15. Penn

Chapter 15

Penn

I shove the door open, and it groans like it’s pissed too. My room—no, our room now—is a disaster zone. Reagan’s shit is everywhere. Makeup scattered across my dresser, sketchpads overflowing from the desk, clothes draped over every surface. Panties hanging off my chair, shirts balled up on the floor, everything she owns spilling out of the closet and dresser I cleared out for her. Christ, it’s only been a week. How much shit did I pack for her? No way was all of this in that small ass apartment.

I didn’t even bother with her furniture; left it to rot in a storage unit. Clearly, she was really torn up about it because she has yet to fucking ask about a single piece of it.

Reagans in front of the mirror, putting the final touches on her makeup, smoky eyes and blood-red lips. My dick twitches. I watch her hips sway as she slips into a tight black skirt, the lace trim of her panties peeking out. Fucking tease.

“Where the fuck are you going?” I ask, crossing my arms and watching her get ready. My eyes rake over her body, already thinking of ways to mess up that perfect makeup. I wonder what my beautiful, badass wife would look like with mascara tracks running down her heart-shaped face.

“Out,” she snaps back, not bothering to look at me as she applies eyeliner with precision. How the fuck is it so goddamn pointy and sharp? “I need to get laid. Since my dear husband doesn’t seem interested in fucking me, I thought I’d find someone who is.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. She’s got a mouth on her. I can’t help but laugh when I see her pick up the lip gloss I used on my dick a few weeks ago. A smirk tugs at my lips as I feel myself getting a little hard just thinking about it.

“That lip gloss,” I say, nodding toward the tube in her hand. “You might wanna rethink using it. It’s got some…interesting history.”

She freezes, staring at the gloss. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Used it on my dick a few weeks back,” I say, chuckling as her face twists in disgust. “Thought you’d appreciate knowing.”

“You’re a seriously fucked up individual,” she says, eyes narrowing into daggers.

“Not wrong.” I shrug, leaning against the doorframe. Her anger is sparking between us, making the air thick and charged. Part of me gets off on it, the way we push each other’s buttons. My marriage can never be called fucking boring.

I’m amused by her outrage. “Broke in a few weeks back when you were in your art class. Had a little look around while you were gone. Just wanted to get to know you better.”

I watch as she tenses up before shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re telling me that when you broke into my apartment while I was in class you used my makeup on your dick? You’re a goddamn stalker. I can’t believe you invaded my privacy like that.”

“Privacy?” I scoff. “Baby, you’re my wife now. No more privacy between us. What’s yours is mine.” I push off from the doorframe and start slowly stalking toward her.

She backs up, wary. “Don’t come near me, you sick freak.”

I keep advancing until her back hits the wall and I’ve got her trapped. Leaning in close, I brush my lips against her ear. “You wore that lip gloss that same night at the bar. Same night I kissed you for the first time. My dick and mouth were all over those pretty lips of yours.”

She shoves at my chest, but I don’t budge. “You’re fucking deranged,” she spits.

“Maybe,” I whisper, grabbing her chin roughly. “But admit it, you get off on it. On me.” My eyes burn into hers, daring her to deny it.

“Seriously, Penn, what the fuck is wrong with you?” she demands, tossing the lip gloss onto the vanity with more force than necessary.

Reagan’s smart mouth is infuriating, but there’s something undeniably sexy about her defiance. Part of me wants to tame her wild spirit, while another part just wants to watch it burn brighter. Maybe that’s what drew me to her in the first place.

“Careful, hellfire,” I say, voice low and teasing. “It’s all fun and games until you push my buttons a little too much. It’s no different than if I stuck my dick in your mouth.”

“Fuck off,” she spits, turning back to the mirror and running a brush through her hair with jerky, angry motions. The scent of her mint shampoo wafts over and it hits me right in the gut.

“Going out dressed like that? Trying to catch a cold or just attention?” I taunt, unable to stop myself. She’s pushing every button I’ve got, and damn if I don’t want to push back harder.

“Maybe both,” she retorts, flipping me off without looking away from the mirror.

“Good luck with that,” I say, stepping closer. “Just remember who you’re married to when you’re out there flashing your ass.” I can see her jaw clench, and it fuels the fire inside me.

“Jealous much?” she sneers, finally turning to face me, her brown eyes blazing with defiance.

“Why would I be jealous?” I ask, smirking. “You’re coming home to me, no matter how many poor bastards you tease tonight.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she hisses, grabbing her bag and heading for the door.

“Reagan,” I say, my tone dropping to something darker, a warning. “Don’t test me.”

“Excuse me?” she spins around, her eyes flashing like goddamn firecrackers.

“I know you think you’re being miss badass bitch,” I say, stepping closer, “but we both know you’ve got your ‘work outfit’ on.” I gesture to her barely there skirt and fishnet stockings. “Hate to break it to you, but you no longer work at that fucking dive bar.”

