She nods as her dark eyes hold mine. She grabs my hand and puts my wet fingers in her mouth, sucking them dry. “I want to be finger fucked, then I want to be cock fucked, and then I want to be ass fucked,” she purrs.
That’s it. Control lost. I hold her legs back, pushing three fingers in, forcing her to clench around me. I pound her, my strong fingers surging in and out of her body until the bed slams against the wall.
“Joshua,” she whimpers again as she lays back and shudders, her orgasm ripping through her.
When Natasha orgasms, I can’t hold back. Her muscles contract so tightly around my fingers that I need to get my cock in there to feel it. I lose all control and any rational thought. I pull her legs over my shoulders and slam into her, she cries out. The muscles deep inside her quiver around me. I place her legs over my shoulders so I can hit the end of her, and I start to fuck her at piston pace. This is my favourite position by far. She can’t move. I have her pinned to the bed and she can only lie there and take what I give her… what my cock decides to give to her. The only problem I have, is lasting. She feels so fucking good every time, I have to try and stop myself from coming.
It’s always too quick. I part my legs wide on the mattress and start to ride my girl hard until she jerks, her second orgasm lifts her from the mattress and into my arms.
I sit back and splay her over me, spreading her legs wide. I hold her hips tight and piston up into my very own version of Heaven. She’s swollen, dripping wet, and fucking perfect.
I need to be deeper, so I pull her hipbones back and forth over my cock, my eyes closing as I feel my ejaculation rip through all of my senses.
And then she kisses me and I smile into her beautiful lips as I try to catch my breath. We are both wet with perspiration and I glance around at the beautiful romantic candlelight we are basking in.
“I was trying to be romantic,” I murmur into her neck.
She smiles and kisses me slowly, her tongue diving deeply into my mouth.
“Forget romantic,” she replies. “You still have an ass to fuck.”
I smirk. “God, my wife is a beautiful slut.” I growl as I flip her onto the mattress and she laughs out loud. “You’re about to fucking cop it.”
Six months later
Time goes fast, but then it also stands so still. Joshua and I are back in L. A. We have recovered, to an extent. We’re socializing again and we even have a party tonight at Carson’s house, although the fucker still annoys me. Thankfully, Adrian and Bridge are also going, so they will keep me sane. Joshua is coping but angrier than he has ever been, kicking someone’s ass every morning for sport. I once hated him fighting, but I now know that this is his therapy, this is his coping mechanism, and I need to let him fulfil that. He’s filed lawsuits of defamation against most major tabloids over his court case. He refuses to let go of all the hurtful stories they sold and the lies that made them money. I don’t blame him. On advice, suing them was the only way he can ensure that they don’t keep hounding us, that they back off and let us live our lives in peace. We have suffered enough and he is putting a loud and clear message out that he has the money to fight, and he is prepared to spend every last penny to ensure our privacy. Two magazine editors have already lost their jobs, but he wants more blood. He has four more names on his hit list and I don’t pity any of them one tiny bit. He’s an angry man on a mission.
It’s 2pm on a Friday, and I am at home alone. Bridget now works for Joshua three days a week, organising the company’s work conferences, and Joshua works from home when he can, I’m not ready to go back to work. To be honest, I don’t know if I ever will be ready? How can I be stable enough to look after someone else’s mental health when I still struggle with my own? I have started to study online and, oh, I’m having a dabble at writing a book. It’s totally shit, but I have the time, so why not try? It’s a historical romance. Joshua is reading it by the chapter, and I write when we go to bed at night. He keeps telling me that he’s going to have to lift his game if this is what guys in romance books do.
To be honest, I’m enjoying this time alone. I go to the gym… yes, you heard me right, I am going to the gym. Then I come home and study or write and potter around. We are looking for a new house to buy in Brentwood. Our apartment is gorgeous but Joshua misses his yard and pool. He wants a gym at home, and I wouldn’t mind a decorating project, or should I say, I wouldn’t mind a task to tackle with Adrian. My days are flying and I don’t feel lonely at all like I thought I would.
I try to concentrate as I look at my computer screen but my eyes keep wandering to the brown paper bag on my desk.
A pregnancy test. I bought it at the pharmacy this morning with Max.
I was going to take it tonight when Joshua got home, but I think I want to do it now. No, I should wait for him.
I go back to my writing but my eyes wander by themselves again to the brown bag.
For fifteen minutes I continue to torture myself until I can’t take it anymore. “Oh, fuck it.” I snatch the bag and rip it open. I narrow my eyes as I carefully read the instructions. I have never done one before. I haven’t taken the pill since I got back, but every month, like clockwork, my period has arrived. It’s a conversation that Joshua and I haven’t had. I know he doesn’t want me to feel pressured and is purposely not bringing it up. I just want to surprise him.
Ok, so I just pee on the stick and one line is negative and two lines is positive. Hmm, sounds easy enough.
I go to the bathroom and do my thing on the stick. Then I sit on the kitchen bench and I watch it. I tap my fingers on the bench as I wait. My eyes flick to the clock. It’s meant to take a few minutes, I suppose.
After the longest wait in history, there is only one line. What an anti climax. The front door opens. “Hi, Presh,” Joshua’s voice calls out through the apartment. Shit, I toss the test stick into the second drawer and slam it shut. I will deal with that later.
Joshua smiles as he comes around the corner and embraces me in his large arms. “Hello, my beautiful girl.”
I smile against his lips. “Hello, my Lamborghini.”
He kisses me gently. “How was your day?” he asks.
“It was good. How was yours?”