by Tamara Lush
“Other than us getting married.” He plopped onto the king-sized bed and pulled me onto his lap. My dress engulfed our legs, and he patted at my skirt, trying to control the fabric that shrouded us like fog. “That my parents loved Sarah.”
I stroked Caleb’s jaw. “I know how worried you were because our wedding was the first time they’d meet her. But see? It went so well. Your dad even danced with her. I saw them laughing together.”
A low hiss escaped his lips. “Thank God.”
Sliding my fingers to the back of his neck, I pressed my lips on his smooth jawline where my hand had been. “I love you, because you love your family and you’re always thinking of them. You want what’s best for them. For all of us. You’re our rock.”
I nibbled toward his ear, kissing and lightly biting him. Caleb shivered and grunted a little.
“Let’s get you out of this chastity contraption,” he said, stroking the two dozen buttons snaking up my back.
“Good idea.” I rose slowly.
Caleb put his hands on my belly, then looked up. “You’re tired.”
“I am, but not too tired to want to celebrate our first night as a married couple.”
Caleb stood and gently spun me around. He lifted my hair and kissed my neck, then paused to work on the top button. Once he got the rhythm of the first few, he was able to kiss my neck and shoulder and unbutton at the same time. His movements turned slow, and he shifted so he was now kissing the back of my neck, then down my back. He lowered to his knees and slowly stripped the dress off my body, kissing every inch of my spine.
“Turn around.”
Carefully, because I was in a pool of chiffon, I did. Since the dress had held my top firmly in place, I hadn’t worn a bra. And I hadn’t bothered to wear a corset because of my belly. So all I had on was a pair of white lace panties and white thigh-high stockings with lacy bands at the top.
His hands went everywhere, and he sighed. Still fully clothed in his tuxedo shirt and pants, Caleb stared up at me. “I’ve never seen you look so beautiful. Everything about you is round and perfect.”
“No, just round.”
He shook his head. “No. Perfect. I can’t wait to see you get bigger. You’re so sensual like this. Like one of those Baroque paintings at the museum.” His hand skimmed up my stomach to cradle one breast. My nipples grew taut, and I was ready to step over my dress and make my way to the bed when I had a very un-sexy urge.
Using my hands to tilt his face from where he was licking at the band of my stocking, I grinned into his eyes and whispered. “Babe. Um, I think I should freshen up a bit first. And I have to pee again.”
Caleb quickly stood, grinning. He kissed my forehead. “Your bladder is shrinking by the week. Don’t be long.”
Gingerly, I stepped over the yards of chiffon. After I did, Caleb leaned down and picked up my dress, smoothing and unfurling it on a chaise. I paused to watch him do this, the moonlight streaming inside making the dress look silvery, otherworldly. Like a ghost that would forever wait for me, a spirit of the magical day.
I hurried into the bathroom, wanting to chase away the lump in my throat. I was married. And it was as if Caleb proved his goodness each day to me. As I removed my makeup, took off my stockings and panties, and washed up, I stared at myself in the mirror, wondering how I’d won the husband lottery.
Turning, I looked at the sexy, wedding night baby doll nightie I’d put on a hanger and left in the bathroom earlier in the day, before the ceremony. Now that I was naked and clean, smelling like my beloved vanilla-coconut perfume, I didn’t feel like wearing anything at all.
I’d present myself to my husband as-is.
My husband.
When I returned to the bedroom, I found Caleb on the bed, still fully dressed, but with shoes off. He was on his back and his hands rested on his stomach. His eyes were closed, and I paused to watch him for a moment, the moon illuminating enough so I could see the sharpness of his cheekbones, the length of his lashes, the slight part to his lips. He looked tired. Even in the soft, silvery light, there were dark circles under his eyes, and a few lines on his face had grown deeper in recent weeks.
And never had I seen a man so beautiful than in that moment.
Gently, I knelt on the bed and removed the black sock from his right foot.
“Mmm,” he said. I looked up, and his eyes were half-open. “Who’s the naked angel at my feet?”
