by Kati Wilde
It was different for him, too? “It hasn’t before?”
“No, baby.” His voice is like gravel. “Never. Not even close.”
“I like that very much,” I tell him softly, with emotion clogging my throat and my heart so, so full. “So this is what it feels like to be loved?”
A rough groan rumbles from his chest. “Whatever this feels like, baby, it’s because you are loved. I love you so damn much.” His palm gently cups my cheek. “But how does it feel?”
Sudden tears sting my eyes. “Happy,” I tell him with a tremulous smile. “But not like the happy that I’m used to. It’s more than laughing or smiling. I could have all the money in the world and not buy this. It’s as if I’ve been given everything, simply because you love me.”
His throat works, and he nods. “That’s what you loving me feels like. But as if I have no money at all, yet still have everything. That’s what you’ve given to me,” he says thickly, then threads his fingers through my hair and captures my mouth in a sweetly sensual kiss. Because our wedding night isn’t over yet.
And we both have so much more to give, our wedding night might never end.
14
Caleb
Married to Audrey, I suspect every day will be just like Christmas. But the day after our wedding actually is Christmas, and I wake up not long after sunrise to a warm cabin and a cold bed, with my wife’s sweet scent clinging to my skin. I drag a pair of flannel pajama pants out of the dresser, because her employees didn’t just bring our luggage yesterday but also unpacked everything. The wrapped presents that I stashed in my duffel bag are already under the tree—along with a pile of other gifts that I hope are wedding presents and not from Audrey to me.
She already gave me her heart. I don’t need anything else. Just her.
I hit the bathroom and head down the stairs from the loft, my steps slowing as I take in the view through the enormous windows. Holy shit. Last night it was too dark when we arrived to see anything except snow and more snow, but her cabin sits at the end of a small, ice-covered pond, with jagged white mountain peaks rising in every direction. It’s utterly fucking stunning.
But I shouldn’t be surprised that she built her cozy getaway in a place like this. Of course she did.
And the majestic beauty surrounding us is absolutely nothing compared to the sight that greets me downstairs. With her back to me, Audrey sits on a stool in front of the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the living room, her head bent over a sheet of paper. Her pale hair is stacked up in a messy bun, her feet encased in fuzzy green-and-red striped socks…and she’s wearing the white dress shirt that I got married in. The long sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and the hem almost hits her knees.
She’s the sexiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
My cock thickens as my gaze devours her. Then she absently flips up the collar and turns her face into the fabric, as if trying to inhale my scent, and my heart cinches up tight in my chest.
I can give her more of me than that.
She doesn’t seem aware of my approach before my arms circle her waist from behind, yet she doesn’t stiffen in surprise. Instead she sighs with pleasure and tilts her head to the side when I nuzzle her bare neck.
“Good morning, wife.”
“Good morning, husband,” she replies with a smile, reaching back to clasp her hand around the nape of my neck. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” Less than five hours ago, I fell asleep beside her. But I began missing her the moment I woke up. “Are you always up this early, or is it because it’s Christmas morning?”
“Both.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I made you coffee. But you might have to make it again, because it was a while ago.”
Made for me, because she doesn’t drink coffee. Touched by her thoughtfulness, I tilt her head back so I can tease her mouth open for a taste between her lips. And she’s sweet.
So sweet. And tart. Just like lemon buttercream.
I nibble at her bottom lip. “You had cake for breakfast?”
“Yes.” She grins against my mouth. “It’s Christmas.”
I have something just as creamy and tangy in mind for my breakfast, but I’ll fuel up with food and caffeine first. Audrey appears engrossed in whatever it is she’s doing, anyway—and she must have been at it for a while, because the coffee’s stone cold.
Sticking a full mug into the microwave, I check out the array of yellow sticky notes arranged into neat columns on the counter near her elbow. In front of her is a sheet of paper overlain with a grid, and with other sticky notes tacked onto the squares. Whatever this project is, she’s giving it her full concentration. Lower lip trapped between her teeth, her eyebrows knitted together, she sticks another note into an empty square.