“You don’t own me, Penn,” Reagan snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Over my dead fucking body is my wife going to be felt up and eye-fucked by every lowlife in that place,” I hiss, closing the distance between us. “And we both know if I have to go and watch over you, I’ll burn that bar to the ground now.”

“Your obsession with fire is fucking concerning. You can’ t solve everything with matches.” I grab her up, pushing my body into her at her words.

“You act tough,” I mutter, my voice a low rumble as I press her harder against the sink’s edge. “But we both know what you really want.” My hand slides up her thigh, fingers catching on a small tear in her fishnets.

“You’re just a virgin playing at being tough,” she taunts, but there’s a flicker of desire in her eyes.

I smirk, tracing the intricate web of ripped stockings with my hand. “Only two-thirds a virgin,” I purr, then lean in close enough to inhale her in so my nose is full of mint, musk, and the ocean. “I’ve fucked plenty of mouth holes.”

Her laugh is dark and throaty, a challenge. “Great. You’re an expert at blowjobs. Do you want a medal?”

I grab the waistband of her skirt, yanking it up roughly. “No,” I snarl, ripping apart the fragile netting around her thighs with one swift motion. Her gasp fuels me. “I want your taste.”

The sound of tearing fabric echoes in the small room as I rip away her panties next, exposing her to my touch. My fingers find their way between her legs, feeling how wet she already is for me.

She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood but doesn’t avert her gaze, those heavy-lines eyes boring into mine with need and defiance.

“Say it,” I command, slipping a finger inside her slick heat. Fuck, I’ve never felt anything like it and the way she’s clenching around my finger I can just imagine how it’ll feel wrapped around my cock. Already he’s fucking leaking joy as I feel my boxer briefs damn and sticky, clinging to the head.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but her hips buck against my hand involuntarily .

I add another finger, scissoring them inside her until she’s moaning despite herself. “Say it,” I demand again.

“Penn—” It’s half a curse, half a plea.

I curl my fingers inside her just right, hitting that spot that makes her whimper. “Who’s in control here?” I whisper against her ear.

She shudders violently but remains silent.

“Answer me!” I growl, increasing the pressure and speed of my movements until she’s panting, on the verge of collapse.

“You,” she finally gasps out. “You are.”

“Damn right,” I say and bite down on the junction between her neck and shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

With an almost feral growl, she grabs my hair and pulls me into a brutal kiss, teeth clashing and tongues wrestling for dominance until I feel my vicious little wife sink her teeth into the flesh of my bottom lip and the coppery taste of blood floods my mouth.

I break away first, sucking in air like I’ve been drowning. “My pretty fucking girl,” I mutter before I stick the fingers of my other hand in my mouth and pull them out and smear my blood and spit across her ruby red mouth.

Lipstick, blood and saliva coat her plump lips, and she looks unhinged, like a female Joker and fuck I want her like this always.

“Fucking hell,” I breathe, running a hand down her throat. This marriage is a goddamn powder keg, and I can’t decide if I want to defuse it or light the fuse and watch it explode.

Her nails slip under my shirt and rake down my back as if trying to carve out pieces of me to keep forever. My fingers never stop their relentless assault inside her until she’s crying out my name in broken syllables.

Her cries echo around the bathroom, raw need and desperation bouncing around. I lower myself to my knees, the cold tile sending a shiver up my spine. My eyes lock onto her wet, swollen pussy, glistening with her arousal and my fingers. Her legs are spread wide open. She’s obscene, obscene and mine.

I draw my fingers out slowly, watching her sensitive flesh twitch with each withdrawal. I savor the sight for a moment longer before leaning in, inhaling her musky scent.

“Look at you,” I murmur against her inner thigh, my breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. “So, fucking perfect.”

She gasps when I trail wet kisses up her thigh, biting just hard enough to leave marks that will remind her who owns her body long after I’ve finished with it.

I drag my tongue along her slit, slow and teasing, before plunging it deep inside her. Her hips buck against my face as she leans back against the counter for support. I grip her thighs to keep her steady, my nails digging into her soft skin. She lets out a guttural moan that vibrates through me.

“Good fucking boy,” she breathes out, her voice laced with both praise and command. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Her words send a jolt straight to my cock. I suck on her clit, hard enough to make her gasp, then ease up as I bite down gently on the sensitive nub. She cries out again, this time more desperate than before.

Her hands claw at my hair as if searching for an anchor. I flick my tongue over her clit in rapid strokes while thrusting two fingers back inside her slick heat. Her walls clench around me like a vise.

“Fuck, Penn,” she whimpers, teetering on the edge. “So close... don’t stop. ”

I curl my fingers inside her just right and that’s it—she’s done for.

Reagan’s body convulses as she crashes over the brink, screaming my name so loud I’m sure the entire house hears it. Her juices flood my mouth, and I lap them up greedily until she’s whimpering from overstimulation.

I withdraw and stand up slowly, savoring every second of watching her come apart beneath me. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths; mascara streaks down her cheeks; lips smeared with remnants of blood and saliva.

