Page 27 of Hostile Vows
Fuck!
I reposition the painful boner straining behind my jeans and head for the row of motorcycles lined up along the far concrete wall.
“This one is my favorite. It’s a custom MTT Turbine Streetfighter,” I tell her.
She eyes it, pretending to be nonplussed by the sleek black curves. “Nice,” she replies, her fingertips skating across the prickled skin of her porcelain forearms. “Are all of these yours?”
I chuckle, watching her gaze eat up the fleet of Midnight Range Rovers, a deep-purple Mustang, a quicksilver-colored Maserati, and a selection of high-priced motorcycles.
“Yeah. These are a few from my collection.”
“Of course, you have more.” Her eyes roll and I find myself chasing the ethereal circles, suddenly aware of the annoying way she hooks me in. “You have everything you could ever wish for.”
I’m before her in two hungry strides, grabbing her delicate wrists and yanking her into my chest.
“What the hell are you doing?” she growls after a brisk sip of oxygen.
“You’re right, Wifey.” The hoarseness of my voice gives away how horny I am right now. “I have everything I want…” My fingertips dance over her quivering belly, and I add, “Including a beautiful wife with a sassy mouth that fits like a glove around my dick.”
She pushes backward, except I’m too fast for her getaway attempt, my merciless grip still cuffing her wrist.
“It’s all about sex for you, isn’t it?” she huffs. “A power kick for the criminal who takes whatever he wants. Well, guess what, Husband? You don’thaveme. Not fully,” she spits out. “And youneverwill.”
The bitter undertone of her rant weirdly unsettles me. “I seem to remember those two little words you repeated—‘I do’—how they whispered out of your raw, fucked throat.”
Her lips contort into a venomous snarl. “They’re just words, Hotshot. We both know that. I doubt the high-and-mighty André would honestly pledge his devout allegiance to one woman. I’m not stupid… and I’mnotyours.”
She wrenches her arm, trying to get away, then flicks a leg out to unbalance me. Her fight stimulates unparalleled urges for a deeper connection. Overpowering her is easy when she’s smaller and so full of lies. Pointless lies that struggle to veil her thorny lust.
I sense the change in her movements, how she loves it when our bodies collide, and I refuse to let go. I’m roughly thwarting her amateur self-defense moves while she pretends my strength isn’t what she craves.
When I secure her waist and grind my knee into her pussy, she groans and growls, panting hard in a weak bid to show restraint.
Despite her game of resistance, she’s a worthy opponent. Her twisting torso and quick-thinking jabs pelt my leather jacket, clawing and fisting the t-shirt beneath to both push me away and pull me closer. She’s not scrapping for autonomy. No, she’s wrestling, the sparks flying from her skin to mine.
The fierce woman packs a superior punch. I’m proud of her gutsiness and aching to demolish it at the same time. Only this battle of ours has my pulse racing and my libido soaring. I’m on fire.
A female should know how to defend herself properly, especially a Souza wife. Unfortunately, I’m not the man who’ll tolerate this particularseñora'sabstinence.
In an effortless tackle, I pin both of her arms by her sides. The back of her head crashes into my shoulder as her chest rises and falls in fast breaths. She still squirms for freedom, but her courageous efforts are overthrown.
“Get the fuck off me, Dré!”
Aroused beyond comprehension, I lean into the side of her face, taking a second to inhale her natural fragrance that blends into my musky cologne.
“I hate to burst your bubble, SinéadSouza.” I intentionally drop her double-barreled title because she’s all mine. “There’s nowhere to hide from this.” My left arm snakes around the front of her, circling her entire torso. Locked in place, my opposite hand skates over the soft skin around her belly button, moving to the waistband of her pants.
“Dré…” My name bursts out in a strangled sigh. “Don’t…”
“Don’t what… stop?” I unfasten the flimsy button, hastily lower the zipper, and push my hand inside to find the wetness she wants to hide from me. “You don’t really want your husband to stop touching you; surely, you don’t?” My hunt for the truth is rewarded when I rub her swollen clit and she instantly moans. “It feels good… doesn’t it?”
The tone of my voice rasps from the back of my throat, thick and hungry. “Your flushed skin burns forme. This wet cunt wants me to claim it, to own it, and to fucking destroy your lies. I know you want me, Sin.” Her pelvis moves to seek out more friction, and her spine bows a fraction. “Admit it.”
“No…” Her head falls forward. “… surrender.”
I chuckle darkly, the unhinged rumble filling the dark corners of the fresh-aired garage. “I think your denial is what gets you off. You want the fight—the indecent rush of your new husband forcing you to do something naughty. Go on, admit it. Confess your dirty, dark secret, and I’ll give you what you crave in return.”
She gasps when I hook a finger and slip it inside her slick, warm pussy. “Oh, shit,” she pants.
