44. Just Right

44

JUST RIGHT

Asher

I’m parked in a chair in the living room, sultry music pulsing from my phone, my wife on her back on the carpet, with one knee up. She rises, her back arching in the sexiest way possible.

My throat goes dry.

She’s not even looking my way, and that’s the point.

She’s lost to the dance as she puts on a show for me. She teases me, clad in heels, tight shorts, and a cheetah print bra which hugs her perfect breasts. She’s pushing her hips off the floor and sweeping one leg to the side.

I groan.

As the bass thumps low, she turns around and locks eyes with me before licking her lips. “Let me know if it becomes too much for you,” she says. A taunt. A challenge.

“It can never be enough,” I reply.

She waggles her ass .

“Are you sure, handsome? I don’t want to overwork my favorite customer,” she says, getting into character.

My dick strains against my jeans. “You’re definitely working me hard,” I tease as she arches her back and then dips it down, meeting my gaze once again. “Tell me what you want next.”

I want you. I want to give you everything .

But I can’t say that. Not yet. If I tell her how I feel now, I might lose her. I might be too much. So I’m showing her through cooking her dinner and giving her orders—since she loves both food and when I take the reins. “Need you to crawl to me, wife.”

She lifts an eyebrow provocatively. No surprise. Maeve does everything provocatively. As the music changes, she starts moving toward me—gracefully and sensually.

It’s fucking breathtaking. It’s been a fantasy of mine for so long. And now it’s happening right in front of me. As a man who craves control, there’s nothing better than having the woman of my dreams obeying my every command.

She slides one palm along the plush carpet, then the other, then a knee. When she reaches me, I curl a hand through her hair, twist it in my fist. Give it a nice tug. She lets out a soft whimper and looks up at me with a submissive expression. “Yes, sir?”

I am molten. Fire licks my veins. “You want to know if it’s too much?”

“I do.”

“You think I can’t handle it? Turn around and tease me,” I bite out.

Maeve grins mischievously, then stands up and says, “Let’s find out.” She spins around, giving me a seductive look over her shoulder before grinding down hard on my erection.

I inhale sharply. “Fuuuuck.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Is that too much?” she asks innocently.

“No, but I need to make sure it’s not too much for you,” I say, as I dip my hand around her waist and under her panties. She moans as I slide my fingers through her warm, wet pussy. She’s heaven and so, so soft.

“You can take more,” I say, then ease out. “Now, get down on your knees, and show me you can handle every inch of me in your throat.”

“On one condition,” she says.

“What’s that?”

“I decide where you come.”

It’s like electricity fries my whole body. She’s everything. Not because she wants to suck me off, though that does help. It’s because she gives so completely.

And I want everything she has to offer.

“Fair enough. Now take out my dick and take care of your husband,” I demand. “I made you dinner, after all. Show me how much you enjoyed it.”

She drops to her knees, tap dances her fingers up my thighs, then unzips and pulls down my jeans. I assist her eagerly, pushing down my briefs. She stops, eyes popping when she sees the design and, well, the positioning of the animal right over my hard-on. “Roosters? I had no idea CheekyBeasts’ repertoire included roosters,” she says.

I run the back of my knuckles against her cheek. “It’s a prototype for a new design. They asked me for ideas the other week. I suggested a rooster. Since you like cocks so much.”

Her eyes gleam. “So they’re sort of for me.”

“It’s for you, Maeve.” The meaning isn’t lost on me— everything’s for her. She might not know it yet. I might not be showing her all my cards since I don’t want to scare her away. But still, I know that everything is for her.

Even the new underwear.

“Good,” she says, then frees my cock. When she sees it, her eyes widen and her tongue darts out. I don’t know if she’s aware that she does that every time she sees my dick, but I won’t tell her. It’s like a game of poker, and that’s her tell—it gives away how much she wants me.

She wraps those pretty lips around my shaft and my thighs clench. She murmurs as she takes me in, inch by inch. Heat builds low in my stomach.

I urge her on, grazing my thumb over her top lip. “You’ve got this, honey. Take it all,” I murmur.

