His hips jerk forward involuntarily, pushing deeper. 
I gag but don’t pull off. 
I want to choke on something that isn’t grief.
He lets me suck him for maybe thirty seconds, wet, sloppy, worshipful, before he hauls me up by the hair and spins me around.


My palms slap the foot of the bed rail, right beside my husband’s husband’s blanketed feet. 
Marcus shoves my dress up to my waist in one rough motion. 
Cool air hits my soaked pussy and I whimper.
He doesn’t tease. 
One thick finger drags through my folds, spreads the wetness up to my clit, circles twice, then two fingers plunge inside me without warning. 
...