Page 119 of Devil's Vows
I run a fingertip over one, finding it brittle, sticking to my skin, and when I raise it to my lips, the taste is all him…salty, sweet, with a hint of bitter. It’s wasted here against the glass wall. I bet he’d have no qualms coming in my mouth, letting me swallow his essence. The mere thought shoots desire through my body. I ride my finger deeper into my mouth, savoring his taste, mimicking what his cock would do if I were to kneel and worship him.
The visual of him jerking off floods my mind, and all I can think of is having him here with me as my hand slides between my legs where my clit is already swollen and I’m wet with need. If I had him in my mouth, my pussy would feel empty, wanting him, yearning, craving. But I’d still be able to touch myself and my husband would encourage it, even.
I bet Ivan would fill me with his fingers, his fist, toys he’d surprise me with. I’m pulsing, savoring the ramp-up to release, visuals of us flitting through my mind. I’ve closed my eyes to savor the moment, but as my fingers circle my clit, I open them to find and harvest with my tongue…only to spot the hidden camera.
Oh my God.For a moment, I falter. He has beenspyingon me. Through a small lens buried in the arm of the wall-mounted make-up mirror. This is why he knew about the call.
And he had the audacity to callmeaspy!
I should be mortified and embarrassed, but something primal takes over.He has been watching me…maybe desiring me, even fantasizing.At the thought, the need to find release bulldozes me.
The possibility that his security crew might be screening the footage, too, enters my mind, but my husband is possessive. Nobody else is seeing this footage. He alone has been monitoring me.
And then one question thunders through my mind, sweeping away all other thoughts:what would Chiara do?
She’d give him something to watch.Obviously.
Suddenly, all I want is to orgasm while the camera is on me. For his sake, I hope it’s recording, because this is going to be quick. The idea of him watching me as I lick his cum off the shower glass, giving him a full frontal of my breasts and sex as I pleasure myself is at the same time so naughty, forbidden, and utterly erotic that I feel the tightening in my core, the ripples of pleasure that would ride me there, the release bellowing in like a storm.
I lean with my free hand against the shower wall to steady myself as my hips grind in time with my fingers, and my heart is beating so fast in my chest, I feel it. The rise. The tsunami. The freedom.
Thisisfreedom. I might be locked up for life in this compound, I might die tomorrow, but at least I’ve tasted this.
And I’ve given him something to remember me by.
At that thought, I lean in and lick the glass wall, where my husband’s cum has been waiting for me to do just this. I shatter on tasting him, licking at the spread he’s left me on purpose.
I ease down from my high, legs quivering, feeling like a fucking queen. I open the faucet, run it for a bit until warm water rains down. With a little wink to the camera, I shoot him a smile and turn my face into the spray.
I was a good girl, wasn’t I?
61
IVAN
I have my phone open, standing by the coffee machine. Behind me, the girls are busy with…who the fuck cares? Sprinkling Lucky Charms all over the floor? Spilling gallons of milk and swimming in it?
Go for it. I’m out for the count.
On my phone’s screen, my wife—my beautiful, gorgeous, innocent wife—is licking my cum off the shower’s glass wall as if she’s eating a fine Italian gelato. I’m rock-fucking-hard, and then shewinksat me.
She fuckingwinksat me.
I’ve been caught out and smile at her being so playful, but I’m fucking done.
When Yuri walks into the kitchen, I just shoot him a look. “You’re in charge. Look after the girls, and nobody—nobody—comes to our part of the house and disturbs us, understand?”
He nods slowly. “Okay. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” For the first time in a very long time, things actually seem right. “I’m going to get fucking busy with my wife.”
“A dollar for the swear jar, Papa!” Irisha chimes in.
But I don’t even ruffle her hair. I’m up the stairs two at a time.
As I walk into Gabriella’s room, the shower faucet turns off. I don’t knock. I just swing the door open and walk into the bathroom. She freezes where she’s reaching for a towel.
“No.” My instruction is clear and simple.