The same fingers I just pulled out of her are licked clean one by one as she watches.

I lick my lips, savoring her taste as I watch her chest rise and fall. Her eyes meet mine, still glazed with the aftermath of her orgasm. Slowly, I push my sweats down, finally freeing my hard, aching cock. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of me—long, thick, and ready to claim my wife.

“You’ve hit the husband dick jackpot, baby.” I start jacking my cock slowly, enjoying how her gaze flickers between fascination and lust.

Reagan’s expression shifts instantly to one of sardonic disbelief. She props herself up on her elbows, lips curling into a scathing smirk. “Please,” she scoffs. “If this is a jackpot, I’d rather take my chances on those rigged carnival games.”

My eyes narrow at her biting sarcasm. Without another word, I scoop her up off the counter. She gasps and immediately starts clawing at my t-shirt as I stride out the bathroom door.

“Put me down!” she protests, her nails digging into my skin through the fabric.

With a swift motion, I slam her back against the wall, pinning her there with my hips. I reach behind me to yank off my t-shirt, exposing ink that covers my chest and arms.

“You wanna watch my tattoos as I fuck you, hellfire? All you had to do was ask.” My voice is a low growl, echoing in the hushed room as I notch myself at her entrance.

Her breath hitches, but her defiance doesn’t waver. “You’re seriously fucked up,” she mutters.

Her words are a challenge, one I accept eagerly. “You say that like it’s news,” I hiss, pressing my forehead against hers. My breath mingles with her rapid, shallow inhales. “I may be a virgin, but I’ve seen enough, watched enough, and experienced enough that nothing about how I’m about to fuck you is going to be innocent.”

I grab a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and drag her close so she can feel my dick pressing against her center. “This is going to ruin you for anyone else,” I promise.

I push into her slowly, savoring the tight warmth that envelops me. She gasps and clings to my shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in my skin. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the threats, the power struggles, the games we play.

Then I’m thrusting hard, and she’s arching against me, incoherent moans spilling from her lips. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper as I drive into her with the same speed and force I give football.

“Fuck.” She breathes out. “Harder.”

I obey without question, increasing my pace until we’re a blur of sweat and motion. Her head tilts back against the wall, lips parted in ecstasy. I lean in close enough to feel her breath mingling with mine.

“You like this?” I whisper harshly. “You like being fucked by your husband? ”

Her only response is a strangled moan as she digs her heels into my back. It spurs me on—harder, faster—until we’re both teetering on the edge.

I grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises as I pound into her relentlessly. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples hard and begging for attention through her thin tank top. I take one into my mouth, biting down lightly before sucking hard through the sheer cotton.

I adjust my angle slightly, driving deeper until I’m hitting that sweet spot inside her that makes her scream. Her nails rake down my back again, drawing blood this time.

“Yes,” she cries out. “Right there... don’t stop...”

I feel her tightening around me, the telltale signs of another orgasm building rapidly. My own climax is nearing too; every muscle in my body coiled tight with tension.

“Come for me,” I demand, increasing the pace even further. “Come all over your husband’s cock.”

Her body convulses as she reaches her peak, screaming my name once more. The sight and sound of her unraveling pushes me over the edge too. With one final thrust, I bury myself deep inside her and let go—hot waves of pleasure crashing over me as I spill into her.

Slowly, I ease out of her and gently lower us both to the floor.

Reagan leans back against the wall, trying to catch her breath while giving me that same defiant look through half-lidded eyes smeared with sweat and mascara.

I brush a strand of hair from her face and lean in close enough to whisper against those swollen lips. “Now who’s seriously fucked up? You just fucked a psycho.”

Her eyes rake over me, taking in the scratches and bite marks she’s left on my flesh like badges of war.

I smirk, pulling out slowly, watching as the evidence of our consummation seeps out of her. “Look at that,” I murmur, voice dripping with mock curiosity. “Fucking you raw, without protection. What a bad husband I am.”

Reagan rolls her eyes, wiping some sweat from her brow. “Relax, Mr. Dominant Psycho. I have the implant.” She smirks back at me.

I narrow my eyes but let it slide for now. Instead, I lower myself between her thighs, letting my tongue trace the trail of cum and sweat on her red, puffy pussy.

Her hands find their way into my hair again, tugging sharply as my tongue delves deeper, savoring every drop. “Fuck,” she mutters, hips bucking slightly against my mouth.

By the time I pull back to look at her face—flushed red and lips parted in a dazed expression—I feel an odd sense of satisfaction wash over me. Reagan leans back against the wall, still catching her breath as I move up to capture her lips in a kiss, making her taste me, her, fucking us.

“Now that my wife has finally gotten fucking laid,” I say between heavy breaths while brushing damp hair away from my face, “can you go wipe that shit off your face so we can fucking relax? I’ll even let you pick what we watch since you wanna be a Stabler-and-Benson-hater.”