Page 89 of The Butcher's Wife
“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” he asks.
“No,” I answer sharply. I blow out a long stream of air and turn, placing a hand on Dom’s arm as my ribs distend outward from the malignant anger inside. “Tonight, I want a distraction.”
The city lights create a glittery illusion in his dark eyes.
When I’m finally sick of the sad, pitying look in his eyes, I decide for him, shouldering past him and setting off toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”
If he hesitates, I don’t turn back to check as I go to our shared bedroom, standing in front of the ottoman at the foot of his bed. I count to three and turn.
I smother the relief that sparks through me at seeing he followed. He stands in the doorway, the only light comes from the half-closed door in the bathroom, giving him the ominous shadowing of an intruder in a horror film.
He said I could tell him what to do, any day of the week—time to test that.
I nod toward the cushioned seat. “Sit.”
He doesn’t move. “I don’t think this is what you need right now. We can talk?—”
“You said you’d give me a distraction if I asked for it,” I snap. “Was that a lie, too?”
“I never lied to you.”
I scoff a laugh. Everyone lies. I jerk my chin to the ottoman. “Then sit.”
His jaw ticks, but finally, he listens, brushing past me to sit on the ottoman and clamp his hands on his knees.
I slip one leg over his and then the other until I’m straddling him, my hips already aching from our workouts and his width. When my pussy presses against his cock, through all the layers of clothes, we melt into each other—the natural reaction of two people who are attracted to each other.
Dom leans back, resting his elbows on the mattress behind him, watching me expectantly in the darkness. I can’t stand the way he looks at me, like he’s seeing past my skin and bones into something deeper.
I don’t want him to discover me. I’m trying to get lost tonight.
“I want you to make me feel good.” I flick his top shirt button, and his eyes spark with interest. “And I’ll take a button off for each time you do.”
This, at least, is simple. Dom knows how to follow orders, and I know perfectly well how he can please a woman. For the rest of the night, I’m not a daughter or a wife or a sister—I’m just a woman who wants to forget herself in a man.
He lets me push his hand down until his finger brushes against my slit. Like a switch is flipped, he spurs into action, stroking two fingers against me and slipping down enough to rub gently against my clit. Simple, straightforward pleasure rolls through me at his soft touch. I unbutton his top button, and he thrusts me into the air with his hips as he adjusts his seating.
Tugging my bra down, I shove my breast forward. “Suck, and I’ll take off another button.”
If he thinks I’m too demanding or cold, he doesn’t show it as he scoffs a laugh, opens his mouth, and latches onto my breast. I groan and arch against him, filling his mouth as I work down two more buttons of his shirt while his tongue laves my nipple.
“I need another finger,” I moan in his ear.
He grunts in response and slides his fingers through my slick to press into my entrance. His other hand travels eagerly along my body. Squeezing my hip, rubbing against my back, sliding down my hair. This, at least, is real—the way he makes my body feel.
“Now,” I say harshly and buck my hips up to swallow his finger. I barely remember to unbutton another button. Two more to go. “Ah,fuck. Just like that.”
He pumps into me as his hips chase the same movement beneath me, rocking me up and down like the swells of a boat on the ocean.
“I want you to work another finger into me,” I hiss into his ear. “And then go hard. I’m close.”
“Reginetta,” he says in a strangled voice.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. I can’t meet his eye as he slows to a stop. I grind against his hand, frustrated. “Just—just Annetta tonight. Please don’t stop.”
He kisses against my neck, and I’m grateful I can’t see his expression as he murmurs without resentment, “Whatever you say.”
His confident, liquid compliance helps build the pressure mounting inside me until it reaches its tipping point. I grab his wrist, cant my hips back for more friction on my clit, and explode onto his palm.
