Page 86 of Secondhand Soul

“Wife?” I turn my head in shock, only to find my hands pinned to the shower wall and Lazarus’ wide chest pressing into me. His thick cock with its prominent veins and stitches that I feel, not see, splits me, burrowing in deep enough to make me cry out as my walls bulge and strain around him. “I...” How does he know that?

I’m not some little Susie homemaker. I’ll never be one of the 1950s domestic divas running around in heels and pearls, but... I guess I’d like to be married, to have that cherished position of wife, to be united with a man who I know will take “until death do us part” as a sworn oath, not a promise to be kept “only as long as she’s watching.” I was a mistress and escort long enough to grow to hate that, to hate men in general.

So yeah, some part of me dreams of being safe enough and loved enough to be someone’s wife, and somewhere, in the vague, foggy “someday, one day...” realms of my brain, I tack on the words “and mother.”

But all Lazarus sees me as is his pretty monster on the inside, pretty human on the outside. A good match. Someone to share his life with.

But wife?

“How did you... We didn’t... I never said—” I blush and stammer as Lazarus’ hands knead my breasts, working the nipples into stiff points that he rolls slowly between his thumbs and forefingers, pulling almost too hard, keeping me on the edge of pleasure and pain, a perfect line that matches the stretching fullness in my pussy.

“You said you wanted me to be your husband.”

I want to argue that I didn’t, but Lazarus thrusts in deep and hard enough to lift me off my tiptoes, spearing me on his rigid length, making me twitch and moan helplessly.

“Pretty little ragdoll. Look at you, getting all wet on my cock. Every time I tug these sweet berries,” he twists and tweaks my nipples as his lips press my ear, “your pussy gives me an extra long squeeze. Hungry pussy. Hungry little berries, so sweet and ripe. Trying to milk my cum into that hot little haven, aren’t you?”

I nod, helpless and as hungry as he said—and loving it. I’m relaxed with him, at least in my emotions. My body is like razor wire, ready to snap.

“You said I was the kind of man you’d want to be your lover. Husband. Soulmate. Slipped out of those lips during that speech you just made. I loved that speech. I love every word. But that line? It was more shocking than the rest. Weird, huh?”

I nod, but honestly? If he told me the moon was made of cookie dough and the sun was a tangerine, I’d nod. My body is using all its brain power to process the fullness of his thick cock in me and the way my pussy is spasming harder with each tug on my tits and jerk of his thighs.

“So, if you want me for the husband, that means two things. One, you’re crazy.”

“Nu-uh.” Words puff out as sharp bursts of air as his fingers abandon one breast and come to tease my clit.

“Two, that you must want to be the wife in this scenario.”

Oh, what the hell? I’ve almost died a couple of times in the last month, and my life is completely turned upside down. I might as well admit the silly little fantasies I carry around under knives, grief, and mob contracts. “Uh-huh,” I pant.

Lazarus’ teeth nick my shoulder. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very clear. Do you want that, Victoria? The truth. I’m okay with anything; I just want—”

“It’s stupid to want something like that, but yes, I want it! I want you and me, and it’s fast and too soon, and I don’t fucking care. Just fuck me and love me and keep me!” I demand in a burst, taking charge of this orgasmic ride I’m on. I squirm lower, and my hands find the corners of the shower tile where the walls meet the tub. Tiptoes taut, legs braced, ass up, my pussy swallows his wide, almost-too-big cock whole, working in at a steep angle that presses him so deep that I feel cramps in my abdomen start, and then get blotted out as we move together.

“Ooh, fuck, Victoria. Look at you... You have no idea how hot you look with your slit swallowing my cock like that,” Lazarus hisses.

I know all the tricks, and I know what to say to make guys want me, to make them come, then come back with their wallets. I’m not proud of how I used to use that knowledge. I never used it in love.

Now I smirk a little as I think about how I’m going to spoil Laz, and how much I’m going to enjoy things I know actually feel good. “Wanna make my pussy feel even tighter?” I purr.

“Don’t think that’s possible,” he half-whimpers, voice strangled as I bounce back against him.

I take my hand from its perch, risking losing my balance, just long enough to squeeze my bottom. I run my forefinger suggestively around my tight asshole, teasing the pucker. “Where’s the body wash that was in here?”

I don’t have to say more. Lazarus sends a splash of it down my back and rubs it into my backdoor, his slippery fingertip pushing around the tight, sensitive bundle of nerves. “What... Do I just...”

“You fill it, and it’ll feel much tighter. And I like it. It feels good to be so full. That’s why they make little toys to keep your ass full while your pussy is getting pounded. And there are hundreds of things to do... Things for husbands and wives to do. Because sex feels good with that person, that special person.”

“I’ll always make it special. And good. This feels good, for real, right?” Lazarus checks, and that melts me. I’ve been with dozens who didn’t give a damn. I’ve been with a handful who liked to make it hurt.

“I want you in all of my holes, filling me up,” I moan and gasp when his finger presses past that tight outer ring and slowly sinks inside of me.

The world shrinks down to tight, full openings, and Lazarus’ erratic breathing.

My breathing.

My pussy leaking and burning with how full I am, the tremors in my legs starting from holding this tiptoe position and swaying under Lazarus’ intense onslaught of thrusts.