Capital Wives by Rochelle Alers Read Free Book Online Page B

you doing?” Marisol whispered when Bryce shifted her off his lap and pressed her down to the sofa.
    â€œI’m going to make love to my wife.”
    She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back. “No! My mother will hear us.”
    Bryce left Marisol staring at him as he stood up, locked the door and turned on a radio, increasing the volume until the thumping baseline beat reverberated off the walls. She was still staring with wide eyes when he began to undress. This was a side of her husband she had never seen before, but she wasn’t going to complain if their lovemaking resulted in her becoming pregnant.
    Smiling, she beckoned him closer. “Venga aquí, Papi.” Speaking Spanish to Bryce, although he didn’t understand the language, turned him on.
    Marisol took off her sweater, dropping it to the floor. Her shoes, skirt and stockings followed. Bryce was naked and fully aroused when she unhooked her bra and added it to the pile of clothing. Going to her knees, she slid her hands down her waist to her hips, pushing the narrow elastic waistband offher hips and down her thighs. By the time the panties joined the discarded clothing Bryce was between her legs, pushing inside her.
    There was no foreplay, no whispered words of affection as Bryce made love to her like a man possessed. His heavy breathing, grunts and groans aroused Marisol until she felt as if she was coming out of her skin. Raising her legs, she looped them around Bryce’s waist, allowing for deeper penetration. Her whole body shuddered as passion made her its captive and pleasure, pure and explosive, ripped through the area between her thighs. She was on fire! Bryce was on fire as an inferno engulfed them both in flames that would only be quenched when they climaxed simultaneously.
    â€œHarder, harder,” she gasped when she felt the beginnings of an orgasm. “Harder, dammit!”
    Grasping her buttocks, Bryce gripped the firm flesh as he went to his knees and thrust over and over into her moist warmth. Every time he made love to Marisol it was like the first time. He’d slept with a lot of women, yet collectively they couldn’t compare to the woman he planned to spend the rest of his life with. He felt the tightening in his scrotum that indicated he was about to ejaculate. His fingers dug into her flesh as he pulled back one last time and then plunged into her vagina, holding her fast as he felt the rush of semen that stopped his heart for several seconds as he experienced le petit mort .
    Completely spent, Bryce collapsed on Marisol’s writhing body, smiling as her gasps of fulfillment echoed in his ear. Yes, making love to her was just like the first time—exciting and fulfilling. And he would always remember the first time he saw her sitting in the stadium screaming at the top of her lungs because the Redskins were beating her favored New York Giants. Her hair was longer, a mass of raven curls fallingaround a doll-like face with expressive dark eyes. Physically, she was the complete opposite of the girls he’d dated, but there was something about the petite exotic beauty that had made him want to know her better. They’d programmed each other’s numbers into their cell phones and he waited a week before calling her.
    What had begun as a telephone courtship segued to driving to New York City to take her out. Although she’d shared an apartment with another woman, she wouldn’t permit him to sleep over, nor would she sleep with him at his hotel.
    The one time he’d invited her to D.C. for a black-tie event, he’d arranged for a car to pick her up and bring her to a Washington day spa for a total beauty makeover. When she’d checked into their hotel room Bryce had surprised her when the owner of a boutique arrived with racks of dresses, shoes and accessories from which to choose for the event. With her shorter coiffed hair, professional makeup and a requisite little black