Page 45 of The Marriage Blunder

I nodded, mute.

He kissed his way back up, licked the sweat off my sternum, bit the tendon at the base of my neck.

He held himself over me, bracing one forearm on either side of my head. He was a wall of muscle, but there was nothing heavy about the way he held me down.

He kissed my mouth, softer than before, then whispered, “You like that?”

I said, “Yes,” and hated how desperate it sounded.

He pressed his hips to mine, his cock sliding along my length, wet and hot. He ground down, just enough to make me moan, then pulled back.

He put his hand on my chest, right over the heart, and waited for me to settle. He said, “You want more?”

I could only nod.

He kissed me again, then knelt between my legs. He ran both hands up my thighs, spreading them, planting me open and exposed. He licked his palm, then stroked my cock with the wet, tight grip.

He looked up, dead serious. “Watch me.”

I did.

He took me back in his mouth, this time with more force, bobbing faster, hands pinning my hips so I couldn’t thrust. He fucked me with his mouth, and all I could do was grab the pillow and bite down, hard, to keep from yelling.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. He hummed, and the vibration shot up my whole spine. I tried to hold back, but he wasn’t going to let me.

He reached up, tweaked my nipple again, and that was it—I was gone, shooting hard, the whole world strobing to white. He swallowed, every drop.

He sucked through the aftershocks, milking the orgasm for every possible flicker. He eased off, then crawled up to kiss me, slow, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

He held my face in his hands, thumb brushing my cheekbone, and said, “That’s two.”

I laughed, or tried to, but all that came out was a broken exhale.

He lay down next to me, wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulled me in. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, still shaking. He ran a hand through my hair, slow and lazy, as if untangling me from every bad memory I’d ever had.

Neither of us spoke.

The only sound was the city outside and the echo of my own pulse, steady and unhurried for the first time all week.

I was wrecked. In the best way.

And Kenneth looked at me like he’d just finished his favorite meal and was already thinking about dessert.

And, apparently, he wasn’t done with me.

Even with the world narrowed to sweat, pulse, and the aftertaste of skin, Kenneth somehow found the reserve to flip me back onto my stomach, push my thighs apart, and fuck me again—harder, rougher, his hands digging into my hips like he was staking a claim.

I was so open I barely felt the stretch, just the raw, electric friction of him slamming home, balls slapping my ass, his cock so deep I thought I could taste it at the back of my throat.

He grabbed my shoulder, pulled me up, forced my back to arch as he pounded in.

I clawed at the sheets, the headboard, whatever I could reach. My voice, gone to sand, still managed his name: “Ken—fuck, Ken—”

He grunted, teeth bared, sweat dripping down onto my neck, chest glued to my back. Every thrust was a hammer. Every sound from him, a low animal growl.

I started to break. My legs shook, my ass clenched around him so tight it had to hurt, but he just groaned and fucked harder. I could feel another orgasm building, a pressure I’d thought was spent.

He reached around, grabbed my cock, jerked me in rhythm with his own thrusts. I was lost, completely, riding the edge, body reduced to a single point of sensation.