He started thrusting.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Harder.
Rougher.
Her throat bulged with every stroke.
Drool poured from her lips, pooling on her t**s, dripping onto the floor as he used her mouth like a cumrag.
“You were upset,” he hissed between thrusts, “about a photo. A photo from months ago. You thought I f****d Abigail. You ruined our wedding over it. Over nothing.”
His c**k rammed into her throat again. She gagged. Choked. Took it anyway.
“But guess what, Angel?” he growled, eyes feral. “You were the one who was wrong. You let my brother touch you. Let him see you. Let him f*****g fantasize about my pussy.”
He pulled out.
She gasped for air, saliva and tears smeared across her face.
He grabbed her face and smeared the spit across her cheeks.
“Tell me. Do you love him?”
