Silence fills the room.
“Kinky,” he says with a smirk. “I didn’t know you were into this.” He reaches for his belt, unbuckles it, and pushes his trousers down. His cock springs free, thick and hard. I look at it and hit record.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Recording,” I state. “Blackmail.”
He looks at the phone, then at his cock, and finally back at me.
“Okay,” he says, his voice rough. “Do you want me to stroke myself for the camera?”
He wraps his hand around himself, stroking once while watching my face.
“Stop that,” I snap.
“Come here then,” he says. “You can’t blackmail a man for sitting alone on a couch. That’s just a Tuesday. If you want proper blackmail material, you need to catch me in the act.”
I cross the room and his hands find my hips, pulling me down onto his lap. The gold dress rides up. He shifts my panties to the side and his fingers find me soaked and open. He stays silent, which is worse than if he had spoken.
“Angle the camera down,” he says.
“I know how to handle a camera,” I retort.
“Then handle it properly.” He positions himself at my entrance. “Ready?”
He thrusts up into me before I can answer. I grab his shoulder with my free hand and try to keep the phone steady, but I fail.
“Hold it still,” he says, his voice strained as he pushes inside my pussy.
“Fuck warn me next time, you’re not exactly small,” I breathe out hard.
“I plan to carve the shape of my dick, into you.” He pulls me down onto him, slow and deep. “So hold the camera still, were about to sculpt.”
I find the angle, and he finds the rhythm. My hips roll down to meet his, and we move together. The room is quiet except for the wet sound of my body taking his cock and the noise of our breathing.
“If we’re going to be married,” I say, my voice unsteady, “at least have some respect for me. Don’t let women put their hands on you.”
“Did you see me flirt with her?” he asks, thrusting with a steady pace. “Did you even see me smile at her?”
“No,” I admit.
“And do you see me smiling now?” He looks up at me, a smile spreading across his face while his cock drives up into me. “Do you see that?”
“Yes,” I breathe, “but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is your problem?” Another thrust. “What do you want from me?”
I look at him. With his cock buried inside me and his hands locked on my hips, his eyes are fixed on my face, and I’m out of places to hide.
“I want your attention only on me and nobody else—because I’m your wife.”
He goes still.
“Wait,” he says. “So you finally admit that you like me? Should I assume that?”
“I don’t like you,” I say. “I’m tolerating you. You’re attractive, but your personality sucks.”
He laughs, low and warm, even while buried inside me. “I’ll take that,” he says, “and I’m trying to tone down my terrible personality.” He looks at me, seriously. “You’re the only person who’s ever spoken to me this disrespectfully without having a bullet put through their head. That should tell you everything about what a fool I become when it comes to you.” His voice drops. “And I don’t play the fool, Vedma. Not even by mistake.”