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Chapter 4: Elena's Next Week

The week blurred into a fever dream of sweat-slicked skin, throaty moans, and an insatiable hunger that seemed to possess Daniel like never before. I'd always known my husband had a voracious appetite: his six-foot-four frame, those broad shoulders and powerful thighs from his rowing days, that thick, veined cock that could stretch me to my limits. But something shifted that Sunday.

He came at me that evening with a ferocity I'd only seen in our early days, pinning me against the door before I could even set down my bag. His mouth was devouring mine with a taste that lingered faintly of something unfamiliar, something citrusy and forbidden. His hands were everywhere, rough and urgent, hiking up my skirt, dropping to his knees to bury his face between my thighs.

The scrape of his stubble against my sensitive skin sent sparks shooting up my spine; his tongue delved deep, lapping at my folds with long, hungry strokes that made my knees buckle. I gripped his hair, my accented voice breaking into gasps. "Daniel, oh fuck, yes," I moaned as he sucked my clit, fingers curling inside me to hit that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

I came hard, flooding his mouth with my release, warm and sweet, but he didn't stop. He carried me to the couch, bent me over the armrest, and took me from behind. His thrusts were brutal, deep, the slap of his hips against my ass echoing through the living room. The leather creaked under us; I could feel every ridge of him dragging along my inner walls, stretching me deliciously.

"Harder, love, give it to me," I begged, my British lilt thickening with lust. He obliged, one hand reaching around to rub my clit until I shattered again, walls clenching around him like a vice. He followed with a guttural groan, spilling hot and thick inside me, hips grinding until every drop was wrung out.

We collapsed in a heap, but the night was far from over. In the shower, steam thick with eucalyptus, he pressed me against the cool tile and fucked me slow and deep, water cascading over us as I came twice more, my cries bouncing off the marble.

By Monday, I sensed the pattern emerging. Daniel's energy was electric, his touches lingering longer during the day, his eyes dark with unspoken secrets. That night, he was ravenous again, flipping me onto all fours on the bed, his large hands gripping my hips as he drove into me with punishing strokes. The sheets tangled around my knees; I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my moans, but he pulled my hair gently, arching my back so he could go deeper. "You're so wet for me," he growled, and I was dripping, my arousal coating his thighs with each thrust. The air smelled of us: musk, sweat, the faint jasmine of my perfume. I came with a sharp cry, body convulsing, and he kept going, flipping me onto my back for more. Missionary now, my legs over his shoulders, his weight pinning me as he ground against my clit. Two more orgasms ripped through me before he finally released, flooding me with heat that leaked out in slow, creamy trails. Tuesday brought more of the same intensity, but amplified. He took me in his study chair, reverse cowgirl. My long legs braced on the desk, hips swiveling in circles that made him throb inside me. The leather stuck to my sweat-damp skin; I could hear the slick glide of us, feel his hands kneading my breasts, pinching my nipples until they ached deliciously. "Daniel, God, right there," I whimpered, my accent husky and broken. When I came the first time, it was a gush, soaking his lap; he flipped me onto the desk then, papers scattering with soft thuds, and pounded into me missionary-style, his eyes locked on mine. The wood was cool against my back; each thrust sent jolts through my core. I climaxed three more times, each one building on the last, walls fluttering, rippling, until he erupted with a roar, filling me until it overflowed. Wednesday night in the guest bedroom felt like a marathon. I straddled him cowgirl, rolling my hips slowly and teasing, my dark waves cascading over my shoulders as I leaned down to kiss him, tasting salt on his lips. "I've been wet all day thinking of you," I purred, sinking down inch by inch until he filled me completely. We switched to 69, his

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