Chapter 8: Reclaiming
Sarah’s breath hitched at Mark’s command. The challenge in his eyes, the raw possessiveness radiating from him, sent a fresh surge of slick heat flooding from her cunt. Without a word, she turned, pressing her palms flat onto the cool, smooth surface of their kitchen table. The worn wood felt solid, unyielding. She bent forward, her spine arching, presenting her glistening folds to him. The last of the setting sun streamed through the window, casting long shadows and bathing the curve of her ass, the swollen lips of her pussy, in a warm, accusing light. Her modest breasts pressed against the cool wood.
Mark’s gaze burned into her exposed flesh. The sight – that undeniable wetness coating her inner thighs, clinging to dark curls, glistening at her entrance – was a punch to the gut and a siren call. The heady, musky scent of her arousal, thick with the lingering tang of Alex’s sex, filled the air between them. Jealousy twisted in his chest, sharp and hot, but it was utterly consumed by a ravenous hunger. He needed to taste. To possess. To erase.
He stepped forward, his hands landing heavily on the swell of her hips. His thumbs dug into the soft flesh, spreading her wider. A low groan ripped from his throat as the full, intimate view was laid bare: her pink, slick hole, slightly parted, glistening, the swollen bud of her clit visibly throbbing. The evidence of Alex’s presence was right there, a potent, physical violation Mark could see, smell, and soon, taste.
He dropped to his knees behind her. His breath washed hot and damp over her exposed cunt, making her shudder violently. A low whimper escaped Sarah’s lips, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth tabletop.
"Mark..." she breathed, a plea or a warning, he couldn't tell. Didn't care.
He didn’t tease. He didn’t ask. He buried his face between her thighs, his mouth covering her entire sex in one possessive, devouring motion.
Fuck.
The taste exploded on his tongue – Sarah’s familiar sweetness, sharp and electric, layered thickly with something else. Something muskier, saltier, undeniably other. Alex. The taste of the cock that had been inside his wife, the taste of Sarah’s ecstasy given by someone else. It should have repulsed him. It should have made him recoil.
It ignited him.
He growled against her flesh, the vibration making Sarah cry out, her hips jerking backwards, grinding her cunt harder against his mouth. His tongue was relentless, a thick, demanding muscle licking broad, possessive stripes from the tight furl of her asshole all the way up to her clit. He speared deep into her entrance, plunging his tongue as far as he could reach, lapping greedily at her inner walls, tasting the mingled essence deeply embedded within her.
"Oh God! Mark!" Sarah gasped, her back arching impossibly. Her thighs trembled violently. "Yes! Just like that! Fuck, your tongue!"
He focused on her clit, sucking the hard little nub fiercely into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it with rapid, brutal precision. His hands gripped her ass cheeks, spreading them wider still, opening her completely to his assault. He alternated – deep, penetrating thrusts of his tongue into her dripping hole, then savage suction on her clt, then broad, flat licks that gathered the copious slickness coating her folds and smeared it everywhere.
The sounds were obscene. Wet, sucking noises. Desperate gasps and high-pitched moans from Sarah. His own guttural groans vibrating against her sensitive flesh. He tasted her pleasure, her guilt, her lingering excitement, and the ghost of Alex’s intrusion. It was a drug. He couldn't get enough. He licked, sucked, devoured, his jaw working, his nose buried in her curls, inhaling the thick, erotic perfume of infidelity and raw need.
Sarah shattered. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat as her body locked rigid. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers like a vise, rhythmic, pulsing spasms milking them hard. Warmth gushed around his knuckles as she came, the scent of her release momentarily overwhelming the lingering musk of Alex.
Mark watched, mesmerized, as the convulsions wracked her body. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the table edge, her short brown hair damp with sweat at her temples. He kept his fingers buried deep, feeling her inner muscles flutter and clutch, drawing out every last tremor of her orgasm.
As the final aftershocks subsided, Sarah went limp, gasping for air, her cheek still pressed to the cool wood. Mark slowly, almost reluctantly, withdrew his slick fingers. He rose to his feet, his own cock an agonizing, rock-hard ridge straining against his trousers. The possessive fire still raged in his gut, stoked by her climax, the taste still on his lips, the sight of her utterly spent and claimed.