PROLOGUE TO OVERTIME

LOGAN

I love watching my wife get ready.

Beatrice Cole Ackerman in our bedroom is always going to be the highlight of my day. She could be dressing up for a party or putting on pajamas, it doesn’t matter. She’s mesmerizing.

This particular morning features my least favorite ritual, however, because she’s preparing for a long day of work out of town. The final touches of her latest interior design project is in Indiannapolis, three hours away. Still, I’m happy to witness her flit between the closet to get a scarf and the bathroom to fix her hair. When she puts on her make-up, that’s my cue.

“Get over here and kiss your husband before you leave.”

“You’re going to mess up my lipstick.” Her words are scolding but her eyes shimmer with amusement.

“Yeah, so?”

“So, I’m running late!”

“What if I promise not to mess up your make-up.”

She throws me a grin from over her shoulder. “I’d like to see you try.”

I get off the bed and stand behind her. She pretends not to notice while lining up her lipsticks on the make-up table. I put my front flush to her back. She looks up so we are both staring at our reflections in the mirror. Without breaking eye contact, I lean down to relish her perfume. She moans. My lips brush against her pulse point. Beatrice’s hips angle to cradle my growing cock between her butt cheeks. I hold her in place and grind upward, just the way she likes it.

“Bend over,” I say huskily before getting on my knees.

She’s wearing a long wool skirt. So proper. So professional.

But when I say, “more,” she leans forward further.

I hike up the skirt to reveal black satin underwear. It’s soaked to the touch when I pull it down. I position her so her pussy is at face level. The first lick is long and lazy from her clit to her ass.

“Oh god,” she whimpers. “Logan, Logan, please.”

“Fucking love it when you beg,” I mumble, delving deeper and French kissing her wet center, lapping up her arousal like I’m addicted. Because I am. Relishing her supple folds, I have to grip my erection to withhold my explosion.

This is about Bea’s satisfaction, not mine. Need her to know how much I want her body, her pleasure, her closeness even when she’s miles away.

Her legs begin quivering so I add my finger to massage her sensitive clit. When I rub it in circles and stick my tongue as deep as it will go, Bea’s climax hits. Her head drops to the table, knocking awry all of her perfectly lined lipsticks. She floods my tongue with sweet, earthy goodness. When the convultions pass, I give her cunt a chaste kiss before repositioning her underwear and pulling the long skirt in place.

I stand and she straightens up so we can face each other for a proper goodbye. Our limbs wrapped around the other’s waist, we exchange goofy smiles. Bea’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy.

“It’s all over your beard,” she observes with a giggle.

“I know.”

“Aren’t you going to wash it off?” She arches one amused brow.

I lick my lips and hum at the lingering flavor of her cum. My hard dick gets harder.

“I want to taste it while I’m jerking off thinking about you.”

“Goodness, Logan, that mouth!” she gasps.

“You’re welcome, Honeybee. And wife?”

“Yes, husband?”

“Nice lipstick.”

Her laughter, when she walks out of the bedroom, squeezes my chest. God, I love her. From the second I saw her nine years ago till this very moment, Bea has been my world. That’s what I should have said instead of nice lipstick.

But, to be fair, I had no idea it was going to be the last time I would speak to my wife.