Chapter Eighty six
I am more than a little alarmed to find Cyrus in the kitchen talking to Margret as he has breakfast the next day. I stand there like a deer caught in the headlight with no Idea what to do with myself until Margret notices me and asks me to take a seat next to my husband as she serves me my breakfast. I am glad that when I take a seat Cyrus says goodbye to Margret and leaves, claiming he is running late.
Cyrus is there every morning from then on and he seems to be avoiding me as much as I want to avoid him, whenever I get in the room he leaves and when Margret is there he makes an excuse to leave. It doesn’t bother me one little bit and it feels great that he is not acknowledging my existence; I hope this goes on until the end of the year. Since he is here every morning I know that he sleeps in the house though our paths haven’t met yet, thank the almighty.
Since Cyrus has been at the house as a permanent member of the house I change my schedule of having breakfast in the morning. I wait him out until I am sure that he has already left before I go downstairs, I don’t have to worry about meeting him during the night since he always comes back so late in the night and when the two times he came back early he ignored me and went straight to his room. Our marriage couldn’t work out better than this.
I haven’t seen Cyrus for three days ever since I started having breakfast after his gone, and on the third day I get a visitor in my room. I am still trying to get sleep under the covers when he opens my door and comes inside, he didn’t have to unlock it since I don’t lock my door anymore these days. He walks in and stands by the bed watching me while I pretend to be asleep, concentrating on breathing evenly and hoping he will get bored and leave.
He then starts walking in my room touching my things and inspecting them like he is in his own room and has every right to, it irritates me but I know keeping my ruse is way better than getting mad right now.
“I know your awake.” he finally says as he opens the drawers on my vanity and throwing things around.
I keep quite but open my eyes and watch him; his back is to me. When he is satisfied with ruffling around he turns to me and our eyes meet,
“I want to see you in my room.” He says stone cold as if he is reading the news
“You want to see me? Really, can’t you already see me over here right now?”
“Look at that smart mouth. Alright then, I want you in my room so I can fuck you and can fulfill your marital duties. Is that phrased well enough for you princess?”
“At least you’re being honest.” I pout not looking at him.
“I want you in my room in five minutes and not a second later.” He orders and heads straight out the door not closing it behind him and heads to his room.
I begrudgingly wake up and sit on the bed contemplating if I should defy it, it’s not worth it. I debate whether I should change into something sexy and maybe look at myself in the mirror but later change my mind; it’s not worth it either. So before my time is up I walk into Cyrus’s room and close the door behind me, sealing my fate. He comes from the bathroom with nothing but in his boxer shorts and stands in front of the bed facing me.
“Come here.” he instructs and I follow him where he stands.
“Get on your knees,” he murmurs. There’s something depraved about him, something sinful. I freeze, lost in his words.
“Have you ever had another man’s cock in this sassy little mouth?” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, pinching lightly before he drops his hand.
“No. of course not, why would you…”
“Get on your knees,” he repeats softly. “Use me to steady yourself.”
I do as he demands. Clutching first his arms, then his muscular thighs to lower myself to the rug. When I’m on my knees, I peek up at him. He’s beautiful as he looks down at me with unfettered lust whirling in his eyes.
“Take out my cock,” he instructs. My hands tremble as I tug at his boxer and pull it down. He doesn’t utter a word. He doesn’t move a muscle. He just lets me fumble my way through, learning as I go. After long moments, his cock is free and inches from my face. I take a breath, and stare. But he lets me look, not saying anything.
His cock is long and thick, the skin pulled taut, smooth and shiny, with a bead of precum on the crown. This time I lean over and lick it. He grunts softly as my tongue glides over the head, lapping the milky pearl until it disappears. When I’m through, he threads one hand into my hair and his cock in the other. He slides the crown across my lips until they part for him.
“Use your hands,” he instructs in a tight voice. “Your mouth, your lips, your tongue. Suck my cock. Swallow me into your throat.” I shiver, opening my mouth wide and letting my jaw go slack as I explore his cock.
For several minutes, with his hands fisted tightly at his side, he lets me set the pace. He lets me learn him—the ridges and edges. But when I take him deeper into my mouth, his hands find my hair and tighten slowly around my scalp. His hips come forward as he feeds me more of his cock. His grunts imbue me with a heady sense of power, and my jaw relaxes, welcoming more of him inside my mouth. He gasps, thrusting deeper and harder.
Soon I can’t keep up with his movements, and I gag when he hits the back of my throat. He pulls out—to the tip—and gives me several seconds to catch my breath.
“Breathe,” he commands, pushing his cock deep. “Swallow. Yes, that’s it.” I gag, again and again. Tears spill onto my cheeks but he doesn’t stop but increases his speed going faster until I can’t breathe and then he gets his cock out, covered in my saliva and I cough and gag as I rub the sticky mixture from my face.
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