“What is that, baby?”
“My schedule.”
“I thought you weren’t working this week.” It’s fine if she has to, but I’m pretty damn sure she didn’t want to.
“I’m not working. This is our honeymoon schedule.”
Aside from the day we leave, we don’t have a schedule. At least, we didn’t have one yesterday. The calendars on our phones were empty. “Don’t you usually wing it when you’re out here?”
That’s what she told me before. Whether summer or winter, she makes certain her time at the lodge is completely unstructured.
“That was before we had sex. Now I want to make sure we can have as much as possible and in every position. So the idea of making a schedule for it got into my head.”
A sex schedule? Grinning, I look closer and make out what she’s written on some of those stickies. Cowgirl. Doggy. Sixty-nine.
My god, I love this woman.
She picks up an Against the wall and chews her bottom lip while considering the open blocks of time. “How many hours of sleep do you usually need?”
“Usually around six hours.” Blow job. Another Doggy. Obviously she has great faith in my stamina. Teasing her, I add, “Maybe six and a quarter, if I’m really worn out.”
“Quarter?” Dismay tightens her expression as she stares down at the grid. Then she begins pulling off the stickies, putting them back into the array by her elbow.
“Hold up. What are you doing, baby?”
“I only broke it down into thirty minute blocks.” An almost desperate frustration fills her voice as she gestures to a short stack of paper at the end of the counter. “I have to redo it again. Can you get me a new sheet from the desk?”
Redo it…which she’s already done at least a dozen times. I pick up that stack of paper and find a collection of partially finished grids—each of them abandoned when she made a tiny squiggle in a straight line or drew a slightly uneven row.
My beautiful, brilliant Audrey. I hope to hell that I’m doing the right thing when I gently catch her hands, stopping her. “How about this? I’ll take care of the sex schedule. I’ll make sure we hit all the possible positions, and I can guarantee you that we’ll be fucking as often as we can.”
Hope fills her eyes. “Will you?”
“Yeah, baby,” I reassure her, bringing each of her hands to my lips and pressing a soft kiss to the center of her left palm, then the right. “Just pass that paper over here, and I’ll make sure it’s done.”
“Okay. Thank you so much.” As she pushes the schedule across the counter, she blows out a breath that puffs her cheeks, and there’s sheer relief in that shuddering exhalation.“I put everything on stickies so it’s all easy to move around and update. But…don’t let me look at it.”
“I won’t.” I glance down to see what she’s already stuck onto today’s column. Not all sex.
Breakfast.
Open Christmas presents.
Make love by tree (Caleb’s choice of position).
Suck cock in shower.
Ride cock in bed.
Nap.
Ice skating.
That pulls a chuckle from me. I’m a little surprised that isn’t
a Screwing while skating—maybe a little disappointed, too, because I wouldn’t mind trying. My dick’s rock hard after reading this list, but I’m fascinated by it, too. Sex is another area where Audrey has taken many of her cues from me, letting me lead. Yet this is a captivating glimpse into what she’s fantasized about.
I glance up from the schedule. “We can skate on the pond?”
She nods, stacking up the array of sticky notes into a neat pile. “Usually. If the ice isn’t thick enough, we can switch skating out for another activity.”
Maybe for one of today’s other items. She’s got a good ol’ Long, hard fuck before Christmas dinner, followed by yet another Doggy. Probably because she came so damn hard when I took her from behind last night—and that wasn’t even a proper pounding. She wasn’t on her elbows and knees with her ass in the air. Instead I pulled her back against my chest, held her close while I pumped into her long and slow. The entire night was long and slow. Rather than fucking her hard and rough, I wallowed in the sweetness of her, the heat of her, and the sheer luxury of her wet velvet cunt.
My attention stops on the last item for today, sudden wariness clutching at my chest. “What’s this? Mechanic & Ice Queen?”
I called her that once. Hurt her with that once. And can’t imagine why the hell it’s on the schedule now.
