My Husband, My Stalker - Jessa Kane Page 0,6

my womanhood with his thumb. “Do you understand?”

I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything when he’s touching me with such possession, but I capture his meaning. He’s going to make love to me with abandon—exactly what I want. What I need. I don’t want to think of my past or my trauma. I want to see and think about and feel only Christopher.

His thumb parts my folds and grazes my clit. “Do you understand, Jolie?”

“I understand,” I gasp.

“Good girl.”

Something about those two words set off fireworks in a secret, unknown part of me, sharpening my lust like the tip of a pencil. Good girl. They’re still echoing in my head when Christopher drops to his stomach and kisses my sex. Reverently. Breathing in and out against it, his hands coasting up and down my bare thighs.

“Knew you’d have a sweet, juicy, little pussy,” he rumbles, nudging me with his nose, groaning brokenly. “Savor this,” he says, his words muffled against my flesh. Is he talking to my womanhood? “Savor your last seconds of freedom. Because I’m never going to give you a moment’s peace again.”

As if my body already knows what he’s capable of, my fingers twist in the sheets, preparing—and he starts to eat me. With long, crude licks. Thank God I invested in a good home waxing kit, because it would be a travesty to miss a single stroke.

Oh lord, I’ve never done this. Never even come close. But instinctively I know there isn’t a man alive who could perform this task half as well. He’s obscene and cherishing. Nasty and worshipful. Those blue eyes bore into mine, lust clouding them, the wet of his tongue flashing in the light, dragging up through my sex and teasing my hotbed of nerves.

“Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” I whimper, tearing at the bedclothes.

I can’t breathe. The release that’s rolling in is a beautiful monster and it turns me into a creature I barely recognize. One who pulls a man’s hair and bucks against his mouth. One who rips off her own bra so she can clamp greedy fingers around her aching nipples. The monster snaps its teeth, digging into my lust and I go off, my body trembling wildly, pleasure spearing me deep, deep in the center of my body, making me rear up off the mattress.

“Christopher!”

My scream is still echoing in my bedroom when he lifts his head, moves up my body in a slow, purposeful crawl, his eyes black, chest heaving. “I could live off the perfect taste of you,” he says hoarsely, unzipping his jeans. “But we need to take advantage while you’re wet.”

I don’t understand. “What—”

He takes out his shaft and I suck in a breath, my legs closing instinctively.

Or I try to close them, but he blocks my progress with his hips, stroking that enormous appendage in a clenched fist. “No. Please don’t be scared of it.” He plants his free hand beside my head, leaning down to kiss me thoroughly, until I’m breathless, head spinning. “Once you’re used to this cock, it’s going to give you nothing but pleasure. You’re going to shake every time I walk into this fucking bedroom just knowing I’m about to put it in that tight-ass cunt.”

His words are rude. Disrespectful. They should outrage me.

Why am I nodding?

Why do I feel like this man has cast a spell over me?

I can’t tear my eyes away from the intensity of his stare, can’t do anything but open my thighs and welcome his domination. His nostrils flare with triumph at my compliance, his mouth capturing mine in a slow, wet kiss, his huge shaft pressing into me, not taking no for an answer from the resistance of my body. I cry out into his mouth, but he only advances further, deeper, growling into our kiss. “Tight baby girl,” he grits out, punching his hips forward slowly. “Aren’t you a snug little virgin? So fucking sweet around my dick. Shhhh. I promise it’s not going to hurt forever.”

I’m sobbing, but it’s more from emotion than pain.

I can feel myself being possessed by this man.

I don’t have an inch to breathe or worry or even think. There is just Christopher blocking out the world around me, filling the cracks in my soul and demanding more. More.

There are ripples of hurt in the vicinity of my womb, but they dull the more he kisses me, our lips growing hungrier, his hips beginning to flex, to push forward and back.

“Does it feel better now, Jolie?”

“Yes.”

Visibly