Same Time Next Year

Citrus.

That’s all I’m able to process before I throw her down on the bed and start to unfasten my jeans, hands shaking. My balls are so full and heavy, they feel like they’re a couple of weights sitting in my stomach, which is another reason I should stop. Stop. I’m going to come too fast. This could be my one chance to be inside my wife, and I’ve got about ten good pumps in me, goddammit. But there’s no way in hell I can do anything but plow forward.

Because, holy shit, would you look at her?

As soon as I threw her down on the bed, she sat up and reached back to unzip her dress, her gaze intent on my fly, her cheeks deepening with color. The straps fall loose around her arms, then lower to her waist, leaving her in this black bra that pushes her tits up like two ripe apples, and I almost die. No, I am. I’m dying. I’m going to climax in my pants over the fact that this is happening at all. I’m about to sleep with Britta. My wife. The girl I’ve been obsessing over since the moment I laid eyes on her.

“Britta, Jesus, you are so fucking beautiful.” I leave my zipper halfway down and strip off my shirt, enjoying the way she catches her breath, her fingers twisting in the comforter at what she sees. I’m not vain by any stretch of the imagination, but there’s no use pretending I’m not a brick shithouse with enough muscle for three men—and the lust that transforms her expression tells me she likes that. A lot. Thank God. “Let’s

get the rest of your clothes off. Safely. If I start kissing you again first, they’re going to get ripped in half.”

“Ohhh. Um . . .” She pushes at her dress clumsily, like her hands aren’t working, and pride moves in my chest. I’m rattling her. Good. She’s been rattling me as far back as I can remember, because I swear to God, my memories start with the night I met her. “Can you undress me?”

“Britta, I’ve been living to undress you.”

A shudder goes through her, those incredible tits swelling against the black silk of her bra. “I didn’t know it was possible to get wet from dirty talk,” she says haltingly, arching her back and reaching behind herself to unsnap the undergarment—and I watch in absolute awe as she shows me her bare breasts for the first time, two cherry-tipped miracles that make me throb everywhere. “Why doesn’t it sound cheesy when you do it?”

“I . . . what?” My hands move on their own, taking her dress the rest of the way off and then throwing it to the floor. Now she’s in a thong. She’s in nothing but a thong, and I’m growing less and less confident in those ten pumps. It might be closer to five. “I can’t think straight enough to answer your question, sweetheart. Have you seen you?”

“You’re gorgeous,” she blurts, sitting up slightly, curling a fist in my waistband and tugging me down on top of her, which takes very little encouragement. “You’re so, so gorgeous, Sumner,” she murmurs, those words ending on a moan when I settle my weight fully on top of her, and we start to kiss, my hips rolling forward between her thighs, her fingers tracing the slopes of my shoulders, the hockey-sore muscles of my back.

We kissed at the concert, but there was restraint involved that is gone now.

Long gone. I’m stroking my tongue into her perfect mouth the way I want to stroke my cock into her body, humping her through my jeans and her panties, the urgency building to a fever pitch within seconds.

“Britta.” I look down into her face while dry fucking her, memorizing the sound of her whimper, the way she digs her knees into my sides. “I’m going to eat your pussy until you scream. Just lie there and take it.”

It’s like her whole body starts to hum, teeth sinking into that lush bottom lip, vibrations passing through her. “If you insist.”

“I’m not going to be neat about it. You have a problem with that?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You will.”

I kiss her mouth one more time, then pull back, looking her in the eye while I circle a hand around her throat, making sure she’s okay with it. And damn, she is. Her eyelashes flutter, and her thighs tremble a little, putting me even further on edge. Holding her there with just enough pressure to get her excited, I finally, finally, get my mouth on her tits. I lick both firm little globes until they’re covered completely in my spit, taking a moment to admire them, before tapping the flat of my tongue against her nipple, flicking it, then sucking deeply, drawing until I can feel her swallow thickly against the palm of my hand, followed by a gasp.

“Sumner.”

“Hold on, I’m apologizing for the way I’ve treated them in my dreams.” I lick to the opposite nipple and take it into my mouth on a groan, because the taste of her is actual milk-and-honey-flavored heaven. “I’ve done some very bad things to these tits in my head, Britta.”

Her fingers slip into my hair, twisting, her body writhing with a little more insistency every time I suck deep. “Like what?”

I shake my head, mentally admonishing myself for bringing this up.

“Shit a man doesn’t do to his wife.”

“Tell me,” she whispers.

“No.”

“You’re holding my throat, and I wouldn’t have expected that from you.” She fits a hand over mine, and we squeeze her there together, her pupils dilating in the darkness. “And I like it.”

We’re down to three pumps, ladies and gentlemen. “Britta, please

. . . ,” I groan, moving my hips faster, slapping hard between her thighs.

God, oh God, I’m not even inside her yet, and my life is flashing in front of my eyes.

“Sumner, you’re going to do these things with me . . .” She wets her lips, her words releasing in a harsh exhale. “Because if you do them to someone else, I will have to murder them with my bare hands.”

At first, I’m not sure I heard her correctly. But . . . did I?

I did.

My wife is possessive.

Part of me wants to laugh out loud because the very idea that I could even consider another woman is so far outside the realm of possibility, she has no idea. What women? Where? I’m blind to every last one of them.

There’s only Britta.

Mainly, however, I’m fucking outraged that she might spend a single second feeling jealous. My wife? Jealous? No. Never. I enabled her to track my location on her phone as a formality, but deep down, I didn’t think she needed it with any kind of immediacy.

I drag my open mouth up her throat and fasten it over hers, suctioning her into a hard kiss before pulling back an inch, leaving our foreheads pressed together. “I’ve never thought of spitting on and slapping another woman’s tits. Only these.” I massage her breast in my hand, listening to her breath stutter in and out, gratified to see wonder instead of hesitancy.