Oh, those words. No matter how many times he said them, they still struck at the very heart of me. I turned to face him, the parapet digging into my lower back, a thrilling jolt of adrenaline racing through me as I realized it was principally Julian’s arms keeping me from toppling over the edge.
He lowered his mouth to mine, and no truncated, businesslike kiss for him; he parted my lips and licked past my teeth, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that reminded me of how that tongue felt between my legs, and I sighed against him as my lower belly caught fire with want.
And then he stepped back and his hands were on my shoulders, firm and not to be denied, and then I was on my knees, the rough stone of the roof catching on the silk of my dress. I didn’t care. Let it be torn to shreds, let it be destroyed, all that mattered was my Julian, what he wanted. He took off his jacket and unknotted his tie, and then took off his shirt, and the fading light only served to highlight the flat, lean muscles of his stomach, the delicious V-shaped muscles leading into his firm ass and narrow hips.
I watched his cock slowly appear as he unfastened his trousers—the taut, straining head, the veined shaft—and then his hands were bracketing my face, and my mouth was full of him—the clean, soap smell of his skin, the slightly salty taste of his arousal.
I moaned at the taste and feel of him, at the rough way he fucked my mouth, shoving in farther than I thought I could take him, pulling out so fast that I barely had time to breathe before he pushed in again.
I missed this, I realized. I’d missed this so much and so deeply that I hadn’t been able to articulate it to myself, hadn’t been able to feel it as anything other than an empty restlessness in my soul. Julian was right—I had wanted him to reclaim me, I had wanted him to beat past all the minor burdens that came with changing into a mother and that added up, day after day, until they formed a wall that was almost impenetrable and dazzling in its height. I had needed him to break past that wall, tear it down brick by brick, and instead, he’d tried coaxing me over it, pampering me over it, when the real problem was that I couldn’t climb it on my own. And so we’d been on opposite sides of the wall, him growing more frustrated and desperate, me retreating into myself.
As he continued fucking my mouth, growling things to me—it feels so good and deeper, I need deeper—and my pussy grew wetter and needier, I thought about how unique this situation must be. Most women, I supposed, needed precisely the tender attentions that Julian had tried to give me after George’s birth. But I wasn’t most women. I’d needed this, I’d needed last night. I’d needed to feel his discipline raining down on my ass in a series of sharp, stinging blows.
I moaned again, remembering the spanking last night, and the vibrations from my throat made Julian moan too. He pulled out, his dick glistening. “Lie down,” he said hoarsely, and I did, my throat catching at the hungry way he got to his knees and dove for my skirts, clawing and pulling until his mouth pressed against my pussy in a searing kiss.
“Oh God,” I panted, falling back, my legs falling open in a rustle of silk and lace. “Julian, if you don’t stop, I’m going to—oh—please—”
He growled against my pussy, and I squirmed, panting, moaning, the sensation after so many days of deprivation too overwhelming to process. I could feel it, a tightening in my core, a cramping in my inner thighs, a quivering, poised thing ready to careen over the edge. And just as I felt it start to abandon itself to gravity and fall, he raised up, the monster, and wiped his mouth, and the climax hovered just out of reach.
I whimpered. He grinned.
There was no shirt, no tie, to grab on to, so I reached up and dug my nails into his arms, trying to pull him down to finish the job, and when he wouldn’t, I scratched my nails down his bare stomach as hard as I could. He hissed, the grin was gone, and then, without warning, he was on top of me, crushing me, his hand pinning my wrists above my head while his other hand was under my skirts, holding himself, positioning himself, and then there was the perfect, heavenly, sublime truth of his rigid dick filling me, claiming what belonged to him.
The minute he slammed into me, my back arched off the floor and I cried out into the twilight sky, and then I bit his shoulder to stifle the rest of my cries, not wanting the whole village to hear us. My teeth sent Julian into a frenzy, and he pounded into me with a ruthless cruelty that dragged my orgasm back to the edge, all the stronger for the serrated lines of pain that came along with it.
“Oh, I’ve missed this cunt,” he grunted, his hips flexing hard and fast between my legs. “I’ve missed making it come.”
I could barely breathe—each breath was driven out by the relentless stabbing of his cock as soon as it was drawn—and every muscle in my body was twined so tightly that I thought I would slice clean through myself with my own orgasm, and then he moved up my body just a few inches, just enough that his pubic bone ground against my clit with each thrust, and that was it. I came. I came with four months of listlessness and isolation behind it, with four months of tame, tender sex, and the brutal weight of him against my clit and the furious fucking he was giving my pussy washed it all away, until I was lost to myself, lost to the world, lost to everything except his cock filling me and the clenching, cramping waves of pleasure that it gave me. My climax ripped up through my chest and down to my toes, over and over again, and still he kept fucking me, fucking me right into my second orgasm.
“I’m going to come so hard,” he grunted. “God, I can feel it. I wanted to come on your face, but I have to come in this perfect pussy, I have to, because you feel so fucking good.”
His words sent me over the edge again.
He groaned as my body seized and shuddered around him for the second time, and then he thrust in so hard that my toes curled, and stayed there, swearing violently as he shot his come deep, deep inside, his cock throbbing hot and hard in my pussy as he emptied himself, giving me everything he had.
We came down slowly, a tangle of sweaty limbs and wrinkled silk, and his stubble brushed against my cheek as he hung his head, panting.
“Mrs. Markham,” he said in wonder.
“Mr. Markham,” I said back, also in wonder, because now that we were here, it was so hard to understand why we’d wasted so much time over there, in that murky, unhappy place.
He rose up on his arms to look at me and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. “Mine,” he murmured, and I nodded.
“Julian, I’m so sor—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “We’re here now, and that’s what matters.”
“But—”
He silenced me with a kiss, a long, loving kiss that made tears come to my eyes and at the sight of my tears, he started thickening inside me again.
“But what if it happens again?” I worried as he lifted his head and gave his cock an experimental thrust.
“Then we know where to find the answer,” he said, pulling out to the tip and stroking back in, each inch an excruciating delight against my sensitive inner flesh. “Between us. Like this.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“On your hands and knees, wildcat.”
