Beg For It

Because when he got angry at me, when he yelled and screamed, when he thrust me against the wall, his hand around my neck, and seethed in my ear … God, it was the only time that he seemed like the same man I married. That hard Dom.

Not like the man he had been lately.

I gazed back at Jack, smirked, and curled my fingers into his taut chest. “Yes,” I said, inching closer to him, one of his knees between mine.

The closer I moved, the farther his knee inched up the inside of my thighs, the higher my dress rose, the longer his eyes lingered on my legs. “I have a husband that doesn’t please me anymore. Refuses to fuck me the way I want to be fucked.” My fingers trailed up his neck, and he tensed. “Hard. Rough. Until my legs are quivering.”

When I pulled away from him, his eyes were hazier. Maybe it was the alcohol or the inner brat in me, but I pulled him closer to me and let his knee graze against my panties.

He didn’t know how to react at first, but then he smirked at me. I trailed my