We exchange a silent conversation with no more than a glance, and I know Lark understands that she can say whatever she wants. Whatever she feels. She can be whoever she wants to be. I will take her in any version of herself she’s willing to give.
My voice is as dispassionate as I can manage when I ask, “What are you?”
“Your whore.”
“Then get down on your hands and knees.”
Lark slides off the bed, gets down on her hands and knees, and waits. And waits. And waits.
I take the blade from my pocket and unhook my stropping belt. As I slide the sharp edge across the leather, I watch her tremble with the chill of anticipation. When she can’t take it any longer, when I think I’m about to give in to my desires, she finally whispers a single word. Please.
I close the blade and flip it over in my hand. “You’re not my wife,” I say, and there’s a flash of panic and hurt in her eyes. “You’re just mine. Now crawl.”
Relief flickers in Lark’s face.
One hand and one knee after the other, Lark crawls toward me. Her eyes never stray from my face. When she stops at my feet, she doesn’t touch me. Instead, she waits for my next command. There’s not a single thing in this world that’s more intoxicating than seeing her kneel before me but knowing that she’s still the one in control. It’s so clear in her willing gaze, the way she folds her hands in her lap and pushes her breasts together against the leather straps, encouraging our little game. She wants to be ordered. To be used. To be filled and denied and degraded. To be rewarded when she’s ready. She’s in control. And I will give her anything she wants and more.
“Belt,” I say, and I let go of the strip of leather so she can free the buckle and open it wide. “Zipper.” She pulls it down. “Now take my cock out.”
I lift my hips so Lark can lower my pants and briefs, freeing my erection. It’s painfully hard, ready to plunge into the heat of her mouth, a bead of pre-cum gathered at the head. Lark stares at it with ravenous desire. She bites her lip and wraps her hand around the base.
“Spit on it and stroke it.”
Lark does as I ask without hesitation, spitting on the head before she starts languid passes of her hand from the base to the tip. The pace is slow, her grip strong. A moan rumbles in my chest as I sink farther back and resist the urge to close my eyes so I can watch her lavish my cock with her attention. I’ve dreamed of her touching me like this so many times, and it’s a thousand times better than I imagined.
And it will never be enough.
I trace my knuckles across her cheek and thread my hand into her hair to gather it into my fist. “You remember the traffic lights?” I ask, and Lark nods. “Good. Tap my leg twice for orange. Three times for stop. Otherwise, you’ll swallow every fucking inch I give you, understand?”
Lark gives me a single nod and a flash of a dark smile before I push her mouth down onto my cock and fall into heaven.
“Christ feckin’ Jesus,” I hiss as Lark swirls her tongue over the crown and firms her lips around my flesh. The wet heat of her mouth sends my blood roaring in my ears. A held breath burns in my chest until I finally let it go. I let her take a few shallow passes to get acclimated to my length before I firm up my grip on her hair. “I thought you said you were my wicked little whore, duchess. You can do better than that.”
I push to the back of her throat and Lark gags as tears shine in her eyes. I do it again and she moans. A third time and she moans again, the tears streaking down her skin, the sight of her ruined makeup and her swollen lips and that fucking harness making me feral with need.
“There’s nothing like turning a perfect princess into a fucking slut,” I grit out as I pick up a rhythm of deep thrusts. “I bet your pussy is so wet it’s dripping down your thighs.”
Lark whimpers.
“Take your fingers and show me.”
Lark drags her hand down her body as I continue the cadence of thrusts, each one hitting the back of her throat as she moans and whimpers. Her eyes flutter closed as she touches herself and then she brings her hand between us, the proof of her desire glistening across her fingers.
With my free hand, I capture her wrist and bring her fingers to my waiting mouth and suck.
Sweet and salty, her flavor coats my tongue and I nearly lose my goddamn mind.
I pull Lark’s mouth off my cock and with a swift motion, I band an arm around her middle and hoist her into the air to deposit her on the bed. She barely has a moment to orient herself before I’ve pushed her onto her knees, pitched her forward onto her hands, and kneeled behind her to bury my face against her pussy.
