The Culmination (2 page)

She smiles down at me, her cheeks flushed and her nipples erect. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my hormones have been going a bit wackadoo lately,” she says.

Is this a trap? I’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to have noticed Sarah’s ultra-vigorous sex drive lately—a happy perk of her pregnancy I’ve been only too happy to accommodate.

“Well, to put it bluntly,” she continues, “for the last month or so, I’ve been wanting my hunky-monkey husband to fuck me like I owe him twenty bucks—but he simply won’t do it.”

I raise my eyebrows.

She laughs. “Did I get your attention, my sweet Jonas?”

“Definitely. I don’t part with twenty bucks easily.”

“So, here’s the deal, hubsters. For months, you’ve been extremely
careful
with me—and that’s totally understandable and sweet—and, yes, I’m well aware Dr. Johnston told us not to get too freaky-crazy during my third trimester, whatever that means—and I certainly agree we don’t want you denting our poor babies’ heads with your gargantuan hard-on—but I think you’ve been taking the ‘careful’ and ‘gentle’ thing a wee bit too seriously. I say this with love—well, no, that’s a lie; I’m just horny as hell—I think it’s time for you to just screw the crap out of your pregnant wife like she’s your sorry-ass bitch.” She pats her belly. “I’m a beach ball, baby. Go ahead and bounce me.”

I’m speechless for a moment, trying to process everything she’s just said.

“I’ve been really jonezing for The Arch lately. Wasn’t that yummy? We haven’t done that one in a while. Or the folding deck chair? Or maybe the pile-driver?”

I motion to her belly. “Kind of impossible right now. What do you say we revisit these grand ideas in about eight weeks or so?”

She bites her lip. “Aw, I know. But I’m starting to feel a little penned in. I think if we put our heads together, we could find something that
simulates
crazy-freaky. What if we role-play? We could pretend we’re in Thailand and I’m a train wreck and you’re pissed as hell at me?”

I open my mouth and then close it again. I cannot believe she’s invoking Thailand. I wasn’t
pissed as hell
in Thailand, I was fucking
enraged
at her. I couldn’t duplicate that inspiration if I tried.

“I mean, I know we can’t do Thailand
exactly
,” she says, giggling. “Man, I couldn’t walk for a week after that. I was just mentioning Thailand to give you an idea of the general
flavor
of the fuckery I’m thinking of trying to simulate.” She bites her lip.

I exhale. I know what Sarah’s really referring to here—and it’s not my anger. She wants me to tie her up again, though obviously she doesn’t want to say that explicitly, probably given what a touchy subject bondage of any kind has been for me in the past. I don’t say anything. I’m not sure how I feel about that bizarre night in Thailand—I’ve always thought that was a one-off, borne of unique circumstances. The only thing I’m certain about regarding that night in Bangkok is that Mr. “2Real” Motherfucking-Asswipe-Cocksucker can go fuck himself.

When I don’t reply, she chews on the inside of her cheek.

What exactly does she expect me to do? She’s almost eight months pregnant with twins, for fuck’s sake. “We’ve just got to play it safe for eight more weeks, baby,” I coo. “And then you’re ass is mine.”

She bites her finger and pouts. “Well, obviously I wanna play it
safe
. Of course. I just mean, maybe we can do a
safe
version of you fucking the shit out of me? Like a safe version of Rio, maybe?”

“Sarah, there is no safe version of Rio. I was drunk off my ass in Rio,” I say simply.

She laughs. “Well, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t totes awesome.”

“Let me handle it from here, okay, baby? I hear what you’re saying and I’ve got everything covered. Don’t you worry.”

“It’s just so ironic to have all these outrageous hormones making me crazy-horny at the exact time we can’t capitalize on them to the fullest extent. It’s like the old adage, ‘Youth is wasted on the young.’”

“Ssh.” I kiss her neck and she sighs with pleasure.

She grabs my hair and yanks on it roughly. “You gonna figure out a loophole to doctor’s orders?”

“Ah. My baby wants a
loophole
, huh?” My kisses trail from her neck down to her breasts. “Now I see.”

“Oh, yes, please. Loophole me, baby,” She arches her back into my tongue as it swirls around one of her nipples. “Looooooophooooooole,” she says.

We both laugh. For some time now, Sarah and I have been faux-turning each other on with words that sound dirty but aren’t. “Oh, baby. You know I love it when you talk dirty to me,” I whisper. I trail down from her breasts to her belly and continue swirling my tongue over her skin.