I took off his other sock, then moved up his body, straddling him. As was usual in bed, his low, sensual voice shredded my thoughts and made me think of nothing but sex.
“The same naked angel that’s going to take off your shirt and pants.”
“No, I can do it,” he protested.
“Nope.” I put my palm flat on his chest as he rose, pressing him onto the bed as a spike of need went through me. I leaned to kiss him deep, my tongue invading his mouth.
“You still taste like champagne,” I said.
“Watch out, you might get drunk off me.”
“I’ve been drunk off you since I met you.”
He grinned lazily as I sat up to unfasten each button, then carefully unhooked the platinum cuff links at his wrists and set them on the nightstand.
I kissed down his chest, pausing to lick and torment each of his nipples. When I bit his muscular stomach, he growled and put his hands under my armpits and hoisted me up.
“I’ll take care of the rest,” he said, flipping me onto my back.
He rose on his knees, and as he unzipped his trousers with impatience, I leaned against pillows and spread my legs as wide as they could go. I was already wet and swollen.
“My beautiful, naughty bride.”
Wanting to show him how turned on I was, I snaked a hand between my legs and skimmed two manicured fingers through my wetness, then extended those fingers toward his mouth. He dipped to take them in, hungry.
By this time he’d stripped off his pants and boxers.
“I need more than a taste.” He settled in between my legs and licked long and languid. It was all I needed to feel electricity throughout my body. My desire for Caleb combined with pregnancy hormones had lately made me ravenous for sex. It hadn’t been that way for several weeks of my early pregnancy; in fact, I hadn’t wanted sex much, which had concerned me.
But in the middle of my third month, something had changed, and it was as if I wanted to consume him daily.
“Like this?” he whispered wickedly.
“Caleb, yes. Like that.” I held his head tight, stealing any further questions from his lips. I scooted down an inch so my clit could have more contact with his hot mouth and slow tongue, then swung a leg over his broad shoulder. It was probably the pregnancy that made me have a more intense buildup to orgasm, and when the climax came, it was longer and more powerful than usual.
Yes, I was a lucky woman.
His licking turned to full-on carnal sucking, and I made little mewling noises, then groaned when he abruptly stopped. My clitoris was fluttering, hovering on the brink.
“Why?” I whispered, as he kissed up my stomach, pausing to hover his mouth over my breasts, which were rising and falling with excitement. “Why?”
“These are getting bigger every day and I love them.” He dipped his head to take a nipple into his mouth. He palmed the other one lightly, and I clasped my hand around his, urging him to touch me with more roughness, like he used to. Caleb obliged and pinched my nipple, enough to make my cry out. He caged me with his arms and continued sucking.
“Why did you stop?” I wriggled my body, trying to wrap my legs around him, but he only grinned while flicking my nipple with his tongue. I ran my hands over his biceps, one of my favorite parts of his body to caress. He lifted his head, and being so much bigger than me, it was easy for him to maneuver my body so he was spooning me from behind.
“I stopped,” he said, shifting my ass and leg, “so I could do this.”
He entered me with ease, and I gasped, surprised by how
slick I’d become.
“Is this okay?” He’d taken to asking this during sex, after he’d read up on best positions for pregnant women so there’d be no pressure on the abdomen.
“I’m perfect now you’re inside of me. Now go a little faster. And harder.”
“Shh. I’m being gentle.”
I groaned a little. Since I’d found out I was pregnant, Caleb treated me like I was precious and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. “You don’t have to be gentle. I’m not going to break.”
“Don’t get impatient. I also wanted to do this.” His hand went between my legs, and his middle finger twirled in soft circles where my flesh tensed and throbbed. Our bodies fused together, and with each thrust, he moved his finger against my clit just enough to make everything within me vibrate. I shifted my hips to match his rhythm.
“Please do it harder, faster,” I begged. “Please? Don’t worry about hurting me.”
“Let me play. I don’t want to come so fast.” He stilled, filling me with his hardness and toying with my clit with a faster, firmer pace. Sweat bloomed between my breasts and at the crooks of my arms, while the backs of my legs slipped against his skin.
