The Rejected Wife: Chapter 11

He curls his tongue inside me, and little balls of fire erupt under my skin. My blood feels like it’s boiling. Sweat beads my temples. I grab at the bedclothes on either side of my body, push my head into the mattress, and try to stop myself from coming again so embarrassingly soon. But when he grazes his stubbled chin up my pussy, I wail.

The sound is so vulnerable, so heavy with lust, it turns me on even more. I’m aware of my inner walls pulsing. Of moisture sliding out from between my legs.

He licks up my cum, then proceeds to suck on my pussy, using just enough of his teeth to cause a combination of pain and pleasure to squeeze my lower body. ‘Tyler, please. Ty,’ I whine.

In response, he drags his tongue down my slit to my forbidden back hole, then back up again to my cunt. Then, he pries my pussy lips apart and focuses solely on my slit. He sips and slurps and draws on the swollen bud until I’m out of my head with wanting. My toes curl, my hips quake. Full body shudders oscillate up and down my length. ‘Tyler, please, please, please.’

‘What do you want, baby?’ he whispers into my cunt.

‘You.’ Half out of my head with need, unable to bear the emptiness clawing deep inside of me, I yank on his hair, desperate to have him, to kiss him. To have him replace his tongue with the part of him that I haven’t yet seen. ‘I need you, please.’

The longing in my voice must finally get through to him, for he pushes off of me. In a fluid move which has his biceps bulging and the planes of his back stretching his shirt, he rolls off the bed and straightens. With more than a little swagger, he rolls down the sleeves of his shirt. He undoes a couple of his buttons, then reaches behind his back and, in a very quintessentially male gesture, he pulls off his shirt and throws it aside.

I greedily drink in the expanse of his chest planes, the dog tags which nestle between his pecs, the corrugated eight-pack abs which turn it into a work of art, and then that Adonis belt. Oh, my God.

Then there’s the tattoo over his heart. I peer at the Japanese-style cherry blossom branch that appears to break through dog tags inked into his skin. The blossoms aren’t the traditional pink—they’re rendered in the watercolor style using the colors of military service medals. They look like drops of color catching the light. Before I can ask him what the tattoo signifies, a jangle of metal draws my attention to his waistband.

He undoes his belt, lowers his zipper, and then shucks off his pants and his briefs in one sweep. When he straightens, I take in the powerful thighs corded with muscle and the heavy organ jutting up from the nest of hair at his crotch. Jesus. He’s bigger than I imagined. I felt the length of him pressed up against my core, but seeing his cock in its full naked glory ignites specks of fire in my blood and turns them into flaming cannonballs.

My mouth waters. My jaws ache in expectation. My pussy trembles… And it’s not just from anticipation. It’s a wariness, which has everything to do with self-preservation. From the primal rush of knowing this is a man at the apex of his masculinity standing before me. So virile. He could probably impregnate me just looking at me.

‘Holy shit.’ I take in his thickness, the proud jut of his penis, the throbbing vein which runs up the length, the swollen bulbous head, and shake my head. ‘You’re so big.’

He smirks. ‘I’m aware.’

‘You’re huge.’

‘Thank you.’ He dips his head.

“I did mean that as a compliment, sort of.” I swallow.

He must sense my hesitation, for a furrow appears between his eyebrows. “But⁠—’

“But I have to point out again that that’s a monster dick you have there.” As if to emphasize my words, I knock my knees together. It’s a purely instinctive response. One born out of self-preservation. One done because, though I appreciate his size, I also am not sure if he’s going to fit.

He surveys me closely. “I know I’m well-endowed, but I promise, I’ll do my best to ensure I don’t hurt you.”

I swallow—knowing I won’t be able to wrap my fingers around that column, let alone my mouth. As for my cunt… Holy hell. Moisture trickles from my slit. But my thighs…quiver, only it’s not just from desire. There’s a certain amount of doubt, of trepidation of letting that anaconda-like part of him near me. Despite him making sure he made me come first and showing he isn’t selfish… Still… It feels like a breach too far—pun intended—to allow him to penetrate me with that thang.

‘It’s not that I don’t believe you…” Which is true. I do think he won’t consciously hurt me. I twist my fingers together. “But I have a feeling, despite your best intentions, when you put that… That monster cock inside of me, I’m likely to feel you all the way in my throat, and… I’m afraid it’s going to hurt too much.”

I’m sure he’s going to laugh at my reluctance. Or perhaps, try to convince me to let him fuck me anyway, that I’m going to love it, ultimately. And he’s probably right, but to my surprise, he does none of that.

Instead, a tender look comes into his eyes. “I understand your trepidation.”

“You… You do?” I blink.

“We only met today. And while we both sense the chemistry between us, there’s no reason for you to trust that I’ll take care of you.’

The very fact that he says that relaxes something inside me. Some of the tension goes out of my shoulders.

“It’s not that I don’t want it. And I know I’m the one who insisted that we spend the night ‘not-only-talking.’”

“But at that time, you didn’t realize what I was packing?” he offers.

I search his features to make sure he isn’t inwardly smirking at me. And he isn’t. He actually understands my quandary. Ugh. It makes me wonder if I’m overreacting.

Once more I glance at his very impressive XXXL-sized muscle between his legs. “Umm, to be fair, I’m not surprised. You have a certain confidence about you, a certain dominance which told me you had to be well-sized, but yeah, the fact that it resembles the Loch Ness monster is a surprise.”

“Dominance, hmm?” One side of his lips kicks up.

“No need to appear so pleased,” I mutter. “Though I suppose you’re entitled.” I’m relaxed enough for my legs to fall apart.

His gaze instantly darts to the triangle between my thighs. His breathing roughens. He curls his fingers into fists at his sides. And damn, if his shaft doesn’t thicken further. I gulp, then glance up at him—but his face doesn’t betray how turned on he is. The air between us shifts, softening. “We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.” His voice is tender.

He straightens his fingers and rolls his shoulders. Then he looks around, grabs his pants and steps into them.

To my eternal regret, he covers the baseball bat-shaped thang jutting up from his center… And a part of me mourns it. My pussy is both regretful and relieved. Okay, only one percent relieved, because secretly, I trusted what he said. He’d have made sure I came a few more times and that I was soaking wet. And while I’d have had to stretch to take him inside me, considering women have pushed out babies, I’d have probably accommodated him, ultimately. No doubt, I’d have had the biggest orgasm of them all when we fucked.

On the other hand, I don’t have to take his shaft into my body yet. I bet I’d have felt sore for weeks after. And it feels too intimate that I’ll feel him inside me in that manner… And it’s only been a few hours since I met him. He’s right, after all.

I would prefer to get to know him better before taking this final step. And yes, it is because he’ll be my first. And then, I’ll have to explain why I haven’t been with anyone else yet, and that’ll be awkward.

Guess this isn’t just about the size of his dick. It’s…some instinct which wants me to spend a little more time with him, out of bed, before giving him my virginity. Which is understandable, right?

He shrugs on his shirt, but thankfully, he doesn’t button it, so flashes of those very impressive, drool-worthy pecs of his remain visible.

He walks around and holds out his hand. I glance at it, then up at his face. There’s resignation and understanding, and lust and… More than a tinge of tenderness. Which is as sexy as that dominant, bossy, take-charge attitude I’ve found so hot from the very first time he opened his mouth and ordered me around.

There’s no question of refusing him. I slide my hand into his.

His throat moves as he swallows. I realize then, he was worried I’d refuse him. As if I could? I still want him. But he’s right; this thing between us is serious enough that I also want to get to know him better.

‘Come on, let’s get something to drink.’