Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,29

week I was still single and not in a fake marriage with the appearance of being taken. Last week I was still Chief and Mrs. Frasiers’ greatest disappointment. Last week I was still Colleen Frasier, Esquire. Now I guess I’m Colleen Frasier Patrick, Esquire? No. No, I’ll keep Frasier professionally; too much paperwork to change things around. I’ll stay Frasier for professional use and adopt Patrick for personal use.

I continue to think about the small details of being married. Do I need to inform my bank? What about my automobile insurance? Probably. Should I get a ring? Do I even want to wear a ring? Well, I do like diamonds. I wonder if Brad will buy me a ring? Where will we live? Here, probably. I peek around the room, inspecting its size. This is a small house. I have a lot of shoes. Oh, where will my shoes go!

“Damn,” Brad holds onto me for dear life and grinds Mac into my butt—all thoughts of my beloved shoe collection forgotten as Brad dry humps my ass. I’m frozen, unable to move, contemplating rubbing against him. I want to rub against him and feel the friction I so need, afraid of what that might lead to.

“Baby,” Brad moans, leaning into my ear, “You feel so good.” His breath, hot on my skin, sends chills down my spine. I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. I hope he’s asleep. Wait… maybe I don’t want him to be asleep.

“Right there, baby,” he begins thrusting into my backside roughly. My breath catches. My heart speeds up. My body moves involuntarily, meeting his thrusts. The feeling is divine. This feels right and good and… so good. My brain is mush. I can’t bring myself to stop, even if I am encouraging my childhood best friend to sleep-hump me. Husband, he’s my husband; I try to reason with myself.

We move together and I can feel the dampening between my thighs. Brad’s hands wander and find purchase on my breasts. They’re covered by his large t-shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His large, masculine hands knead my tender flesh through the cotton shirt causing my nipples to harden almost immediately. I moan louder than I should and rub against Mac, who is nearly pressing against the very place I want him. If I just shift up a little…

“Uh,” Brad’s voice startles me. He sounds awake. I cringe and close my eyes in fear. I’m mortified. No matter my mental state, my body is still yearning for him. “Colleen?” His voice breaks off in a breathless squeak at the end. He’s panting. Wanting. Needy.

“Yeah?” I croak nervously. My eyes are shut as tightly as they can get. I can’t even. I can’t even. I don’t even know what I can’t even, but I damn sure can’t. Can’t focus. Can’t explain. Can’t excuse. Just can’t. All that I can comprehend is that I need him to squash this ache in the pit of my belly.

His hands are still on my breasts. I feel him shift behind me, though he doesn’t remove his hands and he doesn’t move away. It’s just that now… now Mac is exactly where I need him. I gasp. At least I think it’s a gasp. It felt like a moan. But I hope it’s a gasp. God I hope that was a gasp.

“What are we doing, pretty girl?” Brad leans down and runs his nose over the shell of my ear. My breathing is strained.

“I don’t know,” I admit. But I need this. I need him to not stop. I need this to continue.

“Brad?” I press myself even harder against his erection and I feel it twitch. We moan together, sliding against one another in urgent need. “Please don’t stop.” The words fall from my mouth and I can barely believe I’ve said it. Brad thrusts up against me roughly.

“Finally,” he mutters, turning me on my back and crawling over me. My legs part, on either side of his thighs, as he slides himself to right where I need him. Most of his weight is supported by his forearms, only his lower half presses against me, lined up against me.

Need takes over and I reached out and grab his neck, pulling him to me. I capture his lips with my own and we move together fluidly. Tongues meet and slide together. I’ve kissed Brad before. Probably a lot, but then we’ve known one another since birth. Kissing Brad has always been nice—great even. But this feels