With his other hand, he tugged my hair at my nape, enough to remind me he was still the dominant one in bed. Enough to make me shiver from neck to nipples to knees.
“Caleb, please. Do more of that.”
He growled and continued his maddening, slow thrusts. I writhed harder against him, seeking and grinding. I needed a certain amount of roughness to climax, and once I’d picked up the pace, Caleb matched my rhythm. I felt fused to him, our bond now finally formal. It aroused me even more, knowing he was all mine.
“I’m going to make you come so hard,” he murmured.
Something about his always-in-control voice, so low and measured, made me thrash against him, seeking a release to my hunger.
That’s when the wave of my orgasm started and crested…and then kept on crashing around me. I would have almost described it as sinful, how carnal it felt, but there was nothing akin to sin between Caleb and me. My climax was pure and white-hot, given to me by the person I loved most in the world.
It was also fucking mind-blowing.
Maybe it was my louder-than-usual cries or maybe it was how I contracted around him, but Caleb laughed low into the back of my neck.
“I’m a lucky man. I get to listen to that for the rest of my life. I love you.”
“No, I’m the lucky one. I get to have orgasms like that for the rest of my life,” I murmured, while moving my hips faster, still feeling the spasms of the intense release and gasping.
“Fuck, I can’t hold on when I feel you come on me,” he groaned.
I clutched his hand between my legs and moved my body against his, wringing out the last of my orgasm and carrying him to his own. When he stilled, I loosened my grip on his hand, and he spooned me, tight, his arm nestled underneath my breasts. Our bodies were slick with sweat, but neither of us cared.
“Hi, I’m Mrs. Emma King, it’s nice to meet you,” I said softly, grinning into the moonlight.
He gathered my hair and lifted it off my neck, then blew on the hot skin. “Mrs. Emma King, it’s a pleasure.”
Chapter 3
Ours wasn’t a typical honeymoon. First we flew from Tampa to Winnipeg, Canada, then boarded a train for our forty-eight-hour journey due north. The wedding and travel had exhausted us both, and when we finally hunkered down in the sleeper car, we collapsed.
Eventually we mustered the energy to make slow love with the blinds open while the mountains flew by. Sticky and exhausted, we closed the blinds and slept more. Then we did it all over again, cocooned in our swaying rail car that smelled like his cologne, my perfume, and our mixed scents.
When we weren’t sleeping or kissing, we read as the train whooshed through vast forests and snowy tundras. Sometimes Caleb read to me out loud and I stared out the window at the snow, loving the way his deep voice pronounced each word.
“This is total bliss,” I said more than once.
It had taken me weeks to talk Caleb into the trip. He’d been hesitant because I was pregnant and had wanted something tamer, like a luxury hotel in Quebec City. But I’d brought him to my doctor and she’d convinced him I was healthy enough for the journey to the frozen edge of North America.
“See?” I said on our second morning of the train ride. We’d eaten breakfast in bed and were still stretched out, books in hand and naked under three blankets. “This isn’t physically stressful at all.”
Caleb looked up from a book on Alexander Hamilton and smiled. “I love you,” he murmured absentmindedly, the pages drawing his blue eyes like magnets. I grinned and watched him read, then drifted back to sleep to the sound of the train’s whistle.
Once we arrived in the tiny town of Churchill, a town so remote it was only accessible by train or plane, we checked into our eco-lodge, a wooden cabin. Caleb had paid to have it outfitted with everything we’d need for a week, including heavy clothing, boots, and gourmet food.
The silence and long nights were the opposite of our lives in Florida—it was so far north there were a scant seven and a half hours of daylight—and yet I watched Caleb’s shoulders lower and relax with each hour of darkness that fell.
The cabin was on stilts and a few hundred yards from a lake, and right away, we spotted wildlife in the distance. Being from the south, we’d never been anyplace so cold or so incredibly untamed.
