fucking conversation.
Pouring more than a stream, I watch as a goddamn amber liquid waterfall coats her mound and runs between her lips before I lean forward and suck at the tender flesh beneath.
