Page 47 of Desperate Measures

“Liam, please,” she begged.

A Volkov princess was beggingme, a fucking punk.

“Are you wet, Michaela? Did you soak this pussy for me, Wife?” I growled the questions.

“Please,” she whimpered, trying to flex against my still fingers.

“What? Tell me,” I said, watching her in the mirror, feeling her heat seep into my body.

She was so damn beautiful. Her hair tie had fallen out somewhere along the line, and those long chestnut locks cascaded over her shoulders in thick, glossy waves.

Eyes like obsidian flashed at me, and her pink-kissed lips parted as I tweaked her taut nipples beneath my fingers.

Her plump ass pressed against my dick, and I salivated thinking about the day I’d take her there.

I didn’t want to need her this much.

But the truth was, I didn’t think I could stop it. Not anymore.

This longing coursed through me like electricity. Charging my very body with the need to take her.

To join with her.

To make us one.

“Do you want to come, Wife? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, Liam. Please.”

“Husband. When I fuck you, you call me Husband,” I growled, spinning her around and backing her against the dresser.

I should have moved us towards the bed, but I was too far gone to care.

My wife’s cunt was dripping, and I needed to feel her convulsing on my tongue before I sank my cock into her tight heat.

“What are you—fuck,” she moaned as I sank to my knees and pulled her panties to the side, closing my mouth over her glistening sex.

“Liam!” Michaela gasped, and I slapped her ass and sucked hard, punishment for her forgetting.

“Husband—I mean, Husband,” she corrected herself and ran her fingers through my hair, tugging as I started to eat her in earnest.

I moaned at the flavor of her hitting my tastebuds as I licked and sucked and fucked her on my mouth, altering the course of my life forevermore.

No other woman had ever come close to affecting me this way. Michaela was one of a kind.

A lily among the thorns.

Or maybe a lilac, I thought and grinned as I shoved two fingers into her tight heat and lapped at her bundle of nerves.

I reared back, looking my fill at her quivering pink pussy, needing her bare.

She gasped as I tugged on her panties, ripping them at the seams, and lifting her legs so she was sitting on my shoulders and just leaning on the dresser.

“Goddamn, Baby. What a good wife. So fucking wet for your husband,” I growled, gripping her thighs and spreading her wide.

I licked her from her sweet little rosebud to her quivering clit, long, hard licks, like she was an ice cream cone on the fourth of July. I couldn’t stop for fear she’d melt right onto the floor.

It was a fucking compulsion, my need to consume her. She tasted so good. All lilacs and honey, dripping down my chin, coating my face.