“Do you want this?” he asks me.
“Yes.”
“Then ask me if you can suck my cock,” he demands.
“Can I please suck your cock, husband?”
“Aye,” he says, holding the shaft pointed toward me, watching to see what I’ll do. He probably thinks I’ll chicken out, but little does he know that the idea of teasing him, pleasing him, and making him come here, surrounded by all these people who have no clue, has a burning desire building deep inside me, slicking my thighs with my arousal.
I lean forward and lick the head of him, letting my tongue swipe through his precum before opening my mouth wide and taking him inside. His groan rumbles through me and I feel it deep in my pussy as I bob over him, taking him as fully as I can.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps. “I won’t be able to last.”
Good. I don’t want him to. I move faster and faster, letting saliva pool in my mouth because he likes it wet and fast. He grips the back of my head in his hands, and I don’t even care whether he’s careful of my hair as he pulls me down onto him. He groans as he fills my mouth and I swallow him down.
After I slide his spent cock from my lips, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and then check my hair to make sure nothing is wildly out of place. Then I slip back up into my seat and glance around. No one is looking at me.Now that’s a rush.Who needs skydiving when you can make your husband fall apart in a crowded theater and no one knows.
Rhys wraps his strong hand around the back of myneck and pulls me toward him, crushing his mouth to mine in a hungry kiss. When he pulls back enough to break the kiss, still looking in my eyes, he says, “Woman, you undo me,” and then kisses me again.
The lights flicker and I jump back making him laugh.
“It’s just intermission,” he says.
“Okay.”
“Would you like a glass of champagne, hen?” he asks, his voice skating over my heated skin. I look at him and he smirks. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He got to come, I haven’t… yet.
“Yes,” I whisper and he turns to an attendant who has come to service the box.
“The lady would like a glass of champagne, and I’d like a scotch, neat,” he says.
“Yes, Your Highness,” they say before dropping a quick curtsey and leaving.
“So, what do we do?” I ask. “Do we mingle? Do we take photos or meet with people?”
“No,” he smiles at me. “We just show our support by watching the show.”
“I showed my support,” I mutter.
“Yes, you did,” he laughs before gazing at me with a funny expression on his face. It’s not bad, it just makes me feel warm inside.
“What?”
“I just appreciate that you’re taking your duties as my wife, as Queen, so seriously,” he answers. “Iappreciate you.”
“Well, thanks.”
The server comes back with our drinks, and we sit quietly together while we sip them. We can’t talk or connect the way we would at home. I realize how crazy that sounds after what I just did on my knees in this box, but we never know who might be listening. The bubbles and Rhys’s gentle touches go straight to my head, leaving me feeling light and floaty.
The house lights flicker once again, and I watch as people mill back to their seats, eager for the show to continue. My champagne is gone by the time the lights dim and the theater is dark all around us. Rhys takes the empty glass from me and places it on a side table before curling into me. He presses his face into the crook of my neck and kisses me there.
A shiver wracks up my spine when I feel the tip of his tongue press against my skin as he kisses me, tastes me, here in the dark of our box. We’re both hidden and exposed to anyone who might be watching.
The curtain parts, revealing the performers, and I watch them move about the stage as they begin to sing the next act. I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek as he whispers into my ear, “Did you enjoy bringing me to my knees?”
“Yes.”
“Did it turn you on knowing that you could make me come so hard, so fast, like that?”