Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 16 (complete) (Patreon)

Ten minutes on the bed waiting for her to join him, and she didn’t. Sitting with his butt on the pillows, one leg folded underneath him, the other bare foot dangling off the bed’s edge. How had he fucked that up so bad? Everything he said was right. She didn’t believe him? Yeah, she had good points . . . 

As soon as she presented those good points you sure turned tail and ran . . . 

That was true.

This was just so fucking ridiculous. Why’d he not tell her there was more detail in the text? Tell her about Devlin’s taunts about fingering his wife in their front hall. How the guy described their front hall, though he was supposed to have never been here . . . 

Too scared to do that. Too scared to put in his wife’s head the image of her being fingered by Devlin. Worried it might cause her some psychic trauma since she’d been pinned down and dry humped by the guy, but also worried Kimmy would hear that and think it was arousing. Which was stupid. Or maybe it wasn’t. Who knew?

How was he supposed to deal with this? You could tell her all the truth. Tell her everything that was in the text. Tell her how you live texted with him. Tell her about how he taunted you in the tent. If that was real.

Fucking fuck. Why had he ever let her start there at Stone’s?—because she was right: she quit immigration. Quit them after a long maternity leave, which put her in a bad spot to return. They wouldn’t take her back. Who would trust her now? Especially if they wanted kids again. And for fuck sakes, they did want kids. What better way to have kids than for her to work for Stone Brokerage for a couple of years building up a fat nest egg while he built up his resume at Swanson. There was lots of upward mobility at Swanson. And he would fill it. Three years down the road, it wasn’t crazy to think he could be VP. Wasn’t crazy at all. More responsibility, but probably an extra 40-grand. If they kept living the way they lived, put that extra money aside . . .? Shit, that money that Kimmy was making? . . . 

Now he wanted to take the nearest pillow and either fling it across the room or lay back in the bed and smother himself until his legs stopped kicking. End this suffering.

The bedroom door opened. Kimmy coming in. Looking like adorable college Kimmy. Wearing her faded Queens hoodie, a pair of cotton shorts just high enough so he couldn’t not think about sex.

And that’s where this erection came from. Not thinking about that text and not thinking about Devlin taunting about how he’d fingered his wife in the front hall and how his wife had lied about it. Because that was impossible. That was impossible—and look at her. Who wouldn’t get an erection looking at her like this?

Before she’d even closed the door behind her, he was apologizing. “I’m sorry, Kimmy . . .”

She slumped, turned and leaned her back against the closed door. “I’m sorry, Josh. I don’t know how things got so messed up.”

“Would you come here?” he asked and held out his hand. 

Wow—feel that heartbeat when his familiar good buddy, wife and lover smiled and trotted the distance to the bed?

She climbed up from the foot of the bed on hands and knees to join him in the pillows. They sat side-by-side, both of them heads turned to the left and looking at the summery blue sky. “Not the best weekend,” he said, “such a nice day out there, we could’ve done a lot better things.”

“Nope,” she said. “We had to mope around the house today.”

“I was mad. Mad about you texting.”

“You should be. And I’m sorry. But you know that I had to, right?”

He didn’t want to fight about it. He could present arguments, but it was better to say: “I know.”

Kimmy’s wrist bumped against his thigh, her hand seeking out his. He turned his palm up and they wove fingers. He hoisted her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles right below her wedding ring. She leaned against him and said, “We can’t fight, Josh.”

“I know we can’t.”

“We have to talk. If something like that ever happens again, you have to tell me. When it’s time to talk, we have to be honest. I need to be honest, too . . .”

“I used to think we were good communicators.”

“We are,” she said. “But maybe it’s not always easy . . .”

“No. Not always.” Whatever happened between her and Devlin had made things difficult. And now with him and his past with Devlin, things were made even more difficult. How on earth did he ever think it was a good idea to let her go to work for that guy? It would have been better to never let it happen. Devlin was the common denominator in all their trouble.

Kimmy still sat shoulder-to-shoulder but pivoted, resting her cheek on his chest, curling up against him. She said, “The day’s not totally ruined.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Let’s go out to dinner. Let’s go and get crazy. All-you-can-eat. Maybe we’ll even have some drinks . . .”

“I like it,” he said, a warm feeling washing through him.

Now she sat upright again, and he liked the smile on her face. God, all that tension before, and all he had to do was talk and look how it melted away. And when it melted away look at what beauty and grace you were left with: Kimmy lifted a knee, then hiked her leg up high and around his back, almost clocking him in the face with her ankle, both of them laughing, saying it was a good thing he ducked forward. And he caught a glimpse very high up the inside of her thighs—that inner tendon that ran right up to her crotch. It made his erection returned to throbbing. “What are you doing?”