Lark lets out a desperate cry as I swirl my tongue over her swollen clit and lavish her pussy with licks and kisses. Every sound she makes leaves an indelible mark on my mind, as immutable as the ink in my skin. Her taste burns itself into my memory like a brand. This woman is mine.
And I devour her like I’m going to consume her soul.
Lark writhes and moans and fists the sheets, but I don’t let her out of my grip. One hand tightens around her thigh, the other grips the harness strap across her back. I take her to the edge of an orgasm and leave her there, stalling whenever she gets close to her climax and resuming my efforts when it starts to subside. And once she starts begging, that’s when I let her go. I kneel back and allow the cool air to chill the saliva and arousal gathered at her entrance.
“No,” she whispers, casting a desperate look over her shoulder. “Please.”
The panic subsides when she sees me pull my pants and briefs the rest of the way off and kick them to the side.
“I didn’t say you could move.”
Lark gets back into position on her hands and knees, but it looks like it takes great effort to tear her gaze from my body, a detail that makes my heart surge beneath my bones. “I’ve been tested,” I say as I shift one knee onto the bed and then the other, the motion eliciting a shiver of anticipation through Lark’s nearly naked body. “I’m clear. Are you on contraception?”
“Yes,” she breathes, her voice barely more than a whisper as breaths heave from her chest. “I want you, Lachlan. Please.”
I roll the head of my cock across her clit in slow circles, then notch it at her entrance as she trembles, only to bring it back to her clit again in a maddening tease. “You can beg for me better than that.”
“Please, Lachlan. I need to feel you. I need you inside me. I need you to make me come.” There’s a moment of pause, a held breath. Uncertainty hangs over her and I roll my cock over her pussy, waiting her out. “I need to be fucked by my husband.”
My motion slows as her words sink in and settle in my chest. And then I position my cock at her entrance and push in, just the tip, and relish the relief in Lark’s responding moan.
“It’s a damn good thing you got that ice, duchess, because I’m going to fucking ruin this tight cunt of yours.” I push in a little deeper and tremble as her pussy grips my erection. “When I said I was going to fuck my wife until she couldn’t walk, I meant it.”
I slam to the base of my erection and we both cry out as pleasure and need consume us. I pull back to the tip and do it again. And again. And again until I pick up a rhythm of long, deep strokes that glide through Lark’s heat.
Lark whimpers and moans and begs for more. She chants my name. I push her upper body against the mattress and grip the harness. I piston into her, every stroke deep and merciless, just like she asks for when she begs for me to go harder, deeper. And when I sense the orgasm building at the base of my spine, an electric tension that hums through my nerves, I reach around and circle her clit until Lark screams, her back bowed, her body trembling as she unravels. Her pussy tightens around my erection. I can’t hold back, spilling ropes of cum as deep as I can inside her until I’m shaking and barely able to kneel, my heart a deafening hum in my ears that blankets all other sound.
I pull out and collapse next to Lark and gather her to me. Her body trembles in the aftermath of her orgasm, my breath unsteady against her back. Euphoria and relief settle in the silence that lies over us and cools our sweat. We don’t talk for a long while as my heart settles into a steady rhythm and her breathing slows. Lark traces patterns on my arm, melodies in my skin, and before long she’s humming. Her voice is soft and content. It’s the first time I really realize how much we say to each other without words. How we’ve started to grow together. This was never meant to be permanent, but suddenly when I picture my future, I can’t see it without the presence of her notes in the dark.
I turn her over beneath me and stare down into her face. She smiles, her skin glowing in the dim light.
“Hey,” Lark whispers. Her finger traces a line across my chest, following patterns of black ink.
“Hi.” I press a kiss to her forehead. One to her cheekbone. One to the side of her nose. Her fingertips trace my back as I follow the line of her jaw, then her neck. With her lips at my ear, she shimmies a hand between us and grips my length, my cock hard again and already desperate for more of her touch, her heat.
“I thought you said you were going to ruin my pussy,” she coos in my ear as she runs the tip of my erection through our cum gathered at her entrance.
“Duchess,” I warn as I push into her heat to the sound of her wanton moan. “You’re not going to be able to sit down tomorrow without thinking of me.”
