Hiii could you please do a Larissa weems x wife!reader smut fic? they go out somewhere and a girl is flirting with Larissa then reader gets jealous and Larissa teases her about it then they get home and fuck😝 also could you make reader a little clingy and subby🥹🥰
Mine to Admire
Larissa Weems x Wife!Reader
Tags:
Fluff, established relationship, jealous reader, Smut, Soft Dom, Slow Burn, Teasing,, Cuddling, Affectionate Dom, Soft Dom/Loving Dom, Seduction, Intimacy, Bedroom Scene, Oral (F), Fingering
MDNI 18+
Warnings:
Explicit sexual content, oral sex, fingering, sexual teasing, consensual adult content, suggestive language, adult themes
Word count: 6,694
Oh heeere we go 👀
💅🏻
The evening air is just beginning to cool when the two of you step out of the car, the glow from the restaurant’s windows spilling onto the cobbled street. It’s the kind of place Larissa insisted you’d both enjoy—not ostentatious, but refined. Linen-draped tables, warm lighting, and a wine list that had made her eyes glimmer when she’d called ahead for the reservation.
Her hand rests against the small of your back as you walk inside, guiding you with an ease born of years spent at one another’s side. Even now, after everything—the vows exchanged in front of family and friends, the mornings shared over coffee and lazy laughter, the quiet nights where the world faded to just the two of you—Larissa still touches you as though you might be lost without her gentle direction. You’ve come to find you rather like it.
She looks breathtaking tonight. The pale champagne silk of her dress gathers at the waist, falling in a soft line that brushes her calves, the neckline modest but shaped to flatter her tall frame. A string of pearls lies elegantly at her throat, with matching drops at her ears. Her hair, coiffed in its usual perfect waves, seems to catch every bit of light the chandeliers offer. It’s no wonder heads turn as she passes, her height and composure filling the room as though the evening were meant for her alone.
Inside, the room is mellow and warm. Candles burn in little clusters down the length of the long tables; a piano plays something old and familiar in the corner; the clink and murmur of other people’s lives makes for a soft, comforting background. The place has personality without being fussy, like the two of you—thoughtful, considered, quietly luxurious. Larissa chose it, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less.
Heads turn as you walk through the dining area. Waiters pause mid-step, diners glance over their menus, a few couples whisper softly. Murmurs rise, but she doesn’t glance at a single one of them. Her gaze is fully on you, soft and warm, focused and familiar. She leans slightly closer, brushing your hand lightly. “You look gorgeous,” she murmurs, thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles. Her lips press a delicate kiss to the back of your hand, a small, intimate claim in a room full of strangers.
You grin, cheeks warming. “And you,” you reply, your voice soft, “look like you walked straight out of a painting.”
A laugh escapes her, soft and private, and her thumb brushes your hand again. “You always know exactly what to say,” she murmurs, leaning just a fraction closer, eyes glimmering.
The hostess greets you. “Good evening. Reservation?”
“Mrs. Weems,” Larissa replies, calm and smooth, with just the faintest curve to her lips. Fingers intertwined, she guides you through the dining area with a gentle, practiced ease, brushing lightly against your elbow. People look, whispers follow—but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t glance once at anyone else. Her focus is entirely on you.
Once seated, menus in hand, your eyes flick to the wine list. You hesitate, scanning the page, but before you can ask, Larissa leans over naturally, scanning it as well. Without pause, she selects a bottle, almost instinctively. “This one,” she says simply, nodding, her hand still resting near yours on the table, thumb brushing lightly. “It’ll go perfectly with what we’re having.”
You laugh softly, watching her. “You always pick exactly what I’d like.”
She smiles at you, that private, knowing smile reserved only for you. “Because I know you,” she says quietly. “I know what you like, and you trust me… so I just take care of it.” Her hand covers yours briefly, thumb stroking a light, affectionate rhythm across your knuckles. It’s natural, effortless, intimate.
The table feels cocooned in its own little glow, the candle between you flickering warmly, reflecting in Larissa’s eyes. The bustle of the restaurant fades to a distant hum; here, in your little corner, it feels as if the evening was created only for the two of you.
She watches you with that soft, steady gaze that never fails to undo you. Even as you fuss with the menu, scanning options with an indecisive frown, her eyes are entirely on you, a small smile tugging at her lips. She reaches across the table, brushing her fingers over your wrist until your eyes meet hers.