She squirted in behind him, long skinny legs folding across his lap now, wrapping her arms underneath his arms and hugging herself to his back. He could feel the point of her chin rubbing into his collar. Wow, feeling her arms around him felt incredible. Love burst from his heart feeling this woman’s body clung to his back this way. She squeezed him tight until both of them were groaning. She said, “I love you so much, Josh.”

He caressed her hands over his chest saying, “I love you too, Kimmy. So, so much.”

They breathed against each other for a little while, his wife’s hands caressing his chest, until she started flicking at his nipple. She said, “We’re going to figure this out. Okay? It’s you and me, and we’re going to figure it out.”

“We will,” he said, “we’ll figure it out.”

Her other hand flicked his other nipple.

“Stop doing that,” he said, laughing.

“Are they sensitive?”

“A little,” he said, surprised by her playfulness.

She clutched her leg-lock tighter, and hugged him. He leaned back, and her hands drifted down his stomach. He jolted, knowing what she would find—but hoping she would find it now. She did; her hand fell in his lap, and her palm rested over the hump of his erection. She said, “I thought so.”

“What do you mean you thought so?”

“I thought I saw something.”

“When?”

She patted his bulge. “Do you like fighting with me?”

“No. Not at all. Not even a little, Kimmy.”

“Are you sure about that?” she said, ran her warm hand up under his T-shirt then slipped it down the front of his sweat pants and underwear. Her nails grazed his hard shaft, then her fingers wrapped a tight O-ring around his scrotum, choking off his testicles. “You sure?”

He groaned, closed his eyes. “It’s seeing you in those shorts.”

“Are you looking at my legs?”

“I can’t help it,” he said.

She stretched her legs out now, putting her ankles over the points of his knees. She wore scratchy socks, and he hooked an index finger in each one and pulled them off. He rubbed his thumbs over the insoles of her pretty feet.

“That feels good,” she purred.

Now her grip found his shaft. She began to stroke him gently, up and down, going easy. She whispered near his ear, “Get your pants down.”

Hot dog. The whole day they were being terse with each other, he overhears some dumb conversation and imagines it being dirty, then confides in his wife, and then they fight . . . Look at this: now it had blown over and they were going to have sex.

She put her feet flat on the bed, and he lifted his butt and scooted his sweatpants down to mid-thigh. He sat in the V of her open legs again. She hooked her feet around and locked them in his lap, her left hand around his chest, fingers tickling his armpit while her right hand began to slowly stroke him.

She said, “We’re going to figure this out, Josh. I love you more than anything. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said.

“So if we love each other, we can get through this. We just need to talk.”

“Talk a little bit more.”

“Yes,” she said, laughing, bringing her hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers. When she returned her grip to his erection it was slippery now. He jolted, laughed, too.

“You’re so hard,” she said, “you get that hard just looking at my bare legs?”

“I do,” he said.

And now she really surprised him. She batted his erection with the back of her hand, making it bounce. “You’re a bad boy,” she said.

This sudden and weird action from his wife tightened a dark and lusty knot below his stomach. Couldn’t even believe she did it.

He said, “I am a bad boy.”

“Stop being so bad,” she said, slapping his erection with a backhand then a forehand. Going light and teasing, not trying to hurt him. But this was way dirtier than Kimmy had ever been. And he liked it.

“I can’t help myself,” he said, voice tight, feeling like this was a dream.

“We’ll have to do something with this thing, Josh,” she said, “we can’t have you going out for dinner with it poking out your pants now, can we?”

“No,” he said, “we can’t,” and ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, trying to get between her legs at the small of his back. She cinched her scissoring legs on him tighter saying, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and laughed, still bewildered by the change in their day—so glad to have his Kimmy back.

She laughed, stroked him a little faster and then bit his neck. The feel of his wife’s teeth chomping on that sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder got his nipples hard like a woman for some reason. “Ow, hey,” he laughed, and she hugged him tight, bit and kissed his neck and jerked his cock.

“Sheez, Kimmy,” he said, “wow . . .”

“You like that?” The voice was familiar but her tone strikingly dominant.

“I do,” he said, meaning it.

She whispered in his ear while she jerked wild pleasure on his slippery aching cock: “You’re going to come for me?” 

“If you, ah, want me to . . .”

She whispered, “Is your cock my slave?”

He laughed at the outrageous words. “What . . .?”

He tried to turn to see how serious her face was but she squeezed him tighter. “You think that’s funny?”

“Yeah,” he said.

And she stopped completely.

She hugged herself to his back, both her hands rubbing his chest and shoulders now.

He said, “What are you doing?”

“If you’re not going to take this serious . . .”

All the pleasure that had built near bursting in his belly expanded, washed his insides seeking to find the release it was promised. It felt like his stomach had dropped away. “I’m taking it seriously,” he said.

“Beg me to continue.”

