Chapter 2: Sleeping with my Cousin's Husband pt 2

Chloe jolted awake to the clatter of pans downstairs. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds.

Her body felt heavy and sticky from last night’s half-finished orgasm.

The noise came again; someone was in the kitchen. Chloe rubbed her eyes and swung her legs off the bed. She walked towards the hallway expecting to hear voices, but all she heard was the sound of pots and someone moving around.

Curiosity pulled her down the stairs. The house was quiet except for the sounds from the kitchen. She tugged the hem of her nightgown, but it barely covered the tops of her thighs. The fabric was so thin that the morning light made it nearly transparent. She could see the faint outline of her own body underneath: dark nipples already tight from the cool air, the shadow between her legs.

She stepped into the open doorway of the kitchen.

Damien stood at the stove, back to her. He wore gray sweatpants low on his hips and nothing else. Broad shoulders, muscles shifting as he flipped eggs. Two plates sat on the counter. One had bacon, toast, and sliced fruit. The other was still empty.

Chloe’s stomach twisted with sudden jealousy. He was making breakfast in bed for Mia.

Of course he was, that’s what husbands did after a night like last night.

He turned then, spatula in hand, and his eyes found her instantly. The look hit her like a physical touch; slow, deliberate, and hungry.

He didn’t smile or speak at first. He just stared, gaze dropping from her face to her chest, lingering on the hard points of her nipples pressing against the fabric, then lower to where the nightgown ended, and her bare thighs began.

Heat rushed to Chloe’s face, but lower, too. Fresh wetness gathered between her legs, slick and warm. Goosebumps raced down her arms.

She glanced down at herself. The gown hid nothing in this light. Her nipples were dark and peaked, clearly visible. The curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, even the faint triangle of hair between her thighs showed through.

She started to cross her arms over her chest due to instinct, but stopped. Her hands dropped to her sides instead.

She let him look. She wanted him to look.

Damien set the spatula down. The click of it against the counter was loud in the quiet kitchen. He took one step toward her.

“How did it feel?” he asked, voice low and rough from sleep.

“What?” she asked, feeling confused.

“Watching me fuck my wife last night. Touching your wet little pussy while you watched.”

Chloe gasped.

Air caught in her throat. She had almost convinced herself the eye contact was a dream, that he hadn’t really seen her, that she could pretend it never happened, but he remembered every detail.

She took a step back, and he followed with a forward step.

Another step back for her. Another forward for him. He moved like he had all the time in the world, shoulders loose, eyes locked on hers.

Predator. The word flashed in her mind and sent a shiver straight to her clit.

She kept retreating until her back hit the wall beside the pantry. Cool plaster pressed against her shoulder blades through the thin fabric, and there was no more room to run.

Damien closed the distance in two strides. He planted one hand on the wall next to her head, caging her in, and the other hand went straight to her waist, his big, warm fingers digging into soft flesh.

He yanked her forward until her body slammed against his chest, her breasts flattened against him, and she could feel the hard planes of his body, the heat rolling off his skin.

His mouth crashed down on hers.

The kiss was brutal, with no gentleness or teasing. His tongue pushed past her lips, claiming her mouth like he owned it. He tasted like coffee and salt.

Chloe moaned into him, the sound muffled by his tongue. Her hands flew up to grip his shoulders, nails digging in. She melted against him, knees weak.

His free hand slid up, cupped one breast roughly. The thumb and forefinger found her nipple and pinched hard. Pain flared, sharp and bright, then melted into throbbing pleasure.

She arched into his touch, whimpering. He rolled the nipple between his fingers, tugged, and pinched again. Wetness soaked her inner thighs now. She could feel it trickling down.

Chloe lifted one leg, hooked it around his waist. The move pulled her nightgown up, baring her completely from the waist down.

His sweatpants did nothing to hide the thick ridge of his cock pressing against her. The bulge settled right against her entrance; hot, heavy, separated only by thin cotton. She rocked her hips instinctively, grinding her slick folds along the length of him.

The friction made her moan louder, open-mouthed, needy. Her clit throbbed with every drag and she could feel how wet she was making his pants, how the fabric darkened where she rubbed against him.

Damien growled against her mouth. He broke the kiss just long enough to bite her lower lip, hard enough to sting then he dove back in, tongue fucking her mouth in the same rhythm she ground against him.

His hand left her breast, slid down her side, gripped her ass, and pulled her tighter against his cock. He thrust once, shallow, teasing, and letting her feel every inch through the fabric.

Chloe’s head fell back against the wall. “Damien…” His name came out broken, desperate.

He dragged his mouth down her neck, teeth scraping skin. One hand returned to her breast, pinching the other nipple now. The dual assault, teeth on her throat, fingers twisting her nipple, cock grinding against her soaked pussy made her shake. She was dripping, clit swollen and sensitive, every roll of her hips sending sparks up her spine.

She wanted him inside her.

Right there against the wall, while breakfast burned on the stove.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Mia’s voice floated down, sleepy and confused.  “Damien? What are you guys doing?”

They froze.

Chloe tried to keep herself from shaking as they had been caught by her cousin.