“Don’t overthink it,” she says, voice velvet-smooth, affectionate. “Whatever you choose, it will be lovely. And if it isn’t, you can always share mine.”
You roll your eyes lightly, though the warmth of her hand against yours makes your chest flutter. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true,” she replies, unhurried, sure. Her thumb strokes the back of your hand in a rhythm that’s almost absentminded, but her gaze remains locked on you. Every gesture is deliberate, grounding. Even the way she lifts her wine glass and takes a slow sip feels like an extension of her attention toward you, a ritual shared.
The wine she picked is smooth, warm as it slides down, exactly right—as she always manages. You tell her so, and she only smiles in that small, knowing way, as if she takes quiet pleasure in being right but doesn’t need to say it.
For a while, you simply sit together, conversation easy, her hand never straying far from yours. She leans in occasionally, close enough that her perfume—soft, floral, uniquely hers—wraps around you, a quiet luxury you’ve come to crave. Every now and then, she tips her head just so, regarding you like you’re the only thing in the room worth watching.
And then—
A shadow falls across the table, and you glance up. A young waitress stands there, pad in hand, her smile a little too bright, her eyes flicking almost immediately to Larissa.
“Good evening,” she says, voice pitched just a bit higher than necessary. “Are you ready to order?”
Her gaze lingers on Larissa a moment too long, the kind of lingering that prickles heat in your chest. Larissa, poised as ever, doesn’t shift her attention from you—at least, not yet.
The waitress’s smile lingers as her gaze fixes on Larissa, just a touch too bold. “That dress is gorgeous,” she says brightly, tilting her head. “Not many people could pull that off.”
Her eyes sweep over Larissa—slow enough to make your stomach tighten—before flicking back up.
Larissa, ever composed, doesn’t falter. Her long fingers remain steady over yours, thumb brushing a calm rhythm into your skin. “Thank you,” she replies, her tone smooth but dismissive, clipped just enough to end the exchange. She doesn’t so much as glance at the girl. Her gaze is anchored on you, her expression softened by that quiet affection only you ever see.
But the waitress doesn’t take the hint. She lingers, pad poised, lips curving as she tries again. “And your hair—I swear, it’s perfect. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
You feel the words land like tiny sparks on your skin, unwanted and irritating, and you shift in your seat without meaning to. It’s small—a glance downward, the faint tightening of your jaw, the way your grip on Larissa’s hand tenses ever so slightly. To anyone else, it would go unnoticed. But not to her.
Never to her.
Larissa feels everything. The subtle flex of your fingers beneath hers. The breath you take, just a shade too sharp. The way your eyes flick toward the girl, then away again, as though refusing to dignify her boldness with more than a glance.
Her thumb pauses its soothing motion against your hand, then resumes, slower now. A deliberate sweep, steady, coaxing. She tilts her head just a fraction, her eyes on you with a softness that makes your pulse quicken. And then you see it—the faint curl of her lips, the smallest spark of amusement dancing behind her eyes.
She knows.
And she likes it.
Not the clumsy attempt of the waitress—Larissa has no use for that. What delights her is you. The little flare of protectiveness you can’t quite disguise, the storm of possessiveness that simmers under your skin. She savors it quietly, like a rare indulgence.
Her gaze lingers on you a beat longer, drinking in every subtle tell. The slight furrow in your brow. The way you inch unconsciously closer, as though your body wants to stake a claim it doesn’t need to make. The energy rolling off you, quiet but unmistakable.
Her lips part just barely, as though she might let a laugh slip—but she doesn’t. Not here, not yet. Instead, she leans in just slightly, lowering her voice so only you can hear, intimate enough that the world around you ceases to matter.
You don’t say anything—but you don’t need to. Larissa feels it in the curve of your fingers, the quiet press of your knee against hers beneath the table.
And oh, how she enjoys it.
Her thumb moves in slow circles against your knuckles, not to calm you, but to savor you. Every little tell of your possessiveness makes her chest glow with delight. She can feel your quiet bristle, that soft cling of need that makes you seek her touch just a little more insistently.
She adores you like this.
