Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
She visibly swallows, so nervous at being caught. But caught doing what? Did she fall down a rabbit hole of a certain kink she discovered? Or even better—and God, I know how downright twisted I sound when I think this, but—had she gotten lost in all the Doms’ profiles, time slipping away as she imagined the possibilities of pleasure that each and every one of them could provide?
Fuck.
I’d kill to know this very second who sparked her interest and why. Is it one of the Masters of the whip?
Is it one of the Daddy Doms who’d have her curl up in his lap while he pets her pussy and tells her she’s a good little girl?
Perhaps something wilder, one of the Sadists who specializes in the more dangerous toys and equipment that I haven’t bothered to learn. She never showed much of an interest in any of that, since her pain tolerance is at a more moderate level than what those things would require. But maybe that’s the appeal—something above and beyond anything she’s experimented with before, to distract her, give her mind something else to focus on instead of the fact that it’s being wielded by someone other than me.
Or could it be the complete opposite? Did she try to find and stumble upon someone whose profile could be mistaken for my own? That would be very much like Savannah, to attempt to discover my doppelgänger amongst the members. She could pretend it’s actually me who’s thrusting between those soft thighs all while she looks over at me like she described last night, across the room in the shadows.
I stifle a groan at the possibilities fueling my dark desire, making me crave it even more. I don’t give a fuck what she chooses or who she picks for it to happen with. All I care about is seeing her honest enjoyment in what- and whoever it is.
My curiosity is still fired up, because this is my wife, and anything that could make her look so frazzled with arousal is something I damn sure want to know about. To keep in my back pocket for future use. To whip out on a rainy day when nothing else seems to be working. But above all, just because I crave to know everything that makes my woman tick.
She finally finds her voice to respond. “I guess I just lost track of time.”
I lift a brow at that non-answer. “Don’t play coy, Savvy. What did your attention snag on that has you so… worked up?”
I use a term that doesn’t give away that I know exactly what her pussy must feel like right now—soaking wet, as its slickness is always parallel with how pink her cheeks are, and those are damn near inflamed. But worked up could mean anxious or upset as well, and I want her to be the one to pick which way this conversation is going to go. Will she continue to beat around the bush, avoiding giving me a straight answer as long as she can hold out, or will she bite the bullet and just give it up?
Both options amp up my desire to bury my face between her thighs so I can devour her dripping cunt. But her decision is what will determine the consequences of her disobedience, and I look very forward to delivering that punishment.
After which I’ll bury my face between her thighs so I can devour her dripping cunt.
Because after all, I always get what I desire.
She pouts, and the look is so adorable I wonder if I might be developing a Daddy kink of my own.
“But you’re going to be mad,” she murmurs, her eyes turning to what I assume is the computer monitor. Is she still looking at whatever got her so hot?
“There is nothing you could be looking at that would possibly make me mad, baby. I literally want you to fuck another guy. How could something you found on the site ever make me upset, if infidelity isn’t even a concern?”
That has her eyes snapping back to me. “You know I don’t like it when you call it that. If this were to ever happen, I wouldn’t—and I hope you wouldn’t—allow anyone to fuck me,” she protests heatedly.
But she can’t fool me. I know all the games she plays. I know all her tricks to try to get me to break, to backpedal and grovel. We’ve been married and in this dynamic for way too long to fall for that put-on haughtiness she wants me to believe is her being offended.
“Ahh, my little kitten. I remember those claws. Those and the ones you used to dig into me while you begged me to fuck… you.” I make sure to put extra emphasis on the offensive word in question.
But my comeback doesn’t have the effect I was expecting. No, I thought she’d argue some more, let the bratty side of her out to play. It had been locked up tight for so long I nearly forgot that’s who Savannah’s submissive persona started out as. Until she learned just how much she loved fully submitting to me without a moment’s fight. I both missed the brat and wanted to throw her back in her cage all at once.