Page 66 of The Wrong Husband

I turned my head, and he caught my mouth with his for a kiss. He began to hammer into me.

He began to grunt, and I couldn’t hold my head up any longer. He pushed me down, my cheek against the pillow, my ass up in the air.

"Yeah, baby like that. You have no idea how good my cock looks inside you. Fuck, baby. You're strangling my dick every time I enter your pussy."

I whimpered and inhaled the heady smell of sex. This was new, nothing like that first time. This was raw. This was intense.

He pulled me up again, wrapping his arm around me, my back flush against his chest. He felt deeper this way, closer. It was more intimate. His hands were filled with my breasts, and he squeezed my nipples hard. My pussy clenched. He began to rut against me, his hips slapping against my ass. The sounds of our bodies was intoxicating, and I felt something tighten inside me.

That's when he moved one hand from my breast to my clitoris. He began to give it hard taps with three fingers. The pain he inflicted was sweet and I began to sob at the pleasure of it.

"Give me another, Em. I can feel it."

I couldn't speak. My whole body trembled. I felt out of control. My hips were snapping back as his moved forward. I took as much as he gave.

And just like that I screamed my orgasm…the second one of the night, more intense than the first. My head fell back on his shoulder as everything inside me churned.

He pushed into me once, then twice; and found his own release.

We both fell onto the bed. Nothing had ever felt this good weighing me down.

He kissed my shoulder. "Best sex of my life," I heard him say and couldn’t help the joy that raced through me.

Chapter 21

Damian

That night at Le Saveur changed many things.

Emilia and I now slept together every night and fucked whenever and wherever we could. She was getting better at going out with me—though she preferred for us to stay home, and I didn't mind. It was cozy and intimate.

She cooked and we ate at her kitchen island, talking about everything and nothing.

I'd never been this relaxed in my life. After coming back from work I usually needed an outlet and that's why Bianca and I went out—but now for some reason I wasn't hyper when I got back from work, filled with excess energy. Now, I looked forward to coming home and being in the safe cocoon of Emilia's loft. Our loft.

I had to buy the apartment building, no way to have gotten all the security work done otherwise. Archer Galleries owned real estate around the world so adding this apartment building to the portfolio had been easy though our head of acquisitions wasn't sure what was so historic or valuable about it. When I told her it was where my wife insisted on living, she didn't ask any more questions and made it happen.

I had also had a closet built-in, so I at least had clothes for a week and not just overnight.

The bathroom continued to be a bone of contention.

That was when I suggested that we expand into the loft next door, which sat vacant.

"I don't care if the apartment is empty, we can’t just extend ours into it. The landlord won't agree even if we rent both places," Emilia had protested.

"The landlord will be fine."

"How do you know? Have you talked to Mr. Chen?"

"Mr. Chen isn't the landlord. Mr. Archer is."

"You did not," she cried out.

"I need more space, Em and you won't move into the Four Seasons or anywhere else."

The truth was I'd gotten attached to the loft. It was smaller and less luxurious than any place I'd lived in, but it was comforting. I understood why Emilia felt safe here. I loved to work on the couch (which I bought despite her protests along with a television, because…NBA) while she painted.

We cooked together. Went to the farmer's market on Saturdays.