Page 92 of The Stallion
SIXMONTHSLATER.
Dressed in nothing but a black lace thong and bra, I stepped out of the closet, nearly tripping over the set of heels that Dallas had carelessly left right in the doorway to the bedroom.
“Dallas?! What the hell?” I looked down to see my Louboutins from the night of my test, which looked just as new as the day he had first given them to me. And I knew what they meant without even asking the question. “Tonight? What about our dinner reservation?”
“We can still grab dinner. The faster we finish, the more likely we will keep our eight o’clock reservation.”
“Are the heels really necessary?” I groaned in protest, preferring to wear my black-heeled boots instead. While these were beautifully expensive—a statement piece. They were a bitch to walk in.
“What? You don’t like my style?”
“The wholehis and hersthing is cute… sentimental and all, but—”
“Then put them on and come here, wifey.” He perched himself on the bench at the foot of our bed, before spreading his legs and patting his inner thighs with an arrogant smirk.
I narrowed my eyes on my husband, he was constantly up to fucking something—namingly me.
Alright, I’ll play this game… again.
While slipping on each shoe, I didn’t remove my gaze from his, keeping a close eye on him to see if I could figure out his plan. When I was stable in my heels, I rolled my shoulders and moved to take a step toward him—
“Ah, ah. Stop right there.” I paused mid-step as he wagged a finger at me and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Crawl, sweet girl.”
You’ve got to be fucking joking…
“Dallas—”
“Wifey.”
“No, I—”
“Crawl… And if I have to repeat myself again, it won’t be a request.”
My thighs tensed as I felt myself growing hot at the way he spoke—the commanding tone forcing me to comply.
Fuck, how did he always manage to do this to me.
Without a reason that I could reasonably explain, I sank to my knees where I stood, my palms pressing into the plush carpet of theroom.
He curled a finger, beckoning me toward him, and I followed the order, like a bird on a wire with only one direction to go—forward.
“That’s my good, sweet girl.” I fought back the psychotic laugh, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip as I continued my prowl, dramatically rolling my shoulders with every move and swaying my hips with seductive swagger.
Are we seriously fucking doing this right now?
And why the fuck did my pussy just clench when he called me a ‘good girl’?
How is this so fucking hot?!
My sanity was screaming at the praise kink that he had inevitably unlocked, making it incredibly difficult for me to resist his charm. I should be mad at this, but he made it so fucking hard when all I craved day after day was for him to fuck me.
When I reached his legs, I propped myself up on my knees, dragging my palms down his thighs as he leaned back with my attention.
He looked so fucking good, in his dark wash jeans, and black T-shirt. I couldn’t resist him any longer. I reached for its collar and twisted the soft cotton fabric in my fist, pulling his chest toward me, with my hips pressed up against the bench, giving me extra leverage to counter his weight.
“Have I ever told you how fucking pretty you are when you crawl?” He mocked, a proud smirk slapped across his face like he fucking owned me.
Which he did, in a sense. But I owned him, too. Allfucking mine.
