Marital Bitch(39)

“Please,” I beg. She smirks. What just happened here? She kisses me, holding on for dear life. I lose myself in the kiss, forgetting what we were talking about or why.

“What was that, pretty boy?” she whispers, her teeth nipping at my ear.

“Please,” I whisper roughly, my hot breath ghosting on her neck. This woman is driving me insane.

“Okay, pretty boy,” she giggles, “Take me to bed.” She pinches my nipple again sending a shock down to Mac. I’m so hard it’s nearly painful. I’m distracted and not completely listening to her, but I think she just made me beg her. She’s sneaky, always has been.

I shake the confusion away and hold her tightly against me as I rush us through the living room and up the stairs. By the time we get to the top of the stairs, I’m panting, but it’s not because of how much I want her. I don’t care how skinny a woman is, she’s still heavy after a flight of stairs. I walk us into my room—I guess it’s our room now. Eyeing the phone, I decide that blasted thing is not going to ruin this for us again. Reaching around behind Colleen, I fumble, pulling the chord out of the wall. I hear plaster cracking. Crap. I’ll have to fix that later.

We tumble onto the bed in a frenzied mess. We push and pull at each other’s clothes, unable to contain ourselves. Before I know it, I have her in nothing but her bra and panties. Both are white, plain, and so perfectly Colleen. My shirt is off, thrown somewhere across the room. My pants are unbuckled and Colleen’s right hand is so very close to Mac. She just needs to move her hand a little to the left.

And as though God has opened heaven’s gate, rays of light shine through the clouds and her fingers gently stroke Mac. I think I hear angels singing. Her gentle stroke with the back of her fingers only lasts a moment. Just as Mac and I are trying to control ourselves so we don’t embarrass ourselves before we can even get in the holy land; Colleen wraps her hand around Mac and gives him a gentle squeeze through my boxers.

“So,” Colleen says, “you’re on deck, Patrick.” She is absolutely beautiful, lying on my bed, face flushed, chest heaving; and the best part is that she’s here for me. I laugh because she’s talking baseball and she knows what that does to me. The one thing in our entire lives that we have never argued about is the Red Sox. We both love our baseball—and thank God, too. That’s a deal breaker for me.

“Does that mean I get a practice swing?” I chuckle while kissing her neck. “You know, just in case I foul it off the first time?” Her body shakes with laughter.

“I’ll give you three strikes to get it right. You think you can handle that?” I reach beneath her, undoing her bra and tossing it over my head. I’ve seen her breasts before but this is different. In the past it was either on a dare or by “accident” or she was drunk and, well, I’m no saint—and then that one prom night. But this, here and now, is more than I’ve dreamed for. It is one thing to imagine pretty girl and it’s quite another to have her here. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, just to have her.

My hands each claim a breast, holding them gently. I take a moment to get a feel for the softness of her skin before I begin to massage her nipples. Her eyes are trained on mine, never wavering. Her breaths are coming in short pants, her lower half writhing on the bed in response to my efforts; but her eyes—they never leave mine. This doesn’t feel like anything else before. I guess this is making love?

I lean down, holding myself up on my elbows, and kiss her. I want to tell her that I love her. I want to tell her that she means the world to me. I want to tell her how long I’ve waited for this. But as long as I don’t know how she feels, I’m going to keep that to myself.

Our kiss turns from gentle and slow to rough and frantic. Her body shudders with every touch, she’s so very ready and I haven’t even gotten down to her aching core yet. I reach down to her panties and tug at the side. She lifts her butt up and helps me shimmy them down over her hips. I reach down, my fingers caressing her folds. She is wet, swollen. My thumb makes circles over her clit as I slip a finger inside of her.

“Oh, shit!” she shouts, so loudly in my ears that I swear they’re ringing. Goose bumps appear on her damp flesh. I slip another finger inside as I pump in and out of her.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I whisper against her lips as she clamps around my fingers. I readjust my hand and curl my fingers inside of her as she shakes beneath me. I feel smug. Like a god who just created a new planet. I feel powerful.

And then, as her body is still shaking from her orgasm; she grips Mac again, and I’m putty in her hands. With frantic need she pushes my boxer briefs down and with them, my pants fall to the ground. She pulls my erection closer to her entrance.