She nods against my length, looking like sin and all of my dreams. My Maeve, my best friend, my temporary wife who doesn’t feel temporary at all is worshiping my cock with that lush mouth.

I slide my thumb down her jawline then wrap my hand gently around her throat, stroking it as if I can help her open wider. She swallows against my hand, relaxing. “That’s right, baby. It’s not too much for you, is it?”

She shakes her head, then flashes me a mischievous smile. A look that says, You might be able to choke me with that cock, but I’ve got you by the balls .

Then, for a few minutes, she sucks fervently, sparks crackling across my skin. It’s filthy and perfect and everything I could want. My hands scrape through her hair. She runs her palm up my thighs. I ease out, letting the tip graze her lovely lips. The view makes my whole body tremble. I push my thumb inside and warn her. “You’d better decide soon.”

“I’m a last second kind of girl,” she says, then drops her mouth all the way down on me again, devouring my cock. I start pumping my hips in the chair, filling her throat. My breathing turns frantic.

Briefly she coughs, but she shakes her head and holds up a hand. Don’t stop, she’s telling me. And I don’t. I pump faster as she sucks brutally hard, giving me a raw, passionate blow job until my thoughts are this close to blanking out. My pulse pounds everywhere. But still, I grunt out one question. A harsh, urgent: “Where?”

She drops me from her mouth and grabs my cock, pointing it at her face. “On me.”

“Yes. Let me make a mess of your pretty face, wife.”

I hold the base while she guides the crown to her lips. I tremble, my mind blurring as I paint her lips, and her chin, and, yes, even her throat.

Finally, when the pleasure ebbs, I breathe out hard, open my eyes, and manage to say, “You look so fucking good with my come on your face.”

She runs her tongue along her lips, licking it all off. “Just right.”

The other thing that’s just right? When I get on the floor and tell her to sit on my face. To be as loud and as wild as she possibly can.

She complies. She rides me hard and relentlessly, using my face for her pleasure, giving everything.

She doesn’t hold back.

That is another thing that I love about her. The list keeps getting longer.

Yes, I tried to win her over with dinner.

But the fact that I give her screaming orgasms can’t hurt my chances in this game of love.

Things I’ve learned about Maeve in the two weeks we’ve lived together:

Watching her nightly skin-care routine is like witnessing a science experiment. Use this serum. Add this lotion. Mix in this toner. And every night, she offers me something—a dollop of moisturizer, a dab of night cream. She loves to share.

Her showers are hotter than even girl-hot. I legit looked up how hot is too hot for a shower, but I guess she hasn’t hit that limit yet. And I’ve learned I can handle Hades-level temps since I hate to let her shower alone.

I’ve learned she talks to her plants when she waters them. “You were hungry, Rover,” she’ll say, since she gave her plants traditional dog names.

I try not to smile stupidly every time she calls them by their names.

I didn’t learn she tends to run late, since there’s no way I could have missed that Maeve-ism over the last ten years of friendship. But I’ve discovered she moves faster when I drive her to work since she doesn’t want to make me late for morning skate.

Which is how I’ve learned she mixes up her body spray at whim, so every day when I get in the car with her, I lean over and inhale her scent. She’s started offering me her neck for sniffing when we’re at a red light, and she plays along too. “What am I wearing today?” she’ll ask. Then I give my best guess.

Things I learn about myself? I fucking love knowing all these details about my best friend.

The best thing I’ve learned? Her favorite way to end the day is with sex and an episode of a reality dating show that she only makes it halfway through since she’ll inevitably fall asleep when the date starts to go south .

On Saturday night, after she drives me wild by fucking herself in front of me with the rabbit vibrator, and I drive her wild when she’s on all fours, we get ready for bed together. As she brushes her teeth in the sink next to mine, my heart jumps up and down. I want to shout, “See? This could be us.”

Because this—right here with her—brushing our teeth together is more perfect than it has a right to be.

Instead, I just flash her a grin and keep my thoughts to myself, focusing instead on showing rather than telling.

