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forcefully, she was glad to have his strength holding her down.
    Her eyes rolled and her tongue swelled in her mouth. She was overwhelmed with the way he felt inside of her. Her body responded like it’d known him forever. The thought should’ve troubled her, but instead, she felt empowered by it.
    “Oh, God! Harder!” she cried.
    He let out a sound closely resembling a roar as he slammed into her over and over again rapidly. Her chest ached from the pressure, but it was a delicious burn—the kind that only came from unbidden passion and lust.
    The sounds that came out of him were as foreign to her as the way her body felt as he drove her to the brink over and over again. She was worn out, but nowhere near being done with him. She was afraid she’d never be able to give him up. She was addicted.
    She wanted to continue begging for more, but the words were lodged in her throat. Lustful sounds continued to fall from her lips, but she was incoherent. It was nonsense and gibberish.
    Staring out the kitchen window as he drove into her, she felt a zing of dirty satisfaction that, at any moment, one of her nosey neighbors could walk by and see what was going on inside her house. Her thoughts were scandalous and ridiculous, but just the possibility of being caught excited her to the point of ecstasy.
    Abruptly, his movements slowed and he leaned forward, his chest against her back, and his lips at her ear.
    “You didn’t answer my question before. What would your hubby think if he caught you right now, Selena?”
    She whined. Alex was the last thing she wanted to think about. She was so close, and she wanted him to stop talking and finish fucking her.
    “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Don’t stop!”
    His tongue dipped into the shell of her ear and he chuckled, low and dark. Grinding his hips, he let go of her hands and held her hips, bending his knees and thrusting into her again.
    “You think he’d like watching me tear up his sweet wife’s pussy? Listen to her scream my name in his own kitchen?”
    She let her head fall forward and pressed her cheek against the tile. “Yes, yes, harder. Make me scream!”
    He obliged, slamming into her relentlessly, the loud slap of his hips against her backside reverberating throughout the room. She could feel the want in his hands, the pure uninhibited passion. She’d never been handled that way, so raw, so animalistic. He wanted to make her come, and hard, and he wasn't stopping until he got his way. She could hardly wrap her head around it. For the first time in a long time, she felt sexy and beautiful—desirable. Just the thought of a young, gorgeous man like Tyson wanting to be with her made her twist up inside.
    She hated overthinking things, especially when she was in the midst of the best sex of her life, but she couldn’t help it. With each stroke of his cock, he stole another part of her, a piece that she wanted him to have. She wanted more of him, and often. It scared her. She wasn’t the type of woman to carry on a torrid affair with a repairman, but until the second he touched her, she hadn’t been the type of woman that had midday quickies either.
    Tyson grabbed her leg and pulled it behind him, wrapping it around his hip. The new position caused her to wail out in pleasure as he hit a place inside her that had never been touched. He was a master, and she was his willing lover. The way he manipulated her body pleased her so . . . she was an emotional mess. She was out of breath and her legs were weak, but she just couldn’t get enough.
    “You’re a bad girl, Mrs. Phillips. Slutty little housewife, waiting for me to come clear your pipes . . .”
    The things he said were filthy, and they made her tingle. He was sex personified, a man in every way.
    “Yes, I’m so bad,” she panted. “I need you to spank me again—harder.”
    He reared back, and then the loud, stinging slap of his hand rang out into the room. Her ass burned and her body shuddered. What