Chapter 38

Lock

6:40 PM SATURDAY

I take my wife by the wrists and slam her against the bedroom wall of my yacht so hard, the boat rocks.

“Tell it to me again, darl,” I growl, my nose against her gorgeous, perfect nose. “And if you skimp on detail…I’ll punish you.”

Sammi giggles. She’s not the kind of woman who giggles frequently—and especially not while sober. But while her lips might always taste of tequila to me, for once, I’ve got her in my arms with the full confidence that she could pass a breathalyzer test.

“Maybe I want you to punish me.” She arches a gorgeous, perfect eyebrow in a way that makes my cock even harder than it already was.

And I didn’t think that was even fucking possible.

“I’m a bad man, Mrs. Williams. I might just punish you either way for making me wait so long to make you mine.”

And then, as if in demonstration of my own rottenness, I dip my lips down to her collarbone and sink my teeth into her skin.

Sammi hisses and gasps, struggling against me one moment then easing her body closer to mine the next. I can almost feel the pleasure chemicals coursing through her veins, relaxing her muscles, and washing over her gorgeous, perfect brain.

“I might just like it,” she admits in a whisper.

For not the first time today, I run my tongue over her skin and think about how goddamn much I love my gorgeous, perfect wife.

I think about dropping the subject there and just fucking taking her. It’s what my cock wants. Christ, it’s what my whole body wants: Samira Williams nee Brighton, writhing in passion beneath me and moaning my name.

But it was such a stroke of genius…

I’ll only want her more if she’ll just tell me the story one more time.

“Play it again, Sams,” I tell her, and I feel her body shake with laughter.

“That’s a misquote, you know.”

Typical fucking Sammi.

I pinch her ass, then smack it, just to let her know I don’t care.

“Mm,” she moans, low and deep. “What should I start with, honey? The part where I left Eggs at the altar to come fuck my real husband on his big, sexy yacht?”

“How about the part where you put Ladyboy Celine Dion in your wedding dress and marched her down the aisle instead?” I suggest. Firmly.

And as with every firm suggestion I make, I accompany it with a firm thrust of my cock against her thigh. Just to let her know that I mean it.

“She seemed happy enough to play along,” Sammi laughs, thrusting right back. “I just didn’t think she’d actually go through with the rest of the ceremony, too.”

“And you thought Eggs would?”

Sammi shrugs. “You know how he likes Thai ladyboys, honey. I think they’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

“Not as much fun as you and I are about to have,” I tell her.

Then I tear her fucking top off her.

I have just enough time to enjoy the way her tits spring out of it—big, gorgeous, perfect tits—before she puts her foot against my abdomen and kicks me to the ground.

“That wasn’t very nice, husband.” She smiles as she takes my wrists in her own hands, pinning me to the floor of the yacht.

“I’m not a very nice man,” I admit, still watching the way her tits sway as she straddles me.

But when Sammi straddles me, it’s not my cock she’s after. It’s my mouth.

God, I love my wife.

She positions herself over my face, hugging the scruff of my jaw tight with her gorgeous, perfect thighs. When she lets go of my wrists, I seize the opportunity to slip my hands beneath her skirt and grab her ass, pulling her cunt down onto my lips.

She tastes like salt and honey, like the sweetness of sunshine after a long day in the ocean.

She’s already wet when she mounts me, and when I slip my tongue between the lips of her gorgeous, perfect cunt, she only gets wetter.

“Moan for me, Lock,” my woman commands.

And damned if I don’t moan louder than I’ve ever moaned before.

She rides me like a dream. No—better than a dream. A man has no control over the bits and pieces of nighttime visions his subconscious conjures up.

And while Sammi might be the one riding my lips, there’s no pretending that I have anything but complete control over her.

I have control over my wife’s gorgeous, perfect hips as they buck against my mouth. I curl my fingers around her gorgeous, perfect hip bones and move her back and forth at my own pace, like the steady roll of the ocean’s waves.

I have control over her clit—goddamn, I have the utmost control over her clit. I control how it moves beneath my tongue, how fast, how slow—

I have control over the gasps she makes, the little purrs and coos of passion. The way her lips fall open in a gorgeous, perfect O while she approaches an O of her own. The way those same lips pull back into a snarl as I tease her.

I control the way I push her just to the brink of orgasm then steal it away from her like a thief in the night, just to hear her moans turn into whimpers. To feel her get desperate in the way she tries to take her pleasure from my tongue.

Sammi wanted to ride me, but she didn’t study marine biology for nothing. And now, she’s a boat out on the ocean of my desire—and I control the way she rises and falls until I allow her to reach the peak of her longing.

And then, I control the way she crashes down into the sea of my lust.

“Lock!” she cries out, twining her fingers into my hair. She pulls on it hard, like she thinks she can rein me in—

Silly little thing, my wife is. No woman can control the waters of the earth.

Not even a goddess like her.

She comes for me, hard and fast and with desperation. When I finally give it to her, I don’t hold back—and she can’t hold anything back at all, either.

Then, opportunist that I am, I pull her off my mouth and position her cunt against my cock.

“Beg for it, Sammi,” I say with that smile she hates so much.

Sammi takes a deep breath. I watch her lips spread out into a pleased little smile of her own.

“Call me your wife again, and maybe I will,” she says back to me.

Then, the way she always seems to do just when I’m beginning to enjoy myself, she slaps me dead across the face.

But I’m a man who’s been known to roll with the punches…

And God, I love a woman who can throw a good punch.