Like doing the things she enjoys.

When we’re done, we get in bed, and I grab the remote. “We have to see if Tia wants to give Jonah another chance.”

“I can’t wait to find out,” she says, and we turn on a new episode of First Dates. But a few minutes in, she winces, then lifts her hand behind her head and gently—or maybe not so gently—tugs it to one side.

Her neck pops, and I cringe at the loud cracking sound. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think I pulled something in my neck earlier.”

I turn to my side, on alert. “From sex?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No, and if it were a sex injury it’d probably be lower body, Asher. And as big as your dick is, you didn’t pull a muscle in my vagina.”

She turns back to the TV, cracking the other side of her neck.

“But you injured your neck today?” I press.

“No. I just pulled something at the café,” she says, since she worked pretty much a double-shift of sorts today. She was at the arena during the week, and the café all day today, squeezing in the quick turnaround on the tree painting .

“Do you need to see someone?” I ask, because that noise sounded bad.

She looks back to me again with question marks in her eyes. “It’s okay. It happens. I work on a ladder a lot and I’m looking up or down, so sometimes I feel neck strain and I like to crack it. It’s just an occupational hazard.”

But what can we do about it? There has to be a fix. “Right, but do you want me to give you a neck rub? Do you need to do some neck stretches? I could get you a physical therapist if you want.”

She takes the remote and hits pause. “Thank you, but I’m fine. It happens and I rub it or do extra stretches.” She takes a beat, studying my face, then in a reassuring tone says, “I work with my body too. Just like you. So sometimes it’s going to hurt. Same as you.”

But it’s hardly the same as me. I don’t worry about me. But her? I have to figure this out and help her. What if it gets worse and she’s not aware? What if this leads to a problem she doesn’t catch in time? “Let me at least rub your neck for you,” I insist.

She smiles. “Well, that I won’t turn down.” She snuggles closer, points the remote at the TV again and says, “ First Dates and a neck rub. This is the full temporary husband treatment.”

Not temporary if I can help it .

I rub her neck as she watches the show. But by the time the next couple breaks up at a cheese tasting because he ate the Gouda she wanted, I’m rubbing with one hand, grabbing my phone with the other and typing one-handed. How to relieve neck pain. Causes of neck pain. Exercises for neck pain.

“What do you think? ”

Oh, shit. I both stopped rubbing and stopped paying attention to the show. I got so focused on Google.

“Second date,” I say, taking my best guess as she turns to me with curious eyes.

“You stopped watching,” she says—not an accusation, but more a curiosity.

I wave my phone, showing her the screen. “Sorry. I was just googling about cures for neck pain.”

She laughs, then says, “Orgasms, Asher. More orgasms.”

Well then.

Setting down the phone, I reach for one of her favorite toys in the nightstand drawer, taking control back from her. “Ditch the panties and spread your legs nice and wide for me, wife.”

She complies, and I slide a thumb in her mouth. She sucks eagerly. I add another finger, and she swirls her tongue around it. “Good girl,” I say, then I ease out, and gently caress her pussy while kissing her neck, slow and soft till she’s wet and murmuring.

When she starts arching into my fingers, I switch it up and turn on the Soft Touch, using that on her till she’s breaking apart beautifully on my bed.

And falling asleep just like that.

I’m not though. I stay up for a while, researching neck strain again since it’s really best to address small problems before they become big problems.

But if she’s proactive and does some stretches and exercises, she should be okay. So I email her some new videos for neck stretches and exercises too. And set a reminder on her phone to do them.

Sometime later, I get back in bed.

In the morning, while she’s sleeping, I set a gift for her on the kitchen counter. It’s wrapped in white paper with a pink bow. I leave a card under the bow with the words on it: Wear this to the game tonight.

I’m not saying this little gift will make her fall in love with me. But she loves gifts, and I love giving them. As I head to the terrace to finish my coffee, I come up with one more idea.

On the way to morning skate, I make some calls, then at the arena I turn off the world and focus on hockey since our rivals are in town tonight and I plan to beat them.

Well, I want to impress my wife.