“Such a pretty little slut. My fucking driver can smell your juices on my fingers as you blow me.”
I still for just a second, thinking that maybe his chauffeur can in fact smell me, but Tiernan pushes my head down with more force this time, making sure I don’t get sidetracked.
“That’s it, wife. Suck me off. Let me cum down your throat as you get off fucking my fingers.”
Cristo.
The words that come out of this man.
And what does it say about me that every time he says something lewd and deviously delicious like that, I only want him more?
In less than twenty-four hours, this man has corrupted me, body and soul.
Not an hour ago, I was considering praying for him, to keep him out of the sulfur-infested pits of hell, but maybe I should have been more concerned for my own soul’s salvation.
When he inserts another finger, I let out a hiss of discomfort, my walls still too raw from his monstrous cock defiling my innocence last night. He senses it immediately and pulls his extra finger away, making me puff out an exhale on his cock.
“Fuck,” he grunts, drawing circles on my clit. “You’re in so much fucking pain, and yet you’re disappointed you can’t do more than only ride my two fingers. Don’t worry, wife. Two fingers is all I need.”
And as if to drive the point home, he scissors his digits inside my core until it’s hard to concentrate on my mouth’s current task.
Tiernan doesn’t let up, fucking me with one hand while the other plays with my hair.
“All you want is to get fucked. Isn’t that right, acushla?”
I nod, spit and saliva running down the corners of my mouth.
“Do you still have your wedding dress?”
It takes me a good long minute to nod in answer to that out-of-left-field question.
“Good. I want to fuck you with it on one day. Have you look angelically sweet on your knees as you beg for my cock. I’m going to make sure to cum all over this gorgeous face of yours and then use your wedding dress to clean you off.”
The image he planted in my head is enough to tip me over the ledge, and before I know it, I’m cumming hard, my pussy clenching around his fingers, wishing it was his cock inside me.
“Fuck. Just a good girl,” he praises and I don’t have the heart or energy to reprimand him for his word choice.
“Look at me,” he orders, and even though it’s uncomfortable, I crane my neck as far back as it can go without taking his cock out of my mouth.
“You’re going to swallow my cum down to the last drop, aren’t you, acushla?”
I nod.
“You’re going to use that wicked tongue of yours and make sure my cock is nice and clean afterwards, aren’t you, my dirty little slut?”
Another nod.
“That’s my beautiful wife. Always so ready for my cum. Drink it all, acushla. It’s yours.”
He pounds into my mouth without mercy, provoking tears to stream down my cheeks. I can feel his dick swell painfully inside my throat before ropes of cum glide right down it. As promised, I drink it all up, and then clean his cock with my tongue until there isn’t a drop left.
He pulls me up by my hair, and crashes his mouth to mine, making me even needier than I was a second ago. His kiss is a battle. A war that I want no part in winning. I let him have all of me, and when he’s made sure that I’ve waved the white flag in surrender, he breaks our kiss.
He stares into my eyes as I stare in amazement into his.
His blue one, always darker than his green.
“Fuck John the Baptist,” he grunts, and gently cleans my tears away like I’m his most prized possession.
And for all intents and purposes, that is exactly what I am.
His to use and abuse.
But while that thought used to unsettle me, now all it does is arouse me.
We are all seated around the dining room table, eating a large roast accompanied by colcannon and paired with a shamrock salad, when Colin walks into the room.
“Col, my boy. I was starting to worry that you weren’t going to make it to Sunday lunch,” Niall greets affectionately.
“My apologies, Uncail,” he says, walking to the head of the table where his uncle is seated, looking both perplexed at me being here as well as troubled by it. “I got you a present.”
“A present? For me? But my birthday isn’t until March, lad. You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,” Niall explains at the same time Colin hands him a long plastic black tube.
Everyone remains silent as Niall gets up to his feet and uncaps the container. He tips it over and spreads out its content onto the table. My first impression of it is that it looks to be some sort of poster. No. The piece of paper looks older than that. Like it’s a treasured heirloom of some kind, passed down from generations.