Not upset—never truly upset—but unwilling to share even a flicker of her attention with anyone else. It’s intoxicating, knowing she inspires that in you. That someone like her, who once lived behind careful walls and calculated distance, is now loved so fiercely that even the brush of a stranger’s smile makes you stake your claim.
Her gaze lingers on your face, openly, hungrily, as though she could drink down the sight of you leaning into her. She barely remembers the waitress is even there. To Larissa, the world has narrowed to the way you clutch her hand, the way your lips press together in quiet protest, the way your eyes flicker with that soft possessiveness you try to disguise.
The waitress clears her throat softly, notepad poised. “Have you decided what you’ll be having this evening?” she asks, her eyes still sliding toward Larissa more than the menu.
Larissa leans back slightly in her seat, eyes scanning the menu with her usual calm deliberation. She tilts her head, lips curling faintly, fingers brushing against yours as she traces the edge of the table. “Hmm… the duck looks excellent tonight,” she murmurs softly. “But the halibut is tempting too—light, delicate. What are you in the mood for?”
The waitress leans closer, a little too eagerly, notepad in hand. “The duck is wonderful,” she says brightly, eyes lingering on Larissa. “Rich, bold… it really suits someone who knows exactly what she wants.”
You feel a flare of heat rise in your chest. Her gaze is far too fixed.
Larissa hums, tilting the menu toward you, thumb brushing light circles over your hand. “The halibut is lovely too, darling. Perhaps a lighter choice tonight?”
The waitress tilts her head, voice low and overly sweet. “But the duck—it’s bold, confident, unforgettable. Perfect for someone like you.”
Your fingers tighten around Larissa’s. You can’t help it—you lean a fraction closer, voice firmer than usual. “I’ll have the halibut,” you say, eyes flicking to Larissa. “And my wife will have the duck. And, darling, we can share our plates, as we always do.”
Larissa’s lips twitch, a quiet smile playing at the corners, her eyes glimmering with amusement. She doesn’t comment—doesn’t even glance at the waitress—but her hand squeezes yours gently, thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles.
The waitress clears her throat, glances between you both, and finally steps back with a polite, tight-lipped smile. “Very well… I’ll place that order.”
Once she’s gone, Larissa leans back slightly, eyes softening on you, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Mmm,” she murmurs, voice low and teasing, “you’re positively adorable when you’re a little possessive.” She presses a light kiss to the back of your hand, still brushing her thumb over yours. “I might just enjoy that a little too much.”
You press your fingers over Larissa’s hand, cheeks warming as your eyes flick toward the waitress who had lingered just a second too long. “I… I didn’t like the way she was looking at you,” you mutter, pout forming on your lips.
Larissa tilts her head, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. “Oh?” she says lightly, brushing her thumb over yours. “So… no one’s allowed to look at me now? Is that it?”
You huff softly, cheeks flaring. “Not… not just look. Not like they want to… you know… like they want you.” You squeeze her hand gently. “Because… you’re mine.”
Larissa laughs softly, that velvety, indulgent sound that makes your chest flutter. “Mine, huh? I see,” she murmurs, leaning back slightly in her chair, eyes glinting. “So you’re telling me this little waitress was… unacceptable? Dangerous even?”
You groan, shifting in your seat, pout deepening. “I… I don’t want her thinking she can just… I don’t know… charm you or something,” you admit, voice low. “It’s… irritating.”
Larissa leans forward, resting her chin lightly on her hand, a teasing glimmer in her eyes. “Oh, I see,” she says, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. “You’re jealous… over nothing, because I didn’t even notice her? How… dramatic of you.” She brushes her lips over the back of your hand, slow and teasing, watching the flush rise in your cheeks. “And yet… I can’t help thinking it’s incredibly cute.”
You groan again, hiding your face lightly in your free hand, trying to act exasperated while secretly enjoying the attention. “Larissa… stop teasing me,” you murmur, voice soft but pleading.
She tilts her head, letting her gaze linger on you, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Stop teasing you?” she repeats, voice smooth and playful. “Darling… you’re giving me far too much fun to resist. Watching you flare up a little… little pouts, little flares of indignation… it’s irresistible.”
You glance at her, lips still pressed into that pout, and Larissa leans back, letting her thumb brush over your hand again. “But don’t worry,” she murmurs, voice low and teasing, “I’m all yours. That little waitress? She’s harmless. You, on the other hand…” Her lips brush lightly over your knuckles once more, lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter. “…you’re too precious to ignore.”
