Naughty Nibbles Anthology

by Sierra Cartwright, SL Majors, Christy Lockhart

  She'd been expecting him to arrive home. Each day, sometimes more than once, she told him how excited she was, how she was marking off the days on the calendar, then checking off the hours in her head. And now she was nowhere to be found? “Meghan?"

  What was she up to now?

  "I'm home!"

  Nothing.

  He climbed the stairs. In bed. She'd be in bed waiting for him. Smart woman. Save him the effort of slinging her over his shoulder and carrying her there.

  Oh, aye, it was good to be home.

  He'd been nearly obsessed with wanting to see her. He struggled to keep his focus, not letting his men see his turmoil. He was a leader, but underneath, he was just a man crazy in love. He wanted to possess her, inhale the scent of her soap and shampoo. Wanted to be welcomed home.

  Oh, hell, why wasn't he just honest with himself?

  He wanted to fuck her. Hard. Fast. Leisurely. Tenderly. He wanted to make up for the days they'd missed, days they'd never recapture.

  His dick hardening in anticipation, he climbed the stairs to their bedroom.

  He pushed open the door. “Meg? I'm home."

  Hell and damnation.

  She wasn't in their bedroom, either.

  The bed, made the way he liked it, with military precision, dominated the room. She'd put her mark on it, though, as well. A pillow for each of them was perfectly fine for him. But she'd added an extra half-dozen more, all carefully colour coordinated. Vaguely, with a masculine confusion, he wondered how she managed. The Army issued standard uniforms for a reason, and told them which to wear for what occasion, otherwise the regiment would never match.

  He straightened one of the pillows, a compulsion, he supposed. After his most recent accommodations, the bed was the most beautiful sight in the world. Well, after his wife, he amended. Now, if her sweet little arse were just in the bed...

  His cock got even harder; his hormones became even more insistent. He needed to orgasm, sooner, rather than later. Alan was tempted to stroke himself, but he'd told her he wouldn't. They'd made a ‘no masturbation’ pact days ago, when they knew for certain he was returning to England instead of some foreign port for R&R. He settled for adjusting the front of his uniform trousers. That small accommodation wouldn't do him for long, though.

  Alan wanted his wife, and he wanted her now.

  As he headed back down the stairs, it hit him.

  He knew exactly what his wife was about.

  Meghan Marie Denton knew him better than anyone else ever had. He shared his most intimate thoughts with her. Every evening, his mates would jostle him good-naturedly. No one could spend that much time on a computer, they'd say, well, not unless they were looking at bare-breasted women on a web cam. Out and out porn wasn't possible, not with the way everyone shared computers. But, without fail, they'd invite him to join them for a game of cards. Without fail, he'd refuse. He'd rather spend the time, such as it were, with his wife.

  As a result, she knew what he'd want in a welcome home.

  He'd want to work for it, making their reunion all the more spectacular.

  He grinned.

  The chase was on.

  Renewed energy zinged through him, sharpening his senses.

  He paused on the stairs. There had been something about their bedroom, something a bit off. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it earlier.

  He went back up to their bedroom and had a look ‘round. The closet stood ajar. There was nothing wrong with that, except for the fact it was completely out of character for her. She never left doors to the bathrooms or the closets open. It was one of her more adorable quirks. He had his idiosyncrasies, she had hers. They were strangely tolerant of each other, perhaps recognising a kindred spirit?

  He pulled the closet door wider.

  Even though he'd been gone, she'd still kept a space for his uniforms.

  Other women he'd lived with had taken the opportunity to lay seize to the closets and drawers, filling them with all sorts of frilly, lacy nonsense. But not his Meg. She'd treated the space as if he was still there.

  There were empty hangers, awaiting the return of his uniforms.

  But...

  He'd left a couple of uniforms behind when he'd been deployed. His dress uniform was still there. His desert combat uniform, the specialised disruptive pattern one that he wore daily, was missing.

  Well, wasn't that odd?

  There was a bare spot on a shelf as well, where he kept an assortment of his Army issued berets and officer's tent hats. Well, well. Seemed perhaps his wife was ready for battle.

  He'd had more experience at that than she had, though.

  This was one challenge he relished. She wouldn't have gone far, and it wouldn't be long until he captured her and she'd be tossed onto the bed. He'd have her naked and beneath him in minutes, her legs spread, begging for his possession as he teased her cunt with the head of his cock. After this, it'd serve her right to have to wait at least a little while.

  Carefully, he checked every room of the house, including the closets and wardrobes. She was either stealthily moving from one room to the other or else she'd discovered a hiding place he knew nothing about.

  He didn't think she'd use the attic, but he checked that, as well.

  No luck.

  Then it hit him.

  He went to the back door and looked out, scanning their small courtyard. The brick walls separating them from their neighbours were about as tall as he was. A squirrel scampered across one, jumping into a birch tree.

  From where he stood, there was no sight of Meghan.

  But that didn't necessarily mean anything. The yard offered a veritable number of hiding places, what with the outdoor furniture, shrubs, bushes, and all sorts of odd ornamentals that seemed to appeal to the female species.

  And there was always the gardening shed.

  His cock was engorged now. Every moment just made him want her more. Patience, he counselled himself. Wait her out.

  After a few minutes, he went out the back door.

  He accustomed himself to the sounds, motor cars on the street and, in the distance, a train. He could hear the close sounds of all the children playing next door but one. Birds chirped and a mother yelled at her offspring.

  Then he heard what he'd been waiting for, a gentle rustle from the direction of the shed.

  Got her.

  With the stealth he'd learned under the most extreme conditions, he moved towards the shed.

  Then, using the element of surprise, he yanked open the door with a startling clatter. A frightened bird flew at him, baby birds squawked angrily from a nest in the rafters, and a tangle of cobwebs caught him the face.

  He blinked against the darkness. But his other sense told him what his eyes didn't. Meghan wasn't in there.

  "Gotcha, Lieutenant."

  Chapter Four

  Alan froze. A death grip on your balls did that to a man.

  "Nicely done.” He'd never heard her, never suspected she'd be the one to get him. He figured they were playing a very adult version of hide and seek, but he hadn't planned on the hider becoming the seeker.

  But she'd managed to tip the rules in her favour. She'd come up behind him and grabbed him at his most vulnerable time and in the most vulnerable place without him suspecting a thing. “Reconnaissance is supposed to be one of my specialties."

  "Don't feel too badly. You've taught me a thing or two, meaning I was trained by the best.” She backed off the