by Megan Hart
And then, she waited.
She waited for him to stick his cock in her mouth or to grab her breasts. Shove a hand between her legs. She should have known better; her Brandon would never be so crass.
He breathed on her, instead. Hot, silky breath on her face. Over her cheek, her jaw, down her throat, until she tipped her head back in an unconscious appeal for him to put his mouth to her skin. He did, but briefly, his lips soft and unhurried but not lingering. Over her bare shoulder. Behind her, down her arm. To her hand, and then her fingers. He kissed them one at a time, sucking gently in her forefinger, then gently biting the soft pad of flesh at the tip.
With the scarf on her eyes and her hands immobilized, all she could do was imagine what might come next. And Brandon was right, there was something intensely arousing about not having to think so hard, not having to direct the show. Leah drew in a long, deep breath and let it out. She gave up to him.
He took his time about it. Touching her gently, then harder when she sighed and wriggled. Murmuring words of love as he made love to her with his hands and mouth without ever moving her from the chair.
By the time he stroked his cock across her closed lips, she was ready to open them to him. Leah drew in a breath at the sensation of his flesh on hers, at the tangle of his fingers in her hair. But she opened her mouth anyway and took him inside. Without her hands she couldn’t guide him, but she didn’t worry he’d push too deep or gag her. She trusted him, and Brandon didn’t betray that trust as he pushed gently inside. She sucked and was rewarded by the sound of his moan, a sound that sent an instant jolt of pleasure between her legs.
He liked getting head, of course he did. The same way she liked it when he was on his knees lapping at her pussy but forbidden from using his hands. She didn’t miss the echo of their earlier lovemaking, and remembering how it felt to be the one in charge added to the sensations building inside her now as the one at her husband’s mercy.
She wasn’t new to this—she’d been on the bottom many times in the past before admitting to herself she really wanted to be on top. But she was new to being like this for Brandon, and somehow that made it all different. He didn’t force, didn’t push, just gave her the chance to suck his cock after spending enough time making sure she’d want to.
His cock, slick from her attentions, slipped from her lips, and Leah turned her head to feel it against her cheek. She laughed, low. A face full of dick was so ridiculous and porny, yet she knew it had to be turning him on to see it.
“Beautiful,” came his whisper, and there was so much reverence in his voice she wanted to weep.
She lost track of time and floated on the sensations. A kiss to her collarbone. A stroke of something soft along the inside of her thigh. The press of his fingers inside her and withdrawn, the scent of her arousal as he drew them across her lips. Desire rose inside her.
This, too, was beauty.
It wasn’t like anything had ever been; it was everything she’d once imagined she wanted only now made real. Giving up to him this way was a gift Brandon had given her and, like a gift, she felt herself being opened, revealed. Unwrapped.
By the time he tugged loose the belt and lifted her from the chair to carry her to the bed, Leah was riding wave after wave of pleasure. When he pulled off the blindfold, she nearly came from the sight of his face, taut with desire.
They made love without bells and whistles, no fireworks shooting from their asses as they hung upside down from the chandelier and sang “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Him on top, her underneath and holding on to him with her arms and legs as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.
Her orgasm stole over her, quicksilver fast and fleeting, followed moments later by a deeper, slower flurry of tremors. Her nails dug into his back as she hooked her heels around the backs of his calves and urged him into her. Harder, deeper, faster.
Maybe there was a lot to say about this, or maybe neither of them needed words to describe it. At any rate, Leah drifted as sweetly into sleep as Brandon had led her into orgasm.
* * *
“Let’s get out of here.”
Brandon had been dozing when she said it. “Huh?”
Leah rolled toward him. “This place. It was a great idea, honey, and I don’t want you to think it wasn’t. But this isn’t Christmas. Let’s go to your parents’ house.”
He looked at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
He frowned and sat up. “You mean it?”
She sat, too. “I want there to be a tree and presents and gingerbread houses. And eggnog. I want to be woken up at six in the morning by the kids who can’t wait to see what Santa brought.”
He was silent for a moment. “You don’t just mean this year, right?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean always. I mean us, a family. Sooner rather than later.”
“Are you sure? I thought maybe you’d want it to be just…us.”
She smiled. “I know how disappointed you’ll be to have to give up random dick sucking in the kitchen, but I think the benefits will outweigh the disadvantages, don’t you?”
Unexpectedly, the thought lifted something inside him, and he kissed her. “Damn, I love it when you get all tech-speak with me.”
“Mmm. But I mean it. Let’s check out. Change our flight. Let’s have Christmas in Iowa this year and, who knows, maybe next year we’ll get to have the tiny stocking.”
This revelation on top of her agreeing to let him tie her up sort of floored him, and he wasn’t sure what to say. “Umm…okay?”
Leah rolled on top of him, straddling him and pinning his hands over his head. “Don’t worry, Fuckmachine. I will still sully you every chance I get.”
He could’ve bumped his hips and nudged her off him, but that wasn’t the point. “Promise?”
“Absolutely. And sometimes I’ll even let you tie me up.”
“Really?” Brandon felt the grin spread across his mouth. “Promise that, too?”
“Yep.” His wife let go of his wrists and sat up, looking so beautiful it made his heart hurt. “Things change all the time, baby, but that doesn’t mean this has to. Or that we will.”
“I guess we’ll find out, huh?”
Leah smiled and leaned to kiss him again. “Yes. We will.”
* * *
Gingerbread houses, eggnog liberally spiked with liquor, fire burning in the fireplace, and a room full of rowdy, overexcited children tearing through wrapping paper and gift bags. This was Christmas, Leah thought, curled against Brandon’s side on his brother Brent’s couch. She had a belly stuffed with turkey and stuffing, a mug of Irish coffee in one hand and her husband by her side. Nothing could be better.
Sure, the mattress in his childhood bedroom was lumpy and they couldn’t exactly make wild monkey love all day and night the way they’d been doing on vacation. Sure, the kids were out of control, but his mom had cried and clung to them when they showed up on her doorstep, making Leah feel more welcomed and at home than she had for most of her life. Her ankle had even started feeling better.
Brandon, in the midst of conversation with his brother, kissed her temple absently. No big deal. Not even really paying attention. Yet that tiny, simple gesture moved her as much as if he’d jumped up in front of everyone and shouted out how much he loved her.
She looked at the fireplace mantel, which held the so-called “tiny stocking” and would until someone else had a baby. Maybe next year the tiny stocking would be theirs. Maybe not.
Still laughing at something his brother had said, Brandon eased her cooled mug from her fingers and stood. “I’ll get you some more.”
When he’d disappeared into the kitchen, she discreetly thumbed a text message into her phone.
When he returned, as he bent to kiss her and press a fresh mug of coffee into her hand, Brandon whispered into her ear. “Just as soon as we get back to my folks’.”
They laughed together at the silly task she’d set for him and which
he’d take such pleasure in performing, their own private joke that nobody else had to know. And later they laughed again, trying not to make the bed squeak as Brandon did everything Leah had requested of him.
This was beauty, she thought as she drifted off to sleep with his warmth beside her.
This was love.
And that didn’t ever have to change.
About the Author
Megan Hart was born and lived for a while, and she did some stuff. Then some other stuff. Eventually, she started writing books. Now some of them get published. She writes in the woods of Pennsylvania, where she lives with Superman and two monsters…erm…children. Learn more about her at her website, www.meganhart.com, or her blog, www.readinbed.net.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9086-4
Copyright © 2010 by Megan Hart
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