She laughed hoarsely. “It’s been almost three months since we, you know, made love. Don’t you want me anymore?”
“Listen. This has nothing to do with me being attracted to you. I am. But you just seemed so obsessed with making a baby it wasn’t about sex anymore. It was about me being a sperm donor.”
She thought of her calendar and all its little red x marks. Baby-making days. “I thought you wanted kids.”
“I do. But I want you more. I want us more. I don’t want sex to be a chore.”
“So you turned to porn?”
“I wanted to tell you this fantasy, but you were so preoccupied with getting pregnant, there never seemed to be an opportunity.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, Emmett. I’m sorry. You should have said something.”
He shrugged. “We were trying to start a family, and it seemed your number one priority. I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to let you down. Also, it’s kinda hard for a guy to tell his wife he wants her to be controlling when it comes to sex. It’s emasculating.”
She thought about how emasculated he must feel sitting next to her, next to his wife who was dressed in full-on fem-domme regalia, who had invested $400 in sex toys but had no idea how to use them.
Glancing at the jam-packed coffee table, she scanned the items she’d purchased that day. Edible massage oil, candles, and handcuffs. Nipple clamps and a vibrating cock ring. A ball gag.
“Oh, God. Emmett, I’m so, so sorry—”
“Don’t be. I’m glad you did this. We needed to talk.” Grinning, he leaned in to kiss her. He took his time, slowly licking her lips before pushing his tongue inside her mouth. Instantly her sex started to throb. Her body had always been so responsive to him. That had never changed.
He pulled back slightly. “But you know what?”
“Mmm?” she murmured against his lips.
“I gotta tell you that just sitting here next to you has made me so fucking hard, and it’s made me think of this one fantasy I’ve been having lately.”
Her breath hitched. She wanted him to tell her so badly she had goose bumps on her arms. “What is it? What’s your fantasy?”
He held up the paddle in his hand. “You don’t need this.” He grinned. “Not now, anyway.”
Her pussy dampened, and a wonderful shiver raced up her spine. “Tell me, Emmett. Please.”
He reached inside her thighs and touched the zipper of her left boot. “Maybe I should show you. How does that sound?”
“Yes. Please.”
He spread her legs and knelt between them. Unzipping the thigh-high boots, he placed soft kisses on the insides of her thigh, at the edge of her newly exposed fishnet stockings. Her trembling legs fell apart.
After the first boot was off he unzipped the other one and pulled it off her leg. Her foot wrapped in his hand, he looked up. “You’re beautiful, you know.”
“Stop it.”
“My beautiful wife.” He pressed his thumb on the arch of her foot. Hard. “You’ve had a hard day, miss. On your feet too much. I need to massage your poor feet now.”
Holy shit. Her husband had a foot fetish, too? She blinked but caught herself. “Oh, yes. You do. And call me ma’am.”
He raised a brow but then, “Yes, ma’am. Tell me how you like your massage.”
She slipped easily into the role. “First, take off my stockings.”
He slowly peeled one, then the other down her legs. She saw the way his breathing went off rhythm when she spread her legs a bit more, giving him a peek of what she had on under the short skirt, which was exactly nothing.
She tried to look stern and it was surprisingly easy. “Now, take off your clothes.”
He stood and stripped before her, removing his high-tops, his sweater, his T-shirt, his jeans. Her gaze fell on his erection, strong and hard and telling her everything she needed to know. He was loving this as much as she was.
She picked up the bottle of vanilla-scented massage oil and handed it to him. “Massage my feet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He dropped to the ground and lifted her leg. One hand encircled her ankle and the other started kneading her arch. Her tension drained away in a heavenly drift as he rubbed her heel, her arch, her toes. Her nipples tingled, strained beneath the vinyl bustier. She lifted her right breast out of the cup and beaded a nipple between her fingertips. She had no idea her feet were such a responsive erogenous zone.
He looked up, and his gaze landed on her exposed breast. His eyes went dark in the candlelight, his erection leaked a drop of white cream out of the tip. A powerful, erotic thrill hummed through her, making her nerves tingle. Because she was in charge now, and the rush of it took over.