Page 101 of Trouble in Love
“I can’t believe everyone thinksI’mthe bad influence when you’re the one lying on the floor of the coat closet waiting for me to smother you. Anyone could come in here and find us.”
“I know. Isn’t it hot?”
“...Yes.” With that, she dropped her knees to the floor, and her cunt—her bare cunt—was only an inch away. A guttural, carnal groan not heard since dinosaurs roamed the earth roared from my chest as she trembled above me, her legs already shaking and covered in goosebumps.
“Fuck, Polly. Did you marry me in a church while wearing no panties?”
She bit her finger and nodded, “I did.”
“Okay, now I’m begging. Let me taste you. I’ve been hard for hours.”
“Fuck, Luca. I love it when you beg for me.” Before I could reply, she slipped forward and sealed herself over my waiting lips.
I was ravenous. Feasting. Lost in her sweetness. In the way she bore down, moaning, clawing at my hair. Her aroma, her taste. Everything was perfect.
She was perfect.
Hockey commitments meant Pol had flown back to Australia ahead of me. We’d not seen each other for a week, which was long enough to be considered a form of torture, and this—me eating her out in a closet while our families danced to ABBA on the other side of a thin chipboard door—was the only thing that could ease my suffering.
My cock may not have felt the same. Desperate for her touch, it throbbed against my zipper, leaking as I watched my sexy, confident girl push down the neckline of her ivory dress. Her breasts spilled free, bouncing as she rocked with her head tossed back, hair spilling free from her braided hair. She cupped one in each hand, played with her nipples, called out my name, and how she’d missed me, and how much she loved me over and over as I licked and sucked.
Perhaps my muffled groans or the way my hips were thrusting up into nothing gave away my pain and need for release because Polly suddenly stilled, leaned forward, and planted her palms on the carpet. “Wait! This isn’t right.” Her glorious boobs dropped into my face as she slipped back to my chest, making a mess of my shirt before swinging her left leg back over to join the right.
“No, Princess, why?” I gasped, immediately typing to pull her back onto position.
“I want you to come in my mouth while I come in yours.”
Who was I to argue? Seconds later, my cock was free, her lips were closing around the red and glistening head, and she was straddling me in reverse. My final words as her pussy again brushed over my mouth? A muffled, “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
From there on it was a masterclass in chemistry. A symphony of sex. Polly sprawled out on top of me, her hands and warm wet mouth working me over, taking me to the back of her throat, moaning and gagging. And me, licking her clean from front to back, tongue fucking her soaked pussy, swallowing every drop she gave me.
The world outside the door disappeared. There was no party. No guests. No cake waiting to be cut, no speeches left to make. It was just her and me. Me and her.
My beautiful wife and her husband.
Time melted into nothingness. We were consumed by each other. I begged for the feeling to last forever, but when she cupped my balls and slipped her free hand around the base of my cock, pumping in time with her bobbing I knew I was done.
She was close, too. I could feel it in the quiver of her legs, the wild pace of her rolling hips. “Come,” I demanded right as I sealed my lips around her clit and fingered her ass.
“Luca!”
That was it, her throaty cry sent a bolt of heat down my spine and directly into my cock and we both felt it, both moaning before exploding inside each other’s mouths, our hips bucking as we drank each other and releasing while riding the ultimate high.
As soon as I could move, I was reaching for Polly’s limp, spent body and turned her back to face me. Her mussed hair, red cheeks, and sated smile were the best wedding gift a hockey man like me could ever receive.
“I still can’t believe you arranged a Greek Orthodox wedding with three hundred guests in Byron Bay from New York,whilecaring for a baby. It’s pretty impressive, Tedward.”
“It’s impressive as fuck, is what it is. I’m seriously reconsidering my future plans to be a recording artist/stay-at-home icon. I think international celebrity wedding planning is a more realistic ticket to a better life.”
Asher, who was sitting beside his man at the bridal table, with their baby girl Harriet bouncing on his knee, cleared his throat. “Exactly what part of your life are you wanting to improve? Your husband, your daughter, the multi-million-dollar Brooklyn home we share?”
Witnessing Teddy Kim flustered and speechless was a rarity, but oh so worth the wait. “Shit!” he shouted, pointing before jumping to his feet and darting away. “Is that Chris Hemsworth?”
Asher smiled a smile of true love while watching Teddy run. “I’ve never seen him move so fast, and I’ve seen him chase down Anderson Cooper’s town car in a snowstorm.”
“Did he catch him?” I laughed.
Signaling for me to wait, Asher raised his hand, pulled out his phone from his pocket, and began to scroll. “Of course he did.” He turned the screen so I could see the shot of a beaming Teddy hugging a certainconcernednews anchor. “It’s Teddy. He can do anything.”
