precious girl
based on this ask! husband! mattheo worshipping your breast until he cums in his pants… 18+
Mattheo regretted inviting his mates over the second he pushed open the flat door. There you were, soft and sleep-rumpled in those tiny pajamas, eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed from your afternoon nap. In an instant, he wanted nothing more than to slam the door in their faces, toss you over his shoulder, and drag you straight to bed.
He lived for these moments: coming home to the warm, savory scent of dinner simmering in the kitchen, the faint vanilla of your skin, and the ridiculous fuzzy socks you always wore. Proof of the life he’d worked so hard for, the one he’d built so you could wait for him like this—soft, safe, and utterly his.
Theo brushed a quick, brotherly kiss to the top of your head as he passed. Blaise followed with the same casual affection before they both disappeared into the living room, already laughing about something from work. Mattheo barely heard them.
A low, guttural groan rumbled in his chest when you shuffled toward him, bare thighs brushing together, the hem of your sleep shorts riding up just enough to make his cock twitch. The sweet, warm vanilla scent of your lotion wrapped around him like a drug, flooding his senses and making his mouth water. His gaze dropped shamelessly to the deep vee of your low-cut cami, the thin fabric clung to your body, the soft, full weight of your breasts straining against it, nipples faintly visible beneath the cotton. They looked so fucking tempting—plush, heavy, begging to spill out into his hands, his mouth.
“Think they’ll notice if we disappear for a bit?” Mattheo finally dragged his gaze up to yours, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips, the faintest blush staining his sharp cheekbones. After years of marriage, the effect you had on him was almost embarrassing. No matter what his mates said, he still couldn’t keep his hands off you. He never wanted to.
Your body had changed since those wedding vows, softened in all the right places, curves filling his palms like they were made for him. Your breasts had grown heavier, fuller, swaying gently with every breath, the kind of weight that made his mouth water and his cock ache. Even the delicate smile lines at the corners of your eyes drove him insane. He was utterly addicted, crazier for you now than the day he married you. One glimpse of you and he was ready to drop to his knees, begging to worship every inch.
Right now, if he didn’t get those aching tits in his mouth in the next few minutes, he was convinced he’d die.
“Behave,” you teased, shaking your head with a playful smile. You folded your arms beneath your chest, deliberately pushing your breasts together and upward until the soft swells nearly spilled over the low neckline of your cami.
A needy, broken whine slipped from his throat before he could stop it. The sound was low and rough, vibrating through his chest as his dark eyes locked onto the plush flesh you were tormenting him with. He could see the faint outline of your hardened nipples pressing against the thin fabric, begging for his tongue, his teeth. The warm vanilla scent of your skin mixed with the faint musk of your growing arousal, and it took every ounce of willpower not to shove his face between your tits right there in the hallway.
You turned on your heel before he could reach you, clearly irritated by the last-minute ambush of his friends. He’d meant to warn you—he really had—but the sight of you curled up and sleepy had made him selfish. Waking you for something so trivial felt criminal.
“Hoping you boys are hungry!” Your voice rang out, bright and cheery, as you sauntered toward the kitchen. The soft sway of your hips and the way the tiny sleep shorts rode up with every step had Mattheo’s full attention. His gaze locked onto the plush curve of your ass, the bare skin of your thighs, and the way the fabric clung to you. He licked his lips without thinking, cheeks tinting at Blaise’s low chuckle, though the guys had been used to how whipped Mattheo is for years now.
You tortured him through the entire dinner.
Your soft, sweet voice filled the room as you asked about their days, laughing at their stories, offering generous portions of leftovers to take home. Every time you leaned forward to refill a glass or pass a dish, your full breasts strained against your cami, the deep neckline giving him teasing glimpses of soft, jiggling cleavage. You held his stare the whole time with deliberate, heated eye contact that made his cock throb painfully against his zipper. When you offered them another drink, voice dripping with innocent hospitality, he nearly groaned aloud.
Both friends politely declined, gathering their containers before pressing quick, chaste kisses to the top of your head. The door clicked shut behind them.
The silence that followed was electric.
“C’mere, baby,” Mattheo rasped, voice low and rough with barely restrained need.
The minute you were in reach, Mattheo’s hands were on you. He pulled you into his lap with a hungry noise, settling your thighs on either side of his hips so your core pressed flush against the thick, growing bulge straining in his trousers. A soft, broken moan left his throat at the first delicious drag of heat.
“Fuck, sweetheart… feel what you do to me?” he rasped, voice low and rough, one hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck while the other gripped your hip, guiding you into a slow grind against him. “All night I’ve been hard for you. Thinkin’ bout these pretty tits.”
He didn’t wait. With reverent desperation, Mattheo tugged the thin straps of your cami down your shoulders, freeing your heavy breasts to the cool air. The sight of them, full and soft, pulled another needy sound from his chest.
“Gods, look at you,” he breathed, eyes dark with love and raw lust. “So fucking perfect. My precious wife… all mine.”
He buried his face between your breasts with a wrecked moan, nuzzling the warm, soft flesh like a man starved. His mouth latched onto one aching nipple, sucking hard and messy, tongue lapping and swirling as he pulled you tighter against his throbbing cock. Spit slicked your skin, dripping down the curve of your breast as he switched sides, groaning loudly against you. He was shameless in his licking, sucking, gently biting. He worshipped every inch like he’d die without the taste of you on his tongue.
“That’s it, baby… ride me just like that,” he murmured between filthy, open-mouthed kisses, voice vibrating against your wet skin. His grip on your hips tightened, dragging you harder along his clothed length in firm, possessive strokes. “You feel how hard I am for you? Years of this and I still lose my fucking mind every time.”
You rocked against him, the friction delicious and maddening. Mattheo’s breathing grew ragged, his moans turning into desperate whines as he devoured your breasts. He was so worked up, hips jerking up to meet every roll of yours, the wet spot on your shorts soaking through to his trousers.
“I love you,” he groaned, voice cracking with emotion and need. “Love these perfect tits… love how you take care of me… fuck—baby, I’m—”
His words cut off in a deep, guttural moan. His whole body tensed beneath you as he came hard, pulsing and spilling into his pants in thick, hot spurts. He didn’t stop moving you against him, drawing out every wave of pleasure while his mouth stayed latched to your breast, sucking lazily through the aftershocks.
When he finally pulled back, lips shiny and swollen, he looked up at you with hooded, adoring eyes and a lazy, satisfied smirk. Not a trace of embarrassment on his face.
“Look what my gorgeous wife did to me,” he murmured, voice husky and soft. One hand came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing tenderly over the sensitive nipple he’d just worshipped. “Came in my pants like a desperate man… and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You own me, baby. Every fucking part of me.”
He leaned in, pressing a slow, filthy kiss between your breasts before trailing his lips up to your ear. “Now… let me take care of you properly.”
