The penthouse gleamed with cold elegance—marble floors reflecting the city lights streaming through towering windows, modern furniture sharp and pristine. But the scene unfolding on the white leather sectional was anything but refined. Lauren, Jack's wine-drunk wife, lounged in a disheveled sprawl, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, a nearly empty bottle of Pinot Noir tipped precariously on the coffee table. Her blonde hair was a tousled mess, her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and her green eyes burned with a volatile mix of lust and resentment as Jack stepped through the door, his jacket slung over his shoulder like a man who owned the world.
"You're late," she slurred, her voice thick with accusation as she straightened, the robe parting to reveal a smooth, pale thigh. She was slimmer than the women he toyed with at the club, her body honed by yoga and discipline, but still soft where it mattered—perky tits peeking from the silk, an ass that begged to be grabbed. "Out fucking your whores again, I suppose?"
Jack smirked, tossing his jacket onto a chair as he crossed the room, his boots echoing on the marble. "Business, babe," he said, smooth and unrepentant, though the faint scent of Sasha's cheap perfume clung to him like a confession. "You know how it goes."
Lauren snorted, draining her glass and slamming it down with a sharp clink. "Business, my ass. You smell like sex and skank." She stood, swaying slightly, and stalked toward him, her robe slipping further to bare one breast, the nipple hard against the cool air. "I'm your wife, Jack. Me—not those sluts you flaunt around town."
He arched a brow, catching her wrist as she jabbed a finger into his chest, pulling her close until her body pressed against his, her wine-soaked breath hot on his face. "Jealous?" he taunted, his hands sliding to her hips, bunching the silk. "They're nothing, Lauren. Just toys."
"Toys you fuck," she snapped, her voice trembling with anger and need. She yanked her wrist free, only to grab his shirt, tugging him closer. "I'm tired of it—tired of the whispers, the looks. Those strippers, those bar bitches—I want you here, with me. Fucking me like you mean it."
Jack's smirk deepened, his cock stirring at her desperation. He shoved her back, her ass hitting the couch as she stumbled, gasping. "You're drunk," he said, but his hands were already on his belt, unbuckling it with a swift tug. "Tell me what you want, then. Beg for it."
She scrambled to her knees on the cushions, robe falling open to reveal her naked body, trembling with want. "Fuck me," she hissed, reaching for him, her fingers grazing his bulge. "Hard. Fill me up—make me yours again. I'm sick of sharing you with those whores."
That flipped a switch. Jack grabbed her throat—not choking, just controlling—and pushed her down, pinning her to the couch. Her legs splayed open, pussy glistening under the dim lights, and he didn't bother teasing—just lined up his fat, black, twelve-inch cock and thrust in, burying half his length in one go. Lauren cried out, nails digging into his arms, her body arching as he stretched her tight walls.
"Fuck—yes—" she gasped, her voice raw as he slammed the rest in, hips crashing against hers. "More—give me all of it—"
He did, pounding her with a brutal rhythm, the couch groaning under them. "Take it, you needy bitch," he growled, gripping her thighs and folding her in half, driving deeper until she screamed, her pussy clenching around him. "This what you wanted? My cock owning you?"
"Yes—God, yes—" she sobbed, clawing at his back, tearing his shirt as he fucked her senseless. "Harder—fuck me harder—I want to feel you—want your cum—" Her wine-drunk pleas fueled him, her jealousy pouring out. "Make me forget them—those sluts—I'm better than them—"
Jack smirked, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, the other bruising her hip as he thrust harder, his balls slapping her ass. "Jealous little slut," he grunted, each word punctuated by a deep stroke. "You're mine—always will be."
She came fast, a shuddering wail escaping her as her pussy spasmed, soaking his cock, dripping onto the leather. But he didn't stop, fucking her through it, relentless, until she was a moaning mess beneath him. "Fill me—please, Jack—cum in me—I need it—" she begged, her voice breaking.
He obliged, slamming in one last time with a guttural roar, unloading deep inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her until it leaked out around his shaft. Lauren moaned, long and low, her body trembling as he claimed her, her jealousy momentarily drowned in the heat of his release. He pulled out, still hard, and jerked the last spurts onto her face—streaking her cheeks, her lips, her tits. She licked it up, eager and sloppy, her eyes locked on his with a possessive gleam.
"Better?" he asked, voice rough, stepping back to admire her—wine-drunk, cum-smeared, and thoroughly fucked.
"For now," she panted, slumping against the couch, robe tangled around her waist. "But keep those bitches away, Jack. I'm the only one who gets this."
He chuckled, tucking himself back in. "Sure, babe." But he wasn't done with her—not tonight. Her begging had lit something in him, a need to mark her further, to erase the doubt in her wine-soaked mind.
Without warning, he scooped her up, her body limp and pliant in his arms. She yelped, clinging to his shoulders as he carried her through the penthouse, her robe trailing behind like a discarded flag. "Jack—what—" she mumbled, but her protests melted into a needy whimper as he kicked open the bedroom door and tossed her onto the king-sized bed.
She landed with a bounce, sprawled out on the silk sheets, her blonde hair fanning around her flushed face. The room was dark, save for the city lights filtering through the blinds, casting stripes across her naked body. Jack loomed over her, stripping off his shirt and slacks, his cock still hard, glistening with her juices and his cum.
"Spread your legs," he ordered, climbing onto the bed, his voice a low growl. "I'm not done fucking you."
Lauren obeyed, thighs parting wide, her pussy still dripping from his earlier load. "Jack—please—" she whined, reaching for him, her hands trembling. "Fuck me again—fill me up—I want it all—"
He grabbed her ankles, yanking her down the bed until her ass rested against his thighs, then plunged in—slow this time, letting her feel every inch as he stretched her anew. She gasped, head tipping back, her tits bouncing as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. "Like that?" he taunted, rolling his hips, grinding against her clit.
"Yes—fuck, yes—" she moaned, her hands fisting the sheets. "More—don't stop—I need you—" Her jealousy spilled out again, slurred and desperate. "Those whores don't get this—only me—cum in me again—"
Jack smirked, picking up the pace, his thrusts deep and deliberate, the headboard thumping against the wall. He leaned down, pinning her wrists above her head, his chest pressing against her tits as he fucked her into the mattress. "You're mine," he growled, lips brushing her ear. "No one else takes this dick like you."
She came again, a shuddering cry tearing from her throat, her pussy milking him as he pounded through her climax. "Fill me—please—" she begged, legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper. "I want it dripping out of me—"
He couldn't hold back. With a primal grunt, he slammed in one last time, cumming hard, his cock pulsing as he flooded her with another thick load. She moaned, soft and satisfied, her body trembling beneath him as he stayed buried inside, letting her feel every twitch, every drop.
Exhausted, wine and sex dragging her under, Lauren's eyes fluttered shut, her breaths slowing. Jack didn't pull out—didn't want to. He shifted them, rolling onto his side, keeping her impaled on his softening cock as he pulled her against his chest. Her legs tangled with his, her pussy still clenching faintly around him, cum trapped inside as they drifted off, the city humming beyond the windows.
He'd fucked her senseless, claimed her in a way that silenced her jealousy—at least for tonight.