The urge to laugh again came on strong, but the mood she was in made it clear to him she wouldn’t play along. Her game was to be in control. And, fuck, it was wild and unexpected and so crazy exciting. His stomach raced a high tickle all of a sudden like he’d just crested a peak on a roller coaster hill and was heading down the fun side. “Please,” he said.

“It sounds like you’re still laughing.”

“I am,” he said, unable to help himself. “Sorry . . .”

“Okay,” she said, brightly—but disappointed—a tone letting him know this was his choice, “I’m going to hop in the shower and get ready. You want to go to that Brazilian place? That’s all-you-can-eat. I feel like having—”

“Okay-okay,” he said, stopping her, feeling like she would act out getting from behind him if he didn’t play along. Earnestly now, he said, “Please, Kimmy, please don’t stop.”

“That’s better,” she said, squeezing both his nipples before returning her right hand to his lap.

Her grip on him this time was like liquid—and she made an appreciative sound at the feel in her grip. “Wow, somebody really does want me to continue.” He’d spewed pre-come down his shaft while she paused to tease him.

Now he surrendered to her. His beautiful wife; his smart and loving girl clinging to him and delivering pleasure to him in a masterful way he never imagined his wife would ever do. He watched her feet; sometimes he would rub her insoles and play with her toes while she slowly jerked him off. When he would get close she would slow. And then he would thrust his cock through her loose grip but she would match his thrusts to prevent him from having pleasure until he groaned complaint. Then she would jerk him fast and he would gasp and almost collapse from pleasure. Never in their life together had Kimmy been so sexually forward and . . . capable.

Three times she brought him very close to orgasm and then squeezed his cock head and stopped. And she was rough at times, too. Spanking the belly of his erection, getting it to bounce. She even squeezed his testicles.

Now she was whispering again, “Are you going to come?—I can tell you’re going to come . . .”

“I am,” he croaked.

Then she suddenly and furiously jerked him hard and fast. And just when he thought it was going to happen, she stopped again. It frustrated him in wondrous ways.

It had been almost fifteen minutes of this, a quarter hour of incredible slow torturous pleasure. It was like he was with another woman. It was definitely Kimmy behind him, but this playfulness, this naughtiness, was not something he knew from her. If they could work this out together—no, they would work this out together—and it did this to their sex life, well, why would he ever not want her to work for Devlin Stone?

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Kimmy, oh shit . . .”

She stopped jerking, said, “What is it?” acting curious.

“Dammit,” he said, thrusting his fists onto the mattress on either side of his wife’s thighs.

She giggled and laughed, squirmed aside and looked in his lap.

“Come on, he said, “come on . . . please do it now and don’t stop . . .” Meaning for her to continue, but instead she watched around his arm as his orgasm began to leak from him.

Two short and meager spurts bubbled from his urethra, and then semen began to roil then roll down his shaft.

“Oh no,” she lamented while watching his orgasm fail. Then: “Don’t get it on the bed, Josh . . .”

Disappointment flooded his heart, and his stomach hurt, and yet he wouldn’t take control of his own—

Kimmy grabbed his erection again and jerked him fast and bit his shoulder. The surprise pleasure was intense. Otherworldly. The soaring ecstasy from the depths of his ruined orgasm shot out of the stratosphere; its renewal had his heart pounding in his chest and his vision going pale.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh shit,” he said, and though his semen only boiled over his wife’s knuckles, the pleasure and pressure inside his brain and his cock was like the launching of a rocket.

He grabbed bedding and pulled it, tore and twisted. Kimmy had wracked him with pleasure like he hadn’t had before. He never felt like such a victim under her sexuality. It had always been imaginary before. Subjugating himself to her sexuality in his own mind; a one-sided game. Recently, thinking of her with another man had done something weird to the dynamic with his wife, but now in this moment Kimmy was the one actually leveraging her sexuality over top of him. Not imaginary. A hundred percent for real. And wonderful.

“Oh Josh, that was crazy,” she said, hugging her cheek to his arm in a loving way. That momentarily dominant Kimmy washed away and his wife returned. “Look at this,” she said, holding out her hand. The whole back was glazed.

She moved it nearer his face, and in her current playful state he worried she’d touch the mess to his mouth or nose.

“Don’t,” he said laughing, trying to hold onto her arm. And if she hadn’t been planning on doing it before, now she was thinking about it.

“What’s the matter, Josh?” she said, trying to move it near his mouth.

“Don’t,” he laughed, taking her wrist. But she didn’t pursue it, just being cute with him, not wanting to mess his mouth.

They squirmed and wrestled together, got up on knees, then collapsing with both their heads at the foot of the bed. She held her dirty hand away from him, not threatening with it anymore. They were face-to-face, the sun behind his back lighting up her beautiful eyes. He cupped her jaw and thumbed her cheekbone.

She said, “I really do love you so much, Josh. More than anything . . .”

“I love you, too,” he said, moving closer until they kissed.