“Oh.” An impish little grin curves her mouth. “That’s when I say, ‘Don’t touch my soft, delicate skin with your rough, dirty hands!’ and then you punish me with your long, thick cock.”
Holy fuck. The microwave dings, but I don’t reach for my coffee. I don’t make any movement at all, because if I go anywhere, it’ll be across this counter and straight between her thighs.
But before I touch her, I need to clarify something. “Am I punishing you because you don’t want it, or am I punishing you for saying you don’t want it when you really do?”
“For saying I don’t want it.” From beneath her lashes, she casts me a hot and glittering look. “Like the time I pretended that I didn’t want you to kiss me goodnight. Maybe you pushed me into the back seat of the car and told me to open my mouth and then made me lick your cock with my lying tongue.”
A groan rips from me. Because fuck, yes. “All right. This sticky note is going to the top of today’s schedule.”
Before we open presents. Because the first thing I’m doing this Christmas is making her hot little fantasy come true.
A fantasy that takes a warped perception I had of her, one that hurt her and ate me up with guilt, and turns that pain into something that’ll give us both pleasure. Whether she did that consciously or not, I have no idea. Maybe it just originated because Audrey pictured that first night going differently, and thought I might like it, too.
If so, she’s not wrong about that. That image of Audrey as the ice queen was the first one in my head. It was the first Audrey I ever fantasized fucking. I know better now, but the thought of making the ice queen melt for me, making her admit how much she wants me, is still hot as hell.
I head around the counter but she continues stacking those sticky notes—maybe oblivious to me, maybe just pretending to be. But the startled gasp when I spin her stool around isn’t pretend, and neither is the rounding of her eyes when she gets a look at the size of the erection tenting my pajamas, forceful enough to pull the waistband away from my stomach.
Excitement gleams in her wide, laughing smile. She obviously tries her best to sound outraged, but it comes out breathless with anticipation. “What do you think you’re doing, you cretin?”
Crowding in close, I cage her between my arms and the breakfast bar behind her. My voice deepens to a hardened growl. “You got what you wanted, Audrey. You married me to get your hands on my property. You thought this was going to be all business, but it’s not. Because now I’m going to take what I want—and get my dirty hands all over you.”
“No!” she gasps eagerly, swaying toward me. “I don’t want you to touch me with your dirty hands!”
Oh shit. Laughter shakes through me, and I cup my hand around the back of her neck to pull her close, pressing my forehead to hers. “You’re so bad at this, baby.”
She’s giggling. “I know. But it’s fun. Is it still sexy?”
“There’s not a damn thing you do that isn’t sexy.” Such as the way her breath catches when I grab hold of that messy bun and tug her head back. Or her soft, needy whimper when I skim my lips up the length of her exposed throat, then say harshly into her ear, “But I know your secret, Audrey Motherfuckin’ Clarke. People see an ice queen when they look at you, but the truth is that you’re burning up inside. I bet if I touched your little pussy right now, you’d be wet enough to drown me in it.”
“Oh, Caleb. You’re so good at this,” she moans.
Because I don’t need to pretend anything. I just need to want her, be desperate to have her. Which comes real damn easy. “Does that mean you want me to touch your pussy, baby? I think you do.”
“You’re wrong!” Her hand flattens on my bare chest and weakly shoves. “You think that just because you’re so handsome and tall and strong, I’ll get all hot for you? You think that just because…you’re so…” Her fingertips begin tracing the ridge of my pectoral, her hungry gaze following the same path, the tip of her tongue touching the bow of her upper lip. “…so muscular and gorgeous and have such a big dick, I’ll ever let you get anywhere near my…my…my diamond-encrusted pussy with it?”
She glances up at me when she spits out the diamond-encrusted, her icy eyes dancing with laughter.
This is the best Christmas ever. “I think your tight, rich-girl pussy wants my big, dirty cock real bad. Tell me you don’t.”
