Miss Matched: Bonus Chapter

I hadn’t meant to get dolled up tonight. It was supposed to be a lazy evening—sweatpants, takeout, maybe an old movie. But somehow, there I was, standing in front of the mirror in a silky slip I hadn’t even dared to touch since it appeared in my wardrobe. It wasn’t there when we moved in. Or maybe I hadn’t noticed it…

I bit my lip. Okay, fine. I knew Adrian bought it for me. 

It clung where it shouldn’t, whispered when I moved, and made me feel like I was wearing nothing at all; it was so weightless.

Adrian was sprawled on the couch, shirt sleeves rolled up, reading something on his tablet. He glanced up when I walked in—and promptly forgot about the screen. His eyes trailed, slow and deliberate, down my legs, then back up, and his cheeks turned red.

I froze halfway to the kitchen, pretending to adjust the strap of the slip. “What?” I asked, feigning innocence, though my cheeks were already hot.

“You…” He cleared his throat, sat up straighter. “You look… different tonight.”

“Different bad?” I teased, perching on the arm of the chair across from him. I swung one leg just enough to make the hem of my slip ride up.

Adrian swallowed hard. “Different… distracting.”

I tried not to react. I didn’t want him thinking I was desperate. I always preferred it when he was chasing. I liked playing hard to get, even though I was probably pretty damn easy.

I liked being distracting. The way he said it—like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scold me or pin me to the couch. Let’s be honest: he never scolded me.

I laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t get ideas. It’s just a dress.”

“Funny,” he murmured, leaning forward, “that’s not what my brain’s telling me.”

My heart hammered. I should’ve stopped. Should’ve marched back to the bedroom and thrown on the baggiest pyjamas I could find. This was all still new to me. Sometimes I still felt like an imposter, even though this all felt so much better and so much more natural than I felt before we were paired together. 

Now, I was purposely teasing him. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and made a point of reached for a glass from the top shelf. I peeked over my shoulder, catching him stealing a glance at my ass as the hem of the skirt rose up. 

I let my voice drop into a whisper. “So… what is your brain telling you?”

His smile was slow, dangerous, soft. “That you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I don’t,” I protested, but the words came out too quickly. My cheeks turned red.

“Cam.” He said, “you’re playing with fire.”

I walked over to him and I sat down on the couch next to him. 

“And?” I asked, leaning forward, lips curling. “Maybe I like the heat.”

That did it. He set the tablet aside, and before I could blink, he was close enough that I felt his warmth. Close enough that his hand brushed my cheek, his thumb skimming my lip.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered.

“Good,” I whispered back. “So you want to kiss me then?”

He shook his head. “I want you to suck me.”

I gasped. 

Adrian had always been so polite, so gentle. He was always Mr. Take It Slow. But now, I was looking down to see that he’d unzipped his pants, and there was a fleshy tower sticking up: veins throbbing, tip reddened with excitement. 

And before I could express my shock, he put his hand behind my head and pulled me down, guiding my lips right down onto his lap. Suddenly, there was a fat cock in my mouth.

He held my head there with a firmness and strength that he had never used with me before. I couldn’t resurface if I wanted to.

But I didn’t want to.

I sucked his cock.

He pushed my head deeper, pushing that tip into my throat. He was becoming more brazen with me every day. It almost seemed like he was realizing that I was his. He was accepting the government’s decision: that I was going to be his wife for at least the next two years.

And we both knew it would be way longer than that. 

Forever.

Because we both loved it, even though I rarely admitted it.

“Suck it, baby,” he growled.

I gagged. Spit poured down his shaft, his balls, onto our couch. I sucked, trying not to choke. He pushed his tip into my cheek and I could taste the sweetness of pre-cum. 

He grabbed my hair and started to thrust my face down before pulling it up, over and over. There was so much force, so much intensity. But I loved it.

More saliva poured out the sides of my mouth. 

Finally, he pulled me up to let me breathe. I gasped for air. My eyes were watering. My mascara was down my cheeks. It took a few seconds before I could speak. “You’re putting your cock in my throat!” I said.

“I know,” he said, and then he thrust my head back down, cock back down my throat. This time, I was able to stop myself from gagging—refusing that gag reflex while I sucked and allowed him to throat fuck me. He was thrusting his hips up, pushing his cock into me over and over. More spit poured out my lips and dripped on his thighs. 

After another minute, he allowed me to breathe again. I turned to look at the mirror and saw that my makeup was ruined. Tears made streaks of black down my whole face.

He pulled me off of the couch and pushed me down to my hands and knees. He dropped to his knees. Before I could say a thing, his hand was gripping my hair again, and he pushed his cock back into my mouth. “Suck it,” he ordered me. “Pleasure your husband.” 

I followed the command, still shocked by his dominance. He wasn’t like this. I’d never seen this side of him.

But I liked it.

He held my head with two hands and thrusted hard into my mouth. His cock was so hard—like a rod of steel in my mouth. His tip slid along the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat, gagging me over and over. I might have puked a little, but he didn’t seem to mind or notice. I didn’t really care either—because it felt weirdly good to be used like that. Like a fuck doll. It was nice to think that he was so obsessed with me that he didn’t care a bit about holding back.

He pulled out once more. I gasped for air and spit dripped to the floor of our living room. I looked up at him and saw him grinning. “I’m so close to cumming,” he growled.

“Then fucking cum in my mouth already,” I said. And I hardly finished the words before he stuffed my mouth again. He fucked my face like it owed him money. I gasped and gagged and more spit fell to the floor—and soon, cum was joining that spit, gushing out the corners of my mouth, splattering everywhere. I tried to swallow it, but there was so much. It kept gushing out of him while he groaned: sounds of satisfaction, sounds that made me happy, knowing that I was pleasuring my husband. I was doing my wifely duties. I was doing what the government needed me to do to keep society operating at its most efficient capacity. 

I was a good girl. A good slut. 

He finally pulled out, slowly. I fell over to the side, feeling like I was nearly dead from lack of oxygen. I shouldn’t have been so happy about it. A normal person would have been insulted or horrified, but it was what I’d wanted from him for so long. Though it would have been nice if he had saved a bit for my ass. 

I looked up at him. Now, he had a blushing smile on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding more like himself. 

I nodded my head. 

“I ruined your makeup,” he said.

I nodded my head, unable to speak. 

“Sorry.”

He helped me up. We both laughed it off. We both blushed. We looked into each other’s eyes and knew that it was all fine—and that we were going to do it all over again later. “Next time, save some for my bum,” I said to him. 

“Of course,” he said in a gentlemanly way. His hand slid down and he gave my bum a firm squeeze, making me yelp. We laughed again. 

It was still so weird to think that the government had been right about us all along.