Glazov

I push my way through the bedroom door with a cart carrying our dinner entrees, champagne, strawberries, and anything else we might want during our time alone. I don’t want any interruptions, and I’ve already notified my staff that we are not to be disturbed.

My wife eyes me with suspicion as I pull the cart up next to the bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of drawstring pants. She looks sexy in her little boy shorts and matching cotton camisole. It’s one of my favorite looks on her. The fact that it’s white, and I can see her tits through it isn’t hurting either.

“Are you ready for dinner and a movie with your husband?” I ask, ignoring her look of wariness.

“We have staff to do that, you know.”

“I don’t want any interruptions, and I asked you a question.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I think it’s a very romantic gesture. I am ready for a quiet evening with the man of my dreams.”

“The man of your dreams, huh? Don’t you mean the man of your nightmares? And as far as the romance aspect is concerned, you know me; I’m the picture of ruthless romance.”

“A very fitting term indeed.”

I pour a flute of Dom Perignon for her and a shot of chilled U’luvka Vodka for me. She cautiously takes it from my hand.

“A toast, Ptichka, to twenty more years with the only woman who has ever been able to keep me on my toes.”

For a brief second, a flash of fear crosses over her visage, and my cock jumps.

“To twenty more years of being with the only man I’ve ever loved.”

She downs the champagne after a clink of our glasses solidifies the toast, and I restrain a chuckle.

Yeah, she’s scared.

I toss the shot of vodka back and pour another drink for the both of us.

“Okay, that works for me,” I tell her.

She knows I’m addressing the fact that she downed the flute of champagne awfully quick, and once again, I toss a chilled shot of vodka back, enjoying the feeling of warmth it produces in my chest. This time, she drinks about half of her champagne and then sets the flute down off to the side. I pick up a strawberry and watch as she takes a bite, juice running down her chin. When she attempts to wipe it away with her hand, I seize her wrist and prevent her.

I bend down, licking it off and relishing in the trembling of her body in response to my actions. Even after twenty years, our sex life is off the charts. I tear off a strip of lobster from its shell and dip it in butter, purposely allowing it to drip on her camisole when she opens her mouth to take it.

“Take off the top, Ptichka.”

When I sense her hesitation, my voice drops an octave and comes out in a more commanding tone.

“Take the fucking top off, or I’m cutting it off.”

She reaches down, grabs the shirt’s hem, and pulls it over her head. I set the lobster down and gently reach for her, running my fingers beneath her breast and strumming my thumb back and forth over her nipple.

“Fuck, Glazov,” she groans, looking at me with helpless yearning in her eyes.

Oh, I do love that look of need she gives me when I play her body like an instrument. Still standing next to the bed looking down on her, I feed her lobster. In between bites and shots, because she’s now joined me in drinking the chilled U’luvka, my fingers intermittently touch, rub, and stroke various parts of her skin. When we’re finished eating, I reach down and wiggle the boy shorts from her body.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” I love the distress I hear in her voice right now.

I grab the remote and pull her sideways across the bed, commanding her to watch the TV as I bury my face between her legs.

She immediately panics when the snow filled screen disappears and she views the recording of her breaking into my office. She starts trying to escape my grasp and is successful… to a point. She’s scooting backwards, trying to scurry away. I know my wife, and if I release her, she’ll take off in a full speed run with no thought to the fact that she’s butt ass naked. I jump up from where I’m kneeling by the bed and jerk her back by her ankles to subdue her. She’s kicking, wiggling, and fighting to try and get away from me. I grab at the skin on her inner thigh and viciously pinch, twisting at the same time. She immediately stops.

“Don’t fuck with me, Ptichka!”

She nods her head in acquiescence, and I stare down at her while removing my drawstring pants. I roughly toss one of her legs over my shoulder and, in one swift stroke, thrust deeply inside her. When my cock is buried to the hilt, I stop, glaring down at her like I hate her because that’s exactly how I’m going to fuck her.

“Turn it off, Glazov, please.”

My only answer is to pull my cock out and forcefully thrust it back into her. I watch her back arch as she fists the sheets, clenching her hands like it will relieve the pleasure/pain I’m inflicting on her. I know she has submitted to my treatment of her when her eyes roll back in her head.

“I especially like this part,” I say, forcing her to face the TV screen. “Picking the lock to get in, and then using infrared strips on your face to blind the camera. It’s fucking genius, girl. When are you going to get it though? I’m always one step ahead of you.”

I grab her hips, fucking her hard until I get right to the point of coming, and then I pull myself back.

“What are you looking for, you nosy little girl.”

I smack her hand away when she tries to rub her clit so she can come.

She screams a response, angry because I won’t let her orgasm until I get the information I want.

“Logan was doing an exposé on Bratva, and I had to know if you had plans to kill her. Our son loves her.”

“You’re always underestimating me; I already know that.”

I can’t hold off any longer; I have to fuck this woman who still drives me crazy after all these years.

“Go ahead and play with that clit of yours, Ptichka, because I’m fucking that need you have to try and control me right out of you.”