The waitress sets the plates down gently, duck in front of Larissa and halibut before you. “Enjoy your meal,” she says with a little extra brightness directed at Larissa, her smile lingering longer than necessary before she glides away.
You don’t miss it. Your eyes narrow, following her retreating figure with a glare sharp enough to cut through the soft candlelight. The muscles in your jaw tighten as you reach for your napkin a little too firmly.
Across from you, Larissa’s lips curve slowly, not toward the waitress but toward you. “Darling…” she drawls softly, reaching for her wine glass, her pale eyes sparkling. “That look could wither roses. I almost pity the poor girl.”
You huff and stab at your fish with a little too much force. “She was staring,” you murmur.
“And you were glowering,” Larissa counters smoothly, utterly unbothered, sipping her wine. She sets the glass down with a graceful hand and tilts her head, regarding you with quiet delight. “Do you know how charming you are when you’re protective?”
Your cheeks heat immediately, though you refuse to look up, cutting into your halibut with exaggerated care. “I wasn’t being protective. I was—”
“—jealous,” Larissa finishes for you, her voice lilting, velvet-wrapped amusement. She leans in just a fraction, her tone dropping lower. “And I must say, watching you glare at anyone who dares to look my way? I find it… irresistibly sweet.”
You glance up at her then, wide-eyed, caught between embarrassment and indignation. “You’re enjoying this,” you accuse, lips forming into the beginnings of a pout.
“Very much so,” she replies without hesitation, reaching across to brush her fingers over yours in a slow, reassuring stroke. “I have half a mind to encourage it.”
Your fork hovers above the halibut, and you narrow your eyes at her, cheeks warm. “Don’t you dare,” you warn, the words hushed but edged with heat.
Larissa’s smile deepens, slow and deliberate, as if she’s savoring your little outburst. She tilts her head, her gaze steady and unyielding. “Or what?” she asks softly, voice dripping with velvet challenge.
Your mouth opens, closes, then you manage, “Or I’ll… make you regret it later.” It comes out shaky, not nearly as fierce as you’d hoped, especially under the weight of her eyes.
Larissa hums low in her throat, clearly entertained. She leans in, her tall frame casting a shadow over the table, her pale gaze fixed squarely on you. “Is that so?” she murmurs. “My darling, you can barely keep from blushing just looking at me. And yet you threaten me?”
You squirm, your cheeks burning hotter. “I mean it,” you insist, though your voice softens, more plea than command.
Her lips curve into something richer, hungrier, and she reaches across to trail her knuckles down your arm until she takes your hand. “You’re delicious when you’re like this,” she whispers, lifting your fingers to her mouth and brushing a kiss over your knuckles. “Jealous. Protective. Trying so hard to sound stern.”
You whimper softly, caught between flustered and desperate, and Larissa doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, she strokes her thumb along your skin, her eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what that does to me,” she adds, voice low, commanding in its calmness.
You shift in your seat, heat crawling down your spine. “You shouldn’t enjoy it so much,” you protest weakly.
“But I do,” Larissa answers, without hesitation, her eyes fixed on you with that familiar blend of adoration and amusement. “Every pout, every little glare—it only reminds me that I’m entirely yours.”
*
By the time dessert plates are cleared and the last sip of wine lingers on your tongue, the candle between you has burned low. Larissa dabs her lips delicately with her napkin before setting it down, every movement unhurried, controlled.
Just as Larissa reaches for her purse, the waitress reappears, check in hand and that same bright smile. “I trust everything was perfect,” she says, setting the slip down with a little flourish. Her eyes linger on Larissa a moment too long before she straightens.
Before Larissa can even move, you snap the folder off the table and slide your card inside. “Perfect,” you echo, your tone clipped, your pout impossible to hide. The waitress blinks, falters, and then retreats with far less confidence than she arrived.
The moment she’s gone, Larissa’s soft laugh curls across the table. “Darling…” she drawls, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Really now.”
You cross your arms, chin tipping up in defiance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her smirk deepens, indulgent and entirely unfooled. She leans forward, resting her chin elegantly on one hand, eyes drinking you in like wine. “Of course you don’t,” she murmurs, velvet threaded with mirth. “Though I must admit, I’m enjoying this little performance of yours very much.”
