Running the brush through her ink black hair one last time, she tracked her husband's movements in the mirror as he approached her from across the room. Even at forty-two, his handsome features held strong and his dark brown hair was barely graying. He was wearing his Armani tuxedo and dread filled the pit of her belly. She knew what that suit meant for her, but since they were just supposed to be getting dinner with family friends, she didn't understand why.
"W-why are you wearing the Armani, dear?" she asked, a quiver in her voice.
He finally reached her and slid his hands up to cup her bare shoulders. The heat of his front against her back wasn't enough to stop the shiver running up her spine. The silver, mermaid gown hugged the curves she'd acquired over her thirty-two years of life. The roundness of her hips and breasts had increased even more so after having their daughter sixteen years ago. The blush colored lipstick softened her sharp, some might even say chilling, facial features.
Her jet black eyes met the sparkling green abysses of her husband's in their reflection. "Didn't you hear, my love? Michael and Regan are expecting their third child."
A pang of fear and envy hit her square in the gut, causing her slender hand to rest over her navel. Her body had decided one was enough but Robert always resented that decision.
She gave a wavering smile. "And that's cause for the Armani?"
He pressed his chilled lips to the elegant, fragile curve of her neck. "Of course," his gaze cut to hers. "We're celebrating."
Her mouth popped open in surprise. "Oh. Have they-"
He silenced her with a hand gently squeezing her swan-like throat. "Shh, my dear," he encouraged, watching her eyes flare in the mirror. He pointed to his ear and then up at the ceiling in warning. Magdalen nodded her understanding and he let his palm slip downward toward her supple cleavage. Watching her pupils dilate again, he felt his pants tighten in excitement.
She chastised him breathily, "Robert, we have to be at the restaurant in twenty minutes." Despite her meek protests, as his hand dipped beneath the tight fabric of her dress, she kept quiet and still as a marble statue. Slipping his hand beneath her bra, he cupped her heavy breast. She whimpered softly when his fingers rolled over her small nipple before pinching it past the point of pleasure.
"That gives us plenty of time for you to give me what I need," he assured her, never breaking eye contact in the mirror over her shoulder. "Don't you agree?"
"Yes, my love." Her voice was soft now, small too. Her husband led her towards their bed, his hand still gripping breast and tweaking her nipple to the point of numbness.
He spun her around to face him, her knees hitting the foot of their bed as he stared into her deep pools of darkness while unzipping her gown. "I promise not to mess up your hair, love." It was his intent, seasoned stare that kept her standing rooted to her spot instead of falling to the mattress in preparation. "I know how much time you take to look so perfect for me. I would never ruin that for you."
"Thank you, Robert."
She reached behind her back to unhook her bra for him but he clicked his tongue at her.
"Leave it." He stepped closer, breathing into her ear. "I want something to ruin, something to tear off of you. When I see your breasts sagging beneath that dress tonight and everyone notices your nipples hardening like rocks, I'll remember..." he trailed off as his cold fingers slid into her white lace panties.
She bit her lip to keep silent as he kneaded her sensitive bud with his meaty fingers for only a moment before barreling them inside of her. He stepped even closer, lowered his lips to her ear, and thrust his fingers inside his obedient wife until he was buried knuckles deep.
Licking the shell of ear, he whispered, "...and they will all know who owns you." Ripping his fingers from her body, her startled gasp sent a thrill of pleasure up his spine. He held her still with his hand curled in the front of her strapless bra. He could feel her heart thundering against his knuckles. Locking eyes with her, he pulled on the fabric so hard that it ripped right off her body, letting her breast fall free.
He sucked his dry fingers into his mouth, eyes roaming over the curves of her breasts and her hard, pink nipples. "Hmm..." he hummed in disapproval. "I thought you learned your lesson by now, Magdalen?"
"I have, Robert! I'm sorry I disappointed you." She had the good sense to avert her eyes and bow her head in shame.
"Oh, lovely," he cupped her cheeks in his hands and pressed a kiss to her taunt lips. "You could never disappoint me. You were made for me." Releasing her face with a smile, he pointed to his feet and instructed, "You'll make this up to me, though, won't you?"
"Your pleasure is mine," she affirmed as she sank to her knees.
Steady, controlled, and methodical hands reached out to unzip the fly of his slacks. He let out a sigh and lifted his hand towards the top of her head as he usually would before stopping in midair. Instead of grabbing her hair, he gripped her jaw and tilted her head up.
Her long, midnight hair created a beautiful halo around her shoulders and creamy breasts. Her little mouth popped open as he applied pressure to her chin.
"Who owns you?" he growled, his voice hoarse with the need to dominate, break, and bend her body to his will.
Hands that had years of practice reached into the fly, pulled out his hard length, and began stroking. "You do, my love," she recited, eyes never leaving his as she worked her hand up and down his thick, veiny shaft.
Letting go of her face, he braced his hands on his hips, needing something to hold onto. "Get to work," he ordered, thrusting his hips out until the engorged head pressed against her nose.