“That had better be a promise.”
And it is.
I lose track of the hours. Lose count of how many times she breathes my name, or screams it, or begs with it. I don’t know how many times she comes. The sky beyond the curtainless windows is turning from black to indigo when we finally stop. Lark’s body is a boneless, exhausted, beautiful ruin of sweaty skin and tangled hair and trembling flesh. But she smiles at me when I back off the bed and stare down at her. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her.
“What are you doing?” she asks as I slide my briefs and jeans on.
“Taking Bentley out. I’m sure he could use a break.”
“You coming back?”
“Of course I’m coming back,” I say as I fold the covers down for her to slip beneath them. “I think you’d murder me and sew my skin into a chew toy if I permanently left with your dog.”
“I meant here.” Lark taps the free pillow.
I hesitate for a moment before I pull on my shirt. There’s conflict in Lark’s eyes as she watches me, as though she’s not sure she should have asked. “Do you want me to?”
Lark nods. “Yeah. I think I do.”
“Want me to bring back some ice?” I ask with a wicked smile, and she giggles.
“I think I’ll survive, unless you’re planning on fucking me in the ass when you get back. In that case, yes.”
I grin like it’s a joke, but my blood instantly heats and my cock hardens.
Lark settles in beneath the covers and I place a kiss to her temple before turning to leave. Her eyes are still on me when I pause at the threshold of her door and look at her over my shoulder.
I take my time around the block. Though part of me is eager to get back, I want to give Lark space to process and allow my own thoughts to settle. And predawn quiet is the perfect time to do that. The streets are dark between the lamplight, and the cold air refreshes my sweaty skin. There’s hardly anyone on the street, just the occasional car and a lone man dressed in hospital scrubs, his hood pulled up against the morning chill. He leaves the building across the street and walks in the opposite direction. So I let Bentley take his time to sniff every post and piss on every fire hydrant as we walk around the block.
When we get back inside, Lark is fast asleep.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I should just go to the other room to let her rest. Maybe it’s selfish, but I strip down to my briefs and slip beneath the covers next to her. She wakes as soon as I do and my regret is immediate, but she reaches for my wrist to drag my arm across her body then settles against me.
“Who knew,” she says, her voice hazy with exhaustion. “All I needed to get to sleep was a thorough fucking from my husband. Could have saved money on that sleep retreat.”
“I think we can still make use of that yoga sleep pose. I feel like that alone is worth the investment.” I kiss her shoulder as she breathes a laugh, and I wrap my arms tighter around Lark’s body. “Try to get some rest.”
“No trying this time,” she replies with a yawn. “Only doing.”
With a final kiss, I fall asleep with my wife in my arms.
When I wake a few hours later with the sun streaming through the leaded glass, Lark is gone.
Within a few slow-moving moments, I’ve gotten myself together enough to be semipresentable. I follow the scent of coffee and toast in the kitchen. Lark is there, humming to music that plays quietly from her speakers as she flips eggs in a pan. Bentley sits at her feet, waiting for scraps to drop in his direction.
“You know, he wouldn’t be so bad about getting in your way if you didn’t toss him bits of bacon. I saw that,” I say, trying and failing to give Lark a chastising look as she tosses another piece of meat to the dog and grins.
“It keeps his coat shiny.”
“Right. Sure.” I lay a quick kiss on Lark’s lips before grabbing the coffee she’s already set aside for me. “What do you have planned for today, aside from giving your dog more gastro troubles?”
Lark laughs more than I thought the joke deserved. “I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t. That was the feckin’ worst. I’m serious—you should look at changing his food. No animal should emit smells like that.”
Bentley glares at me from his seat.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Lark says as she takes two plates to the dining table and we settle into chairs across from each other.
“I know. It’s yours, for feeding him bacon and cheese.”
“No, I mean I blamed it on him, but it was the dead guy in the coffee table.”
I blink at Lark. Then at the coffee table. Then at Lark again. “What?”
Lark takes a slow sip of her coffee. “I sanded the tip of his nose a little when we were talking. That was the smell. Nose bits and resin, I guess.” She shrugs and starts cutting into her bacon and eggs.