You stubbornly glance away, your cheeks betraying you with their warmth, and she chuckles again, slow and rich.
The waitress returns quickly this time, placing the receipt down without so much as a glance before hurrying off. Larissa rises then, gathering herself with her usual unhurried grace, and extends her hand toward you. The faintest curl of her lips tells you she hasn’t let the moment go.
“Come, my jealous little darling,” she purrs, low and affectionate, her hand steady as she helps you up. “Before you frighten the entire staff away.”
*
The night air is cool against your cheeks as Larissa guides you outside, her hand warm at the small of your back. A black car pulls up to the curb almost immediately—of course, everything bends to her timing. She opens the door with effortless grace and waits for you to slip inside before following, skirts rustling softly as she settles next to you.
The door clicks shut, and the city hums faintly beyond the windows. Inside, though, it’s quiet—except for the distinct weight of your pout. Arms folded, eyes fixed firmly out the window, you exude every ounce of grumpy stubbornness you can muster.
Larissa, naturally, is delighted. She shifts just enough that her thigh brushes yours, her perfume wrapping around you like a trap. “You’ve gone very quiet,” she muses, voice low and teasing, her accent curling around the syllables. “Am I to assume this is sulking, or merely deep thought?”
You don’t look at her. “Neither.”
“Mmm.” Her smile is audible. She reaches out, long fingers tipping your chin gently toward her, refusing your attempt to hide. “It’s rather adorable, whatever it is,” she says, her pale eyes sparkling in the dim light.
You swat lightly at her hand, cheeks burning hotter. “Larissa…”
“Yes, darling?” she purrs, utterly unbothered, leaning back in her seat with the ease of someone who knows she’s already won. Her hand finds yours again, long fingers curling firmly around your smaller ones, grounding you even as her smirk lingers. “You’ll forgive me eventually. But until then…” She leans in, lips brushing your temple with maddening softness. “…I think I quite like you grumpy.”
You huff, leaning into her anyway despite your best effort to stay cross, and she chuckles low in her throat, stroking her thumb slowly across your knuckles.
*
The sleek black car glided to a stop at the curb outside your home, its polished surface catching the faint glow of the streetlamps. The driver didn’t wait for directions—just eased smoothly away once Larissa opened the door and stepped out, tall and elegant, the hem of her pale dress brushing against the pavement.
She turned back, one gloved hand braced lightly on the roof of the car as she leaned down. “Darling,” she murmured, offering her other hand toward you, “don’t keep me waiting.”
You slipped your hand into hers, still sulking, though the warmth of her grip and the gentle tug she gave you made your pulse stutter. She drew you close the moment you stood beside her, her arm naturally sliding around your waist as if she couldn’t imagine walking without you pressed there.
The night air was cool, carrying the faintest scent of lilac from the garden, but Larissa’s body was all warmth and soft perfume. She guided you up the path with an ease that made your grumpy silence feel childish, though that only made you cling to it more fiercely.
Inside, the house greeted you with quiet familiarity. Larissa closed the door firmly behind you, the lock turning with a click that echoed in the hush. She set her clutch aside with care, then turned, her eyes immediately finding you where you hovered near the entry.
Arms crossed, lips in a tight line, you refused to meet her gaze.
Larissa’s smirk was audible in her voice. “My, my. Still sulking, darling?”
“I’m not sulking,” you muttered, though your pout betrayed you.
She moved closer, heels clicking softly against the floor, her height making the room feel suddenly smaller. “No?” she drawled, tilting her head. “Then what do you call this little storm cloud hovering over my beautiful evening?”
When you didn’t answer, her hand found your chin, coaxing it up until you were forced to look at her. Her thumb traced along your jaw, her eyes glinting with the kind of playful command that always made your knees a little weaker.
Her hand stayed lightly on your chin, tilting your face toward her with a careful patience that made your chest ache. Her eyes softened, glimmering with warmth, and she smiled like she could spend forever watching you. “Baby…” she murmured, her voice gentle, like a lullaby, “I’m sorry. I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to upset you at all.”
You blinked, cheeks warming, trying to look anywhere but her. She chuckled softly at the attempt, tilting your face just enough so you couldn’t avoid her gaze.
