(Complete) Devil In The Waters, Book 2, Chapter 14

First thing she thought—and hated herself for it—was how easy Josh went down. She took him to his base with no warmup, his pubic hair scratching her nose. Try as she might, she couldn’t help an awful phrase from blossoming up from the base of her brain: Double-A.

What helped was total devotion to giving her husband oral pleasure. The more guilt rolled her way, she could upend the table, send the ball back where it came from by enthusiastic throat sounds, vigorous bobbing, squeezing on his balls. And she was rewarded. Josh made gasps of pleasure that tickled her heart, made her feel so good. Why hadn’t she done this for him more regularly?

And forget that Double-A stuff, anyway. Josh had a normal penis. Not every man had what Devlin had. Josh was as large as a guy should be. It’s what made Devlin special. He wouldn’t be special if Josh had a giant dick too. Devlin was more than a giant dick—and that was okay too. She could do this maybe. Work for Devlin, make lots of money, travel . . . mess around. But just a little. Not all the way. Hands and mouth, maybe. Maybe a little more. And Josh would get all of her. She would give him her all, her real self. By day she’d be the lawyer, by night, she’d be with her husband, in love with him.

Now she hummed at the thought, getting her palette vibrating on the underside of his cock, figuring he’d like that, feeling real true love for her man, wanting him happy and satisfied. Josh’s thighs shook against her forearms. She bobbed faster, saliva spilling and rolling over his scrotum . . . 

***

Between his legs, Kimmy’s head bobbed backward and forward, a wild and lubricious and stunningly wet feeling of sex along the entire surface area of his erection. Kimmy wasn’t holding back. She was giving it her all. Rhythmic but unpredictable, her sucking had him trembling, shaking, his breath erratic.

He watched the movement of her shoulder blades, the sway of her hair, her perfect thin body strapped in black, his wife dressed up entirely for sex . . . 

In only minutes she had him warning her: “Kimmy, mm, Kimmy, I think I’m gonna . . .”

He warned her again half a minute later. She didn’t slow.

Now came a feeling of free-fall, like his stomach dropped, his balls went heavy but instead of hanging, their sudden weight pulled upward with the tightening of his stomach muscles as his seed boiled over and began its launch pattern.

Urgent hissing: “Kimmy, Kimmy . . .” Last chance, Kimmy, oh God, I can’t believe this . . . 

And Kimmy didn’t pull away, hugged her face to his crotch, hands grabbing at the small of his back, every inch he had impaled deep in her face. Hands cupped on her head, her silky hair on his palms, he seized, restricting his urgent desire to thrust and stab as he ejaculated, instead sitting, scalp tingling and peeling, all throbbing nuclear fusion focus on the hard muscle under his balls as it squeezed into a knot and his seed exploded down Kimmy’s throat. Pulse after pulse, his chest tight, breath held, then a chuffing exhale, body jolting from electric bolts of white pleasure as her slippery mouth moved against his ramrod of a cock. “Oh Kimmy, oh Kimmy . . .”

He babbled as pleasure worked to obliterate his mind; a disbelieving unreality to this situation. Too good to be true was what he thought. Coming in his wife’s mouth hadn’t seemed like something he needed in his life until he was doing it. That she would want to do this for him without him even asking had him breaking for her, wanting to sweep her up and hold her tight, show his affection and undying love. He displayed his appreciation with bellows of satisfaction, his hands on the side of her head, feeling the small hard shapes of her ears under the softness of her hair.

They stilled finally, him huffing, Kimmy’s breath snorting through her nostrils, his cock still in her mouth. They both began chuckling at the same time. Kimmy took her time removing her mouth from him, inch by inch slipping backward, squeezing with her lips like she wanted every last drop. He couldn’t even believe it. He’d never seen her in such a sexual light.

She hid her face in her hair, up on her toes but still squatted, wiping at her mouth before rising to stand, her hard stomach and tight navel in his face. She laughed, then ruffled his hair.

In breathy bewilderment, full of appreciation: “Holy shit, Kimmy, what the was that?”

She laughed again, pulled her face away, and he grabbed her wrist, tugging. She fell to sit on his lap, her naked butt cheeks on his bare thighs, her panties some kind of thong back. He said, “What is going on?”

“Did you like that?”

“Oh my God, I . . . I still can’t believe that . . .”

“Was it good?”

He hugged her, so wild still he was temporarily wowed out of speech. “Kimmy, Kimmy,” he sighed.

She slink out of his lap and stood. Indeed a thong back. Or at least a high scoop. Was her ass always this perfect? Like she knew he watched, her hands came to hide her ass, and she pivoted aside, and scooped up her kimono.

“Hey, don’t get dressed,” he said.