“Caleb!” The first time I looked out the window and saw a giant polar bear in the water, I let out a high-pitched squeal and pointed. He laughed so hard from my excitement and surprise that tears leaked out of his eyes.
“You’re going to scare him off,” he gasped.
I stopped squealing every time I saw a bear, but each day, I stood for long minutes at the window, watching them with a grin. Finally, I worked up the courage to view them from the porch and Caleb had to tell me to come in from the cold.
“Do I have frostbite on my nose?” I’d say to him, the imprint of the binoculars ringing my eyes.
He’d rub his bigger nose onto mine, then kiss it. “Nope. You’re good.”
At night, we’d bundle up in heavy jackets, he in a dark blue one, I in red, and sit on the porch and wait for the aurora borealis to flicker across the horizon. I wept the first time I saw it; I’d never seen anything so amazing.
“It’s like perfection in the sky, Caleb.” I buried my face in his jacket, almost unable to look because the green hue was too beautiful.
“You know why the lights appear?” Caleb asked one night, scooping me into his lap and wrapping his arms around me. In our puffy jackets, we were like two marshmallows pressed against each other. The flickering phosphorescent sky show hadn’t emerged yet, and we sat in deep blackness. I might have been afraid if I’d been alone, but in Caleb’s arms, I was protected. Warm. Loved.
“Tell me,” I replied, stroking my belly over my jacket, sweater, turtleneck, and thermal undershirt. I hoped the baby was comfortable, and somehow knew he or she was on an adventure, too.
“The charged particles from the sun strike atoms and molecules in Earth’s atmosphere. I read about it earlier.”
“Hmm. I’ve been reading about the legends of the aurora borealis, and you’re reading about the science.”
Caleb joined me in stroking my stomach. “So the particles excite the atoms, and that causes them to light up.”
I laughed, thinking the description was an apt one for how he affected me. “So there’s two things I read about the Northern Lights. Some people whistle to summon them, and it makes them dance in the sky.”
Caleb let out a low whistle, and I shushed him, swatting his leg.
“What? You said some people whistle to make them appear. I want to see them this evening.”
“And other people say you should never whistle. It’s bad luck. That the lights are spirits. And if you whistle, the spirit lights will come to Earth and carry you up i
nto the sky.”
He murmured a laugh. “Must be an Inuit superstition. I like the first story better.”
I hummed a little, then leaned back into him and studied the sky, waiting for the green flames. Eventually, I turned to kiss him softly. That kiss led to a longer one, and it ended with him carrying me to bed.
It was the first and only night of our trip we didn’t see the aurora because we were too busy creating heat and light of our own.
* * *
On our last evening, after we’d watched the Northern Lights from the porch and as Caleb showered, I lit four candles, spacing them on the large wooden bureau in the bedroom.
I’d been waiting for the right moment to bring up a certain sensitive subject: I wanted the old, hypersexual, dominant Caleb back. Sure, he’d satisfied me in recent weeks, but the last few nights he’d been frustratingly gentle. Almost to the point where I couldn’t orgasm. The previous night, I’d taken matters into my own hands and climbed on top of him and stroked myself hard until I came.
Afterward, he’d suggested I be careful with my body, and his words had echoed in my brain all day. This needed to stop. I’d even asked my doctor about kink and rougher sex, and she said if I was comfortable with it, there was no problem.
“No breath play or anything that would leave bruising,” she’d warned casually. Which was why I loved my doctor; she was sex-positive, like me.
When Caleb emerged from the steamy bathroom, I was sitting on the bed, naked, my hair curly and flowing over my shoulders. His skin was still moist from the shower and gleamed in the candlelight. My breath caught when he grinned at me. God, my husband was gorgeous.
“Mmm, what’s all this for?” He crawled onto the bed and kissed me.
“I have a request,” I said, tugging his towel off.
He laughed. “I see that.”
“We need to chat. Sit.” He did, cross-legged on the bed, and I crawled on top of him, wrapping my legs around his hips. I felt the stirrings of his erection.
“What about?” He arranged my hair behind my shoulders.