“I just…” she continued, brushing her thumb along your jaw in slow, deliberate circles, “…I just love seeing you and love how you feel for me.”
Your lips parted slightly, and you whispered, “Hmm… I don’t know whether I can forgive you.”
Larissa’s smile widened, gentle and indulgent, as she leaned closer, resting her forehead softly against yours. “Oh, my love,” she murmured,
Larissa’s smile widened, gentle and indulgent, as she leaned closer, resting her forehead softly against yours. “Oh, my love,” she murmured, “then I’ll just have to spend the rest of the evening convincing you.”
Her thumb brushed over your cheek, featherlight, and she tilted her head, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another, just below your ear, lingering there with a warmth that made your chest flutter. “One kiss… for being my light,” she whispered against your skin. A third followed, at the hollow of your cheek, sweeter still. “Another… for being so patient with me.” She drew back just enough to look into your eyes again, pupils wide, voice lowering to something fragile and raw. “And a thousand more, until you believe how much I adore you.”
You swallowed, trying to keep the line of your mouth stern, but it betrayed you, twitching at the edges. She noticed, of course — she always noticed — and her lips curved into that soft smile, the one she only ever wore for you.
Her forehead rested gently against yours, and she whispered, “If forgiveness means I get to hold you a little tighter, kiss you a little longer… then I’ll beg for it all night.”
Your pout wavered, but you held your ground, huffing softly, “Hmm… I’ll have to think about it.”
Larissa’s lips lingered on yours until you were dizzy from the slow, unhurried pull of her mouth. When she finally drew back, her gaze was heavy-lidded but so achingly soft it made your chest squeeze.
Without a word, her hands slid down your sides, finding yours, her long fingers weaving between them like they were meant to stay there forever. She pressed one last kiss to your forehead, then gently tugged you with her.
Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she led you toward the bedroom, each step measured but unhurried, as though she wanted you to feel every ounce of her presence. You followed, your smaller hand swallowed in hers, the brush of her thumb over your knuckles steady and reassuring.
When she pushed open the door, the dim lamplight painted the walls in a warm golden glow, the familiar shape of your shared bed inviting, intimate. Larissa turned to you there in the doorway, her height casting you in her shadow, her eyes drinking you in like you were all that existed.
She guided you backward until the backs of your knees brushed the edge of the mattress. Her touch was unyielding in its certainty, but gentle in its delivery, like silk wrapped around steel. Her long fingers framed your waist, anchoring you to her, before she coaxed you to sit.
“Sit for me, darling,” she murmured, and you obeyed, the sheer velvet weight of her voice undoing any thought of resistance. From this angle, looking up at her, the fall of her white blouse slightly open at her throat, her figure outlined in the lamplight, she looked every inch the goddess you secretly thought she was.
Larissa’s lips curved when she caught the way your eyes lingered. Slowly — deliberately — she tugged loose the tie at her collar, letting the ribbon fall with a whisper of silk. She slipped one button free, then another, the pale line of her throat and the edge of lace peeking through making your breath stutter. Her eyes never left yours.
“Still not sure if you’ll forgive me?” she asked, soft and sweet, though there was the faintest purr of mischief beneath it. She leaned forward, bracing one hand on the mattress beside your hip. “Then I suppose I’ll have to earn it.”
You barely managed to murmur her name before she kissed you — slow, coaxing, a kiss that poured warmth straight through your chest. By the time she pulled back, your lips parted in protest, she was already easing you backward against the pillows, her height and her body caging you in without a shred of threat, only safety.
“Look at you,” she whispered, brushing a knuckle along your cheekbone, her expression open and impossibly tender. “My beautiful girl… my heart. You pout at me one moment and then undo me the next just by looking at me.”
She kissed you again, deeper this time, claiming and soft all at once, her tongue sliding against yours until you were breathless beneath her. Her hand trailed downward, fingertips grazing the hem of your clothes, teasing but patient, as though she were savoring the privilege of touching you.
“Let me show you how sorry I am,” she breathed against your lips, her voice hushed and reverent. She shifted, the mattress dipping under her weight as she climbed onto it fully, straddling you with effortless grace. The scent of her perfume — jasmine, powdery and warm — filled your senses as she pressed closer, her body flush against yours.
