Page 71 of Trouble in Love
Stilling, he ran his thumb across his bottom lip, then shook his head. “You did the wrong thing, Polly. Now shut the fuck up, get off the desk, and drop to those pretty little knees. It’s time to earn your husband’s forgiveness.”
Oh god. We both knew I’d come. That I would step toward him, my body quaking with want before yielding and kneeling at his feet. But what he didn’t expect was for me to slip my ass across the walnut finish till toes hit the carpet, drop and crawl to him on all fours.
“Fuck.” He groaned, taking a hold of his cock and stroking. “I could come just watching you. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
By the time I was at his feet, staring up through my lashes, he was almost whining, his skin flushed, glowing like a fucking Christmas tree. “Look at my wife. A picture of innocence wagging that round-as-fuck ass, taunting my aching dick that’s desperate to fill that tight little hole.”
“Luca,” I moaned, falling onto my elbows, almost bowing before him. As he continued to stroke himself, I kissed the scars running the length of his foot and sucked his toes into my warm, wet mouth.
“That’s it.” He groaned, fighting hard to stay in control … to be the taskmaster I never knew I needed and desired. “Such a good fucking girl. Now, make me proud and swap that toe for my cock. Let me see those lips stretch to take all of me.”
I wanted nothing more than to make him proud, to earn his praise, so I sunk my nails into the firm golden flesh of his thighs and ran my tongue to his ankle, taking a small bite that had him wincing deliciously. “Yes, husband.” Muscles clenched and flinched beneath my fingers as a series of lingering kisses were pressed to the insides of each leg, my pace teasingly slow, the tension building between us was torture of the best kind.
“Haven’t got all day, Princess,” he grunted, fisting my hair and pulling me up till his hard, weeping cock was slapping against my cheek.
“But we’re married now, darling. Doesn’t that mean we have forever?” Before he could reply, my tongue darted out and lickedthe bead of precum coating his tip. “Is this what you want, husband? Is this how I can prove what a good little wife I am?”
“Fuck yes. Open wide, baby.” With that, he popped his thumb in my mouth, guiding his cock over my lips as his free hand fisted my hair, holding me in place as thrust his hips. I moaned around his velvety smooth, thick and long cock. My gag reflex kicked in almost immediately, but I swallowed it away and took him in as deep as I could. “Pol.” He whined, “You’re so perfect I could cry.”
Wrapping my fingers around his base, I nodded, hollowed out my cheeks and bobbed up and down while gliding my tongue along over the protruding underside vein. God, he tasted so good and smelled so fresh and clean and sexy. Every part of me but especially my pussy ached for his touch as he grunted the praise I craved. “
Oh, baby. Oh god. I’m going to come. Fuck. I need to be inside you.” His moans of pleasure became words of action. I grumbled when Luca pulled his cock from between my lips but delighted when he bent and picked me up off the floor. “I need to feel that pretty cunt wrap around me.” With as much care and love as one can be tossed with, he threw me face-first into the pile of pillows covering the bed. Over my shoulder, I watched him drop his knees to the mattress and crawl over my body, stopping when his bare, still-dripping-with-water chin aligned with mine. He slowed like he was going to lean down and kiss me, but instead, he wrapped his strong, calloused hands at the base of my neck and pressed my cheek into the mattress. I gasped, my desperate ass automatically popping up, just begging for him to rut between my cheeks. “Princess, I’m going to eat you out till you can take no more. I’m going to fuck your cunt till I can’t breathe. And then…”
“And then,” I whimpered, grinding back against him.
“Then, I’m going to do it all again.”
Polly
Two days was all it took for me to confirm two things.
One. A life spent sitting around waiting for my man or woman to come home was not for me.
Two. Nevada sucked big hairy, sweaty balls…. unless you gambled or drank like a fish, had limitless cash, or pole danced for a living, something I was asked to do by several random drunks on the street. Walking the strip and working out twice a day in the hotel gym was hardly thrilling, and pretending to be fine, when really really, really not being fine, was exhausting.
Conversely one amazingly brilliant thing, actually two, balanced those negative out. First and most significantly, in the past, without the constant distractions of three jobs, clubbing, and caring for my niece, the anxiety that fueled me would turn inward, consuming me. Every mistake ever made analyzed, each wrong path re-examined, every fear obsessed over. Nails were destroyed. Skin picked at. My body starved.
Now, even while bored shitless, I was coping. There had been self-reflection but no inner monologues demanding my demise. No self-harm till I bled. No brutal mirror assessments till I cried.
Something was different, and one of thosethingswalked through the suite door at the end of the day, sweaty yet somehow deliciously stinky, his hair a mess, his dimple smile firmly fixed, and literally sweep me off my feet. Without fail, he would kiss me till I couldn’t breathe, ask me how my day was, actually listen, then carry me over his shoulder to our room and make me come at least three times.
Luca hadn’t fixed me. The concept of someonefixinganyone was as ludicrous to me as Evie and I becoming besties again. No one, no matter how golden their dick is, can solve your problems for you. But as I was quickly discovering, someone, maybethe one, can hold your hand if you decide it’s time to do it for yourself.
As life changing as my sexy beast of a husband was, he wasn’t my only source of light. I made a friend … and I liked her. A lot.
“Did you talk to your Mum yesterday?” asked Tilly, the wife of Rory Kattchikov, Luca’s teammate and captain. As an English woman and the only non-American spouse, she’d recognized the glazed-over look of a confused new-to-hockey woman during our first hotel corridor conversation and kindly taken me under her wing. We’d had brunch at a snooty cafe the past two days, and it was weird. I kinda liked her and felt she could become a real … gag … friend.
“Nope. I did talk to Piper, though. She’s so cute. She asked me if I was staying close to Sesame Street. When I said no, she whined,Damn it!Then came back with,”Oh, well, what about Disneyland?”
“That sounds like a fair representation of this country’s best attractions. That and the hockey guys, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, and with a clink of her mimosa and my straight juice, we fell into easy conversation about the driving force behind the boys in our lives.
“I’d never seen a game in my life before I met Rory.” She said, “but I love it now. The strength and speed of the guys, the dedication and hours they put in, the thrill of seeing all that hard work pay off. It’s …” Her voice trailed off as she stared into the distance.
“You really do love it, don’t you?”
Her lips quivered into a smile. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