She moans. “
Loooooooophole.
”

God, I love this woman. I look up at her. “Ssh. No more talking. It’s time to bone.”

Her eyes light up. “Bonin’ time.”

I part her legs and position myself between them.

“You gonna fuck me like I owe you twenty bucks?”

“Ssh. I’m gonna fuck you like you owe me a
hundred
bucks. Never sell yourself short, baby.”

She laughs.

“Now, ssh.” I motion to my cock. “Because my boner’s grown another
seven
inches while we’ve been sitting here talking about fucking instead of doing it.”

“My goodness. At this rate of unprecedented growth, your boner’s gonna whack some poor guy upside the head in New York City by nightfall.”

“And London by morning.”

She nods definitively. “Okay, baby. Let us now proceed with the semi-savage fuckery that comports with doctor’s orders while nonetheless giving me the illusion of naughty back-alley sex.”

“Thank God, woman. Jesus.” I roll my eyes.

Sarah giggles.

I roll over to my computer on the nightstand and scroll through my music library for a minute, my cock throbbing like a motherfucker.

“Play ‘You Owe Me,’” Sarah says.

“What’s that?”

“It’s hip-hop. I think it’s by NAS. If you’re gonna screw your beautiful wife like she owes you a hundred bucks, you gotta have the perfect theme song.”

“You and your fucking hip-hop, OAP Cruz.” I keep scrolling, shaking my head. “Mark my words: I will never, ever fuck you to hip-hop.”

She laughs.

I settle on “R U Mine?” by the Arctic Monkeys, press play, and turn back to her. “God, you’re gorgeous. Just look at you. Oh my God.” I crawl over to her and nip at her ear. “Get ready, baby. I’m now going to bring new meaning to the term
motherfucker
.”

She giggles happily.

I kiss her neck. “I’m gonna make you feel so damned good, baby,” I whisper, dipping my fingers into her wetness, “you won’t even remember Rio or Thailand.”

She makes a sound that tells me she likes that idea.

“Or your own name, for that matter.”

“Please and thank you,” she breathes.

I crawl between her legs, yet again, and spread her thighs gently. She exhales, instantly settling in for what she knows is about to come (or should I say
who
is about to come).

I kiss the insides of her thighs for a while, letting her anticipation build, and then slowly begin working my way up toward her bull’s-eye. Before I get there, though, I slip my fingers inside her and begin stroking that telltale rough patch deep inside her. After only a few moments of stroking her G-spot with the exact amount of pressure she likes, she ignites like I’ve turned up the flames on her gas grill.

“Please,” she says, arching her back and clutching the sheets.

“Please what?”

She says something incoherent. I can feel her G-spot enlarging under my fingertips like a water balloon. Oh, how I love that sensation. And I know what my baby likes, even better than she knows it herself. “You want me to lick you?” I whisper, my warm breath teasing her pussy, my fingertips continuing to own her.

She moans.

I increase the pressure deep inside her with my fingertips and she gasps and squirms with her pleasure.

“Beg me for it,” I whisper.

She arches her back and whimpers.

“Beg me for it,” I repeat, my fingers moving with precision.

“Please,” she moans.

“Please what?” I’ve got her in the palm of my hand—literally, actually—and there’s no greater feeling. The tip of my cock is getting wet—feeling her pleasure ramp up gets me every time.

She moans loudly in reply.

I increase pressure and speed with my fingers and she goes fucking berserk on me.

Her body is beginning to clench around my fingers. I can feel her orgasm coming. I lean in and lap at the delicious flesh surrounding my fingers, careful to avoid her clit. She screams something incoherent and thrashes around. I nibble around her bull’s-eye and she shrieks.

She’s already rippling around my fingers. Well, that was easy.

“Beg me, dirty girl,” I say evenly.

“Please,” she whimpers.

“Okay, baby. But only ’cause you asked me so nice.”

With that belly of hers getting in the way, it takes a little doing to find the right angle for my tongue and hand all at the same time—but I’m a very determined and hungry boy, so I make it happen—and it’s a good thing too, because the minute my tongue hits her sweet spot, she lurches with pleasure. I’ve only gotten a minute and a half in when the woman spirals into Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one: simultaneous clit and G-spot climaxes. Fucking delicious—and a fairly new accomplishment for my little Mount Everest.