“I have to get in my PJs,” she said.

“PJs? Why don’t you come to bed,” he said, patting the spot next to him, his other hand covering his depleted erection.

“I’m coming,” she said, “Let me get my PJs on.” She sashayed into the bathroom again leaving him there unsure, her smoky stocking legs dancing in then closing the door behind her. On the one hand, he was beyond satisfied and grateful that she’d done that for him; on the other: didn’t she want her turn?

He got up, pulled on his own PJ pants, moved nearer their bathroom door saying, “Want me to go down on you?” Then the words out in the air, he felt silly.

“What?—no, I’m fine, I’ll be out in a sec, hold on . . .”

When she was out, he was waiting for her, taking her in his arms. Gone was that mirage of his hyper-sexualized wife, like he’d imagined it, and now she was how he knew her, wearing cotton bottoms with a drawstring waist and a too-big shirt that hid that lean and sexy frame. “I want you to have your turn,” he said.

“It’s all right, Josh,” she said, smoothing hands on his chest. “I just wanted to do that.”

“Why?”

She laughed, squeezed out of his grip, but pulled him toward the bed. “Why? Why wouldn’t I? You just wanted to give me my turn. Why?”

“I want to . . .”

“Is it so crazy I wanted to do that?” She crawled to her spot on the bed on all fours and he stood there watching.

“You don’t want anything else?”

Now it was her patting the spot next to her, inviting him into the bed. “I want to sleep, and I want you to cuddle with me.”

“Jesus,” he said, scratching his head, coming around to his side to climb in with her, Kimmy holding up the sheets. “What did I do? How do I get so lucky?— Playing video games all night, pizza and beer—”

“With your buddies.”

“With my buddies, and then my wife—who’s hotter than ever, I mean it—comes home and does . . . that . . .”

She smiled, patted the spot next to her again. “Now she wants to cuddle . . .”

***

When he’d slipped in, she’d got her arms on him, pulling him into place and now they were spooned, her chest to his back. The light was still on and they lay with each other bodies breathing in rhythm.

Her hand was on his chest and he took it now, kissed her fingers, wedding ring poking the side of his nose. “Sophie’s such an angel,” he said.

“She is,” Kimmy sighed, kissed the back of his ear. “We should have her and Meyer over more.”

“He’d like it. And I like seeing Sophie.”

She kissed his ear again. He hugged her hand.

She said, “I think I’m going to go back to work.”

He nodded, a mild wave of disappointment rising up. “Okay.”

“Is it okay?”

“If you want to go back to work, Kimmy, I want that too.”

“You know why though, right?”

“Money.”

“I can’t stagnate, Josh. Once I have kids am I ever going to go back to work?”

“Kids, plural?”

“Maybe.”

“I’d like that,” he said, smoothing the back of her hand. Picturing it now. Two Sophies, maybe a little boy. “I know.”

“I might have a narrower window.”

“We’re doing all right.” They had a nice palette of cash in the bank, saved for their future, living frugally.

“We are. Say I go back to work, not the firm, but take something better . . . in a few years . . .”

“I’ve thought about it. You have too?”

“Been thinking about it. I’d like to have a house.”

“So would I . . .”

“I should go back to work. Don’t you think?”

“Kimmy, the decision is yours, you know that.”

“I want your opinion. What do you think?”

“Both of us working was hectic. But, I know, you must get bored around here, like . . .”

She sighed, “I can’t make any more baskets . . .” They both chuckled.

“Go to work, Kimmy. Whatever makes you happy. We can put off a family a little more. As long as you still want kids . . .”

“Of course.”

“Then go back to work,” he said, rubbing a thumb on her wrist. And knowing it would come up, he made the first strike: “That thing for Devlin Stone for real?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He scoffed.

She flicked his earlobe making hum flinch. He chuckled.

They were quiet for a moment before she said, “What would you think?”

“What do you mean—working for Devlin?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t like it.”

“What if it was a lot of money?”

“Yeah? How much is a lot of money?”

“I’m not sure. I think I want to find out.”

“How much would it take for you to work for that asshole?”

“I don’t know. How about for you?”

No hesitation: “Ten times.”

Kimmy laughed against his back, hugged him tighter. “I guess it’s off.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “No. Sorry. I don’t know. Two times? If it paid two times what your other firm paid, I guess . . .”

“We could buy a house in a few years.”

“That would be so awesome,” he said, nodding now.

She said, “Should I find out what he’d offer?”

“I guess. Yeah, okay. No harm in that . . .”

She gave no reply, left him a moment to turn over and switch off the light. Returned to him though, put her arm around him again, scratched nails on his chest.

But he couldn’t help wondering if that’s what the blowjob was about.

Then cursed himself for such a vile thought.