Homewrecker (18+)

Chapter 25

All I wanted so passionately was to feel him, to feel him moving inside of me, his rough and warm hands clasped around my breasts, my nipples heavy with stimulation caused by him.

Though, the minute I was pushed into the plushy pillows at the tip of the bed, Mr. Rossi didn't touch my body, nor did he slip a finger under the cloth of my shorts like I wanted him to.

"What is it?" I asked him, gazing at him through my lashes with the remnants of mascara, and him, hovering above me, fists planted on each side of me digging into the mattress. "What's wrong?"

"It doesn't matter."

Instead of letting him hover, I pushed my hand against his bulky chest and shoved him onto the side of the bed next to me, where his body fell into the mattress with a subtle thud, a relaxed breath puffing out of his kissable lips.

"Just relax and tell me," I murmured, trailing my finger down his bare arm, across each individual vein that looped around from under that tan shade of skin. "Let it out."

As though he'd fallen for my quick act of seduction, he looked up at the ceiling, face unreadable, though slightly relaxed. "It's nothing. Angelica has been acting strange with me. Different, even. After..."

"After what?" I asked dubiously, though I had a vague idea of what he was referring to. Evil of me- I liked to hear it out loud.

"When we fúcked." So honestly he said it, like a fact, which it was.

It was a fact that he'd fúcked me, and I found myself holding back a genuinely triumphant smile. For his sake, though, I kept myself contained with my lips pursed into a thin line.

"Do you think she knows?" I asked him, elbow digging into the mattress, my own head pressed into the palm of my hand for support, hair falling in wavy locks over my face.

"I don't know." He spoke gruffly, throaty in a ridiculously erotic way, except he hadn't a clue to his charm.

To him, he was a father, a cheating one at that. A cheater, he was.

In my eyes, however, he was much more than that, and come to think of it, I was the reason for his troubles, for his state of conflict.

I found myself fond of the idea of having control of a man that once seemed like such a puritan from the outside.

"Want to get your mind off of it? You don't have to do anything." I whispered, voice laced with utmost appetence. "I can do all the work."

He replied without a word, but a simple, delicate nod of his head. And with that I crawled on top of him, on to his thick thighs, his buff chest rising and falling with subtle breaths.

"Forget about her right now," I began as I slipped my t-shirt off, nípples erect, the glow of the moon from the window projecting onto my coconut scented skin. "Think of me. Look at me, daddy."

He complied, taking a shark intake of breath when I slipped off my shorts, no panties of course, and slowly, with a pace that even sent my own heart into a frazzled state of hysterics, glided myself along the rising outline of his no doubt, throbbing manhood. "You like seeing me naked?"

"Jesus, Madelyn." he murmured in response, both of his hands rising from the spot on the plushy mattress to grip my hips, padded fingers warm and thick against my skin.

My own cùnt grew moist with just the sensation, the fact that, like the naturally dominant man he was, he'd already grabbed my hips albeit his somewhat of a blue mood. That itself proved his lust for me, and with that I began to grind myself harder against him, his shaft straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.