There’s not a moment to lose. I can’t let her regroup. This is too fucking good. I push her onto her side, cleave my body to hers from behind, and whisper in her ear, “Get ready to get fucked, dirty girl.” I quickly lean back and grab a bottle of lube from my nightstand, and then, without warning, I simultaneously slide my cock into her wetness and a lubed finger up her ass, all the while massaging her clit with my free hand.

Well, shit. The woman instantly loses her fucking mind. Ha! She’s all talk. When will she learn to leave the flavor of fuckery to me?

“You’re not allowed to come ’til I tell you to do it,” I whisper into her ear, my voice ragged. Jesus, I’m so turned on I feel like I’m gonna explode. Nothing gets me off like the sound of her getting off like this.

She whimpers and convulses against me, but she’s holding on.

“You’re gonna come when I give you permission,” I say, thrusting slowly while continuing to work every inch of her. She’s gasping for air. “Only when I give you permission. Because I
own
you, dirty girl.”

She screams like I’ve pushed her off a cliff. The woman’s gonna wake half of Seattle, and I love it.

“Now,” she shrieks, her entire body jolting.

“Not yet.”

She whimpers.

I continue thrusting slowly, ever so slowly—because no matter what my dirty girl’s craving, there’s no way in hell I’m gonna do a damn thing that even borders on risky at this point—all the while continuing to work every inch of her with my fingers. “You’ll come when I tell you to, baby.”

She moans and shudders violently.

“Only when I say you can.”

She makes the sound that comes right before The Sound. Holy fuck, she’s right on the cusp of oblivion. I wish I could make this last for hours, it’s so fucking good. Even in my current frenzy of excitement, I can’t help smiling at all her big talk before we got started. I own this woman. She’s at my fucking command. “Beg me,” I say, my voice low and fierce.

“Please,” she gasps.

I bite her ear. “You like this, pretty baby?”

She’s losing control.

“You gonna shut the fuck up now and let me do what I’m good at?”

“Yes.”

“You feel so good, baby,” I whisper into her ear, fucking her just a bit harder.

She makes The Sound, and I know she’s on the ragged edge, hanging on by the barest of threads. And so am I.

“You’re gonna come when I tell you to do it—even harder than last time.”

“Mmm.”

“You’re gonna come so hard, you’re gonna pass out.”

She makes the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard her make. It sends me past the edge. I can’t hang on any longer. “Now, baby,” I whisper into her ear. “
Right now.
”

She exhales audibly and instantly, her ass clenches around my finger, her pussy seizes around my cock, and her clit flutters under my fingertips, all at once. This kind of DEFCON one-level orgasm is so fucking hot—and so fucking elusive, to be honest, no matter how good I am—I lose it, too, right along with her, making my own set of fucked-up sounds.

After a moment, when we’ve both quieted down and our bodies have stilled, I lean down, push her to the side, and kiss the tattoo stamped on her ass. “You’re mine,” I say. “I own you.”

“Well, duh,” she says softly. “Otherwise, that tattoo on my ass is gonna be a real pain to remove.”

I crawl over her limp body and lie on my side, facing her. Her face is sweaty. Her eyes are closed. She’s cradling her belly. She’s fucking road kill right now. Holy fuck, I’m good at this. I feel like high-fiving myself. I swear to God, there is no one better at this than me, even when the object of my godliness is almost eight months pregnant with twins.

“Wow, wow, wow,” she says softly. “That was incredible. I think that might have been the best orgasm of my life. Seriously.”

These are the moments when she’s most beautiful to me—when she’s in the afterglow of complete sexual satisfaction. I touch her beautiful face.

“
Wow
,” she says again. She smiles broadly. “I’m sure you’re feeling mighty proud of yourself right about now, especially after all my babbling before we got started.”

“Fuck yeah, I am. I killed it. The samurai is in perfect form, even when his options for combat are limited due to reasons outside his control.”

“Well, not reasons outside your control—you’re the one who did this to me in the first place. This right here is entirely within your control.” She pats her belly and sighs happily. “The monkeys enjoyed that as much as I did. Maybe more. While you were ramping me up, they were leaping around, howling, going completely crazy, banging their fists against the cage, and then the minute that insane orgasm hit, they just stopped and went ‘Aah,’ like they’d just gotten into a Jacuzzi after a long, hard day of work.”