The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(74)

My husband shrugged off his jacket. It dropped to the ground before he literally ripped his shirt apart as if it was paper, and I could hear buttons rolling and skittering along the floor as he discarded the shreds of material. He kicked his shoes off. For the first time since that night in the dressing room, I was exposed to that glorious torso of his, the inked skin and masculine lines.

Just as inside the ring, his every movement was artwork. Muscles flexed and rippled as he mounted the bed and walked himself forward on his knees, distorting his tattoos one after the other.

My mind was racing with thoughts running too fast to properly comprehend. I was on a bed. With a man. And he said he was going to fuck me until I screamed.

That combination of facts had my heart thundering in my ears. I tried to tell myself that it was my wedding night, but the answer always came back, yeah, but it’s fake.

If I’d been willing to give up my chance at escaping my past, I could have put a stop to this. I could have given back the money, lost my job, dropped out of college, and gone home.

The terror, playing a cruel game of tug-o-war with lust in my mind, was telling me maybe that would have been a better idea. Yet, Austin’s washboard abs were right in front of me now, and I seemed to have to drag my eyes up across an endless expanse of masculine perfection before I was looking at his face again, fueling the lust side of the battle.

I’d let my hair down figuratively and literally during the wedding reception, and Austin reached down to take a firm fistful of it at the back of my head. He gave me a short, sharp, shake before stroking my cheek and pushing one finger into my mouth, using the tip to draw a little circle on my tongue.

“You are mine. In this bed, in any bed, you do exactly what I say.”

There was no question, no review of my understanding, just his unbendable will and a few statements of fact. My libido was kicking the hell out of its little cage, telling me to suck that finger like a hard dick and then lean forward and lick those abs, wanting me to give the very core of my being to the bad boy of MMA.

All this pure, unapologetic, man in front of me, I wanted it all. I couldn’t possibly handle it, but I wanted it all.

My skin was tingling in chaotic excitement. Every shift of the bed under me, every movement of my wedding dress, and most importantly the pull of my hair against my scalp and the shallow penetration of his finger in my hot wet mouth, sparked electric shivers that bounced around and fed off one another.

With my panties still halfway down my thighs, there was nothing at all stopping an errant trickle of my slippery juices from tormenting me. I could feel a single droplet slowly making the short journey downwards. With Austin straddling me and the wedding dress in the way, there was no escape from it, from him, from the tiny torturous pleasures.

I breathed in excited little pants around his finger, and pushed my thighs together as much as possible, desperate to scratch that itch. Looking up, I could see Austin watching me, drinking my inexperienced sexual desperation up like the elixir of youth.

He took his finger from my mouth and reached for my arm, pulling it until he could grasp my wrist again, taking control of what I touched as he had in the dressing room. This time though, instead of a tour of impeccable muscular structure, he placed my hand on his inner thigh

With a start, I tried to yank it back as if I’d been bitten, but Austin wouldn’t let me. Under my palm, then in my hand as he made my fingers curl around it, was his most intimidating muscle yet.

I let out a slow, shuddering, breath, and I swore the muscles in my pussy fluttered. He made my hand stroke up and down so I could feel its slowly increasing size and the hint of the ridge near the tip.

“Good girl.”

When Austin gave me that simple praise, I felt a surge of relief that competed with my excitement for a few seconds. To be in a situation like this, to become a… sexual being, for the first time. To not only avoid the terror and shame I was used to my whole life, but to have a man like Austin appreciate that side of me, was nothing short of magical.

My brow furrowed. There it was again. My pussy muscles fluttered, then once more. One by one, my other muscles clenched as that notion of an itch being scratched grew and grew until it was beyond any comparison.

A flush rose on my chest, up my neck, and made my cheeks warm with the rush of blood. I heard myself moaning and whimpering, louder with each hitched breath, before all sounds were drowned out by the thundering of my heart in my ears.

In a panic, I realized I was having a full-on orgasm without having even been touched. I tried to part my legs, to stop any stimulation of my clit, but it was too late. A lifetime of sexual repression burst the dam and I came right in front of my new husband.