“Let me worship you,” she whispered, her mouth brushing your jaw, then the sensitive hollow of your throat. Her kisses trailed lower, slow, lingering, each one more deliberate than the last. “Until you can’t even remember why you were cross with me in the first place.”
You shifted beneath her, trying to ignore the way her kisses set your skin aflame. “You can’t just kiss me and expect me to forget everything,” you murmured, though your voice lacked its bite.
Larissa drew back just enough to meet your gaze, her thumb tracing over your cheek with unbearable tenderness. “No?” she asked, her tone lilting, amused but endlessly fond. “Then tell me what I can do, darling. Name it, and it’s yours.”
You swallowed, trying to hold your pout. “Maybe… maybe I want you to spoil me until I feel better.”
Her eyes softened even further, as if that were possible, her lips curving into a smile that made your chest ache. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your nose, “spoiling you is my favorite pastime.”
Her hand slipped higher beneath your shirt, warm against your bare skin, but her touch was still achingly tender. “If it takes a hundred kisses… a thousand touches… I’ll give them to you gladly.”
You huffed lightly, still trying to keep up the game, though your pout had already weakened under her gaze. “Hmm… I don’t know if I should give in so easily.”
“Oh, my love,” Larissa murmured, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as her hand splayed fully against your side, “you don’t have to give in. I’ll simply keep loving you until you forget there was ever anything to forgive.”
Her lips curved into that knowing smile, the one that made your stomach flip, and she kissed you again — this time harder, fuller, until your breath caught in your throat. Her hand slid beneath your shirt with a surer touch, warm palm gliding over your bare skin.
“Let me spoil you,” she whispered against your mouth, her voice a husky promise. She tugged at the hem of your clothes, easing the fabric upward, giving you every chance to stop her but never pausing in her kisses. When you raised your arms for her, she slipped the garment over your head in one smooth motion, discarding it with little ceremony before her lips found your collarbone.
“Perfect,” she murmured against your skin, her mouth hot as it trailed lower, teeth grazing lightly just to hear your breath hitch. Her hands framed your waist, sliding up your ribs with slow reverence, as if every inch of you was to be admired, claimed, adored.
You shivered under her touch, and she drew back just far enough to look at you, her eyes dark but still impossibly soft. “Do you feel how much I want you, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice thick with need.
Your answer was swallowed by her mouth crashing back onto yours, deeper this time, her tongue teasing against yours as her body pressed more fully over you, pinning you in the gentlest cage. Her thigh slipped between yours, the friction making you gasp, and she smiled against your lips, savoring the sound.
Larissa’s kisses trailed lower, down the center of your chest, her hands guiding you gently back until you were reclined fully against the pillows. With a grace that was uniquely hers, she slipped down the length of your body, her hair still perfectly pinned despite the heat of her mouth marking a path over your skin.
When she reached the waistband of your skirt, she looked up at you, her blue eyes heavy with devotion and desire. “May I, darling?” she asked softly, her fingers already brushing over the fabric but not moving further until you nodded.
The skirt slid down with her slow, deliberate touch, her fingertips grazing the backs of your thighs as she eased it away. She pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another a little higher, savoring the way you shivered beneath her.
And then Larissa — tall, elegant, always so commanding in every other space — sank gracefully to her knees before you at the side of the bed. Her hands parted your thighs with gentle insistence, her thumbs stroking circles into your skin as though reassuring you even now.
“Look at you,” she murmured reverently, her voice a caress, “the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She lowered herself without hesitation, her lips finding the soft heat between your thighs. The first stroke of her tongue had you gasping, your fingers instinctively tangling in her hair. Larissa hummed against you, savoring the sound, her hands anchoring your hips firmly as she devoured you with the patience of someone who had all night.
Her tongue worked you open in languid strokes, steady and consuming, the kind of rhythm that made your thighs tremble against her shoulders. She hummed as she licked deeper, the vibration sparking through you, and when your hips bucked, she held you down with that steady, unshakable strength.
She drew back just enough to press a kiss directly to your swollen clit, her lips glistening, her eyes never leaving yours. “My wife,” she whispered reverently, the words breaking apart on a sigh. “My beautiful wife.”
The sound of it — the possessive warmth, the way it fell from her lips like a prayer — tore a moan from your throat before you could stop yourself. Your head tipped back against the pillows, a desperate sound spilling free as your fingers tightened in her hair.
Larissa’s smile curved against you, wicked and tender all at once. She gave you a slow lick from base to tip, then sealed her mouth around you, sucking until your moan turned into a whimper.
“That’s it,” she purred, voice thick with affection, “sing for me, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you love being mine.”
Your body arched helplessly, caught between the steady drag of her tongue and the unbearable heat building low in your belly. Her hands kept you open, kept you still, her every movement a mixture of control and devotion.
The patience in Larissa’s tongue snapped like a thread pulled too tight. Her hum deepened, vibrating through you as she latched onto your clit with sudden hunger, sucking and licking with a rhythm that left no space to breathe. You gasped, a broken cry spilling out as your thighs threatened to close around her head, but her strong hands kept you spread open, anchored to her mouth.
“Larissa—!” you moaned, your hips grinding against her face in helpless desperation. She only growled softly in response, the sound thrumming against you, and dove back in harder, her tongue circling, teasing, then plunging deep with greedy precision. Every movement was a declaration: she wasn’t going to stop until you shattered.
The sight of her — elegant, composed Larissa, hair still perfectly pinned, utterly devoted between your thighs — was enough to undo you. Your fingers tugged at her hair, and she glanced up through heavy-lidded eyes, gaze molten as her mouth worked you harder.
“My wife,” she gasped against you before devouring you again, the words muffled by the slick heat of your body. The name sent another moan tumbling from your lips, your chest arching up off the bed.
“Please,” you whined, your voice breaking as the pressure coiled too tightly inside you. “Please—fingers. I need your fingers.”
Larissa groaned low in her throat, the sound raw with want, and without lifting her mouth from you, one hand slid lower, her long fingers tracing over your entrance with teasing circles. “Anything for you,” she murmured, her voice husky and reverent, before pressing one finger inside — deep, deliberate, curling just right.
Her finger pumped into you in steady, deep strokes, curling just right as if she’d memorized every secret place inside you. Her tongue never faltered at your clit, quick and insistent, lapping at you like she was starved.
“God—Larissa!” you cried, your hips canting up against her hand, against her mouth, the pleasure ricocheting through you so sharply it was almost unbearable. She hummed in answer, the vibration sending sparks through your core, and slid a second finger into you — stretching, filling, pushing deeper.
You clenched tight around her, the pressure blurring your thoughts, your moans turning into desperate little sobs as she worked you open. She angled her fingers just right, brushing that spot inside that made your vision go white at the edges.
“Look at you,” she purred against your slick heat, not stopping for even a heartbeat, “falling apart for me, my love. My beautiful wife.”
The word broke something loose inside you. Your back arched off the sheets, a ragged cry tearing from your throat as release slammed into you. Your thighs shook violently against her shoulders, your body pulsing around her fingers as wave after wave of pleasure dragged you under.
Larissa didn’t let go. She kept moving her fingers, her mouth relentless, riding you through the aftershocks until your cries softened into whimpers and your body went pliant beneath her.
Her lips left a final, lingering kiss against your inner thigh before she straightened, slow and graceful, every inch of her body sliding up yours like she had all the time in the world. She pressed a trail of featherlight kisses over your stomach, the dip of your ribs, your collarbone—pausing at the hollow of your throat where she nipped gently, then soothed it with her tongue.
“Am I forgiven now, my love?”
Her forehead rested gently against yours, her whole presence wrapped around you like a cocoon—her perfume, her warmth, the velvet lilt of her voice. It was a moment suspended in stillness, every inch of her leaning into you with such devotion it made your chest ache. You felt her heart pressed against your own, steady and patient, waiting for your answer.
You let the silence stretch, savoring the rare sight of Larissa so openly tender, so beautifully unguarded. Then, with a sly curve of your lips, you tilted your head just enough to murmur back, “Hmm… I don’t know… I might need a little more convincing.”
Her laugh came out low and breathless, full of adoration, and she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Anything for you, my love,” she whispered, her voice tender and husky at once. “Anything you want, you’ll have.”
The way she looked at you — completely captivated, completely yours — made your chest flutter, and even in your teasing, you couldn’t hide the warmth that bloomed in your chest.