Abruptly her laughter transforms into the cold, withering stare that should shrivel me up but instead squeezes burning drops of pre-cum from the tip of my cock. Despite that look, her face is flushed with arousal, each panting breath lifting her breasts within that oversize shirt.
“You think you can steal the clothes off my back and get away with it?” With a snarl, I rip the buttons halfway down the front, spreading the sides open to reveal her soft little tits and fat rosy nipples. Gasping, Audrey tries to cover herself but I catch her wrists and look my fill. “Your pretty nipples are hard as diamonds, too. You’re telling me I’m not turning you on?”
“I… No—” Biting her lip, she looks up at me imploringly and whispers, “What should I say?”
Because it’s so hard for her to lie. And I’m guessing we’ve gone further than any script she prepared during her fantasies. “Just keep saying no when you mean yes, baby. Just keep telling me that you don’t want me to touch you.” She’s so incapable of pretending that it’ll be clear if her ‘no’ is ever real. “Maybe you’ll claim it’s just the cold—”
“It’s cold in here!” she exclaims with a cheeky grin. “And you tore my shirt open!”
“So I’ll have to warm you up.” I let go of her wrists to knead her breasts in my big hands, to gently pinch her nipples. Lips compressed into a thin line to muffle her moans, she begins squirming on the stool, and I can fucking hear the way her pussy juices are sliding all over the seat. Groaning, I bend my head to suckle one pouty bud, then the other. Her fingers thread into my hair and she holds me to her breast, writhing and whimpering no no no, I don’t want you to touch me like this.
She’s so goddamn hot and horny. Teeth gritted, I raise my face to hers again, reaching down to stroke my aching cock. “I’m gonna fuck your little pussy, baby—”
“No!” Yes.
“Yeah, I am. Gonna get in real deep and fill you with my cum.” I wedge my hips between her trembling thighs. “And I don’t want you to fight me or try to get away.”
“Okay,” she agrees breathily.
Well…shit. “Hold up, baby. Timeout.”
Though the only timeout is from playing this game, because my dick’s throbbing with the need to be inside her and she’ll probably go off like a rocket the moment I touch her clit. Her eyes are
glazed with arousal when she looks up at me, and I cup her cheek, waiting until she focuses.
“No matter what I say, I actually mean that I want everything,” I tell her softly. And I probably should have laid this out for her before. She likes rules and guidelines. “The same way that your ‘yes’ is ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ is ‘yes.’ If I say I want something, I want it. And if I say I don’t want you to do something, I’m really saying I want you to do it.”
Her lush mouth curves. “All right.”
“And while we’re at it, you don’t need to come up with lies. If you want something, just say ‘please don’t’ in front of it. If there’s something I’m doing that you want me to continue doing, you tell me to stop—and I’ll keep going. But I’ll know if you really mean it, okay?”
Because she can’t act worth a damn.
“Okay,” she whispers huskily, then her tongue darts out to moisten her lips. “Please don’t make me suck your big cock until you come.”
Christ help me. My balls tighten as lust surges through my stiffened length, and my gut clenches with sheer need. But the desire isn’t what feels like a punch to my chest, isn’t the thing that staggers me. Instead it’s the realization that this whole scenario she started is about punishing her with my cock—about what I’m doing to her—and yet within that scenario, Audrey’s fantasy is pleasuring me. It’s not just about fucking, though there’s that, too. Instead it’s similar to my fantasies, which aren’t only about getting my nut off. They’re usually about making her come over and over again, until she’s so wrecked by orgasms that she’s helpless to everything but her need for me.
If that’s where she wants me, I’m not too far off. Except me being helpless to my need isn’t going to leave me lying there, boneless and quivering, coming endlessly. Me being helpless to my need means losing all control.
But I’ll hold on a bit longer, play this through.
I catch her chin in an unyielding grip, my thumb rolling past her soft bottom lip to meet the pearly barrier of her teeth. “Are you afraid of sucking my cock, baby? I bet you are. Because you know you’ll love it. You’ll love wrapping your lips around my shaft, love drinking down all my hot cum.”