“You didn’t have to work very hard,” he admitted with a laugh. “You had no competition.”
The microwaved beeped, and Eric retrieved the container, somehow managing not to drop it as Rebekah trailed after him, her hand now lingering at the base of his cock.
“I’d fight for you,” she said. “You know that, right?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. You’re mine and I’m yours and that’s the way it’s going to be forever. No take-it-backsies.”
“No take-it-backsies,” she agreed.
He scooped steaming lasagna onto two plates, having to pause several times as her hand did marvelous things to his attentive cock.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to have to paddle your ass,” he said finally.
“If I keep what up?”
“Playing with my dick while I’m trying to get dinner ready.”
Her palm skimmed his length, and he shuddered.
“Then I guess you’re going to have to paddle my ass.”
She squeaked in surprise when he turned abruptly and lifted her off the floor by her upper arms.
“Eric!”
He hauled her into the dining room, turned her to face the long white-washed table, and pressed between her shoulders to urge her to bend forward. She complied without hesitation. He drew back his hand to swat her ass and stopped short when confronted by her panties.
“Why did you put your panties back on?” he asked.
“I’m a bit… wet,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t want to make a mess on the chairs.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he said. “Take them off.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, apparently taken aback by the uncharacteristic harshness in his tone. He didn’t falter. And he was going to paddle her ass while he fucked her. He wouldn’t spank her particularly hard, but he would make sure she felt it.
“Off!” he said when she did nothing but blink at him over her shoulder.
Leaning over the table, she slowly lowered her panties, exposing her perfect rump to his appreciative stare. She got them as far as her knees before his need for her became too much. He swatted her ass with his palm. She gasped in surprise. He massaged the soft globe of flesh and then spanked her again. Her pale skin reddened beneath his hand.
Perhaps he was being too rough with her tender backside.
She widened her stance slightly, her legs held together by the panties at her knees, and flattened her chest and belly to the table, inviting more. He swatted her untouched cheek, and she jerked before moaning brokenly.
“Do you like your punishment, naughty wife?”
“Oh yes,” she whispered.
He used his free hand to direct his cock into her hot pussy. He slid deep without resistance.
“Oh God,” she said, her voice muffled by the table. “Fuck me hard.”
He was glad they were of the same mind. And he planned to claim his orgasm in the dining room. Even up the score a bit. He thrust into her hard and fast, slapping her ass every few dozen strokes to prevent her from coming. At least he’d anticipated that the stinging pain would hold her orgasm at bay. Instead it sent her flying. Her screams of release dragged him along for the ride. He pulled out at the last moment to watch himself come over her lower back in several vigorous spurts. He massaged his cum into his tattooed name and then rubbed her bright red ass with both palms.
“You liked that?” he asked, a bit surprised that she’d responded so enthusiastically to rough handling.
“Mmm hmm,” she purred. “I like everything you do to me. I do believe the score is now three to one in my favor.”
“I just came all over your back, Rebekah Sticks,” he reminded her. “The score is two to two.”
“I believe I came first. So the point goes to me.”
“Maybe you were faking it.”
“You know I never fake it.”
“Not even to win?”
She rose from the table and turned to look up at him with her pair of baby blues. He melted on the spot.
She shook her head slowly. “I never fake it. I came first.”
“Fine, we’ll call it a tie.”
“Sore loser,” she accused with a grin. “Fine. A tie. That makes it three to two. I’m still winning.”
She kicked off her panties and practically skipped back into the kitchen to claim her plate of now cool lasagna.
She settled for sitting on a dishtowel while they ate at the dining room table. Naked. He hoped they’d take all of their meals naked. She was so beautiful sitting across from him—completely comfortable in her own skin—that he scarcely tasted the delicious lasagna he shoveled into his mouth.
“So I think Isaac is going to go back to Africa for a while,” she said, poking at a bit of sausage with her fork.
He didn’t like that she looked so depressed about the notion of Isaac leaving the continent. Eric was fucking stoked about the news himself.
“I’m sure he’ll be happier there,” she said.
“You’re going to miss him, aren’t you?” Eric asked, trying to ignore the stabs of jealousy spiking up his throat.
She nodded. “He just got back. We haven’t even had time to go shopping together.”
“Shopping?”
She grinned. “I should have realized he was gay a long time ago. The man loves to shop. We used to have so much fun together. Well, except when we tried to have sex. That never did feel quite right with him.”
“Your vagina was trying to wait for me,” Eric claimed. “It knew he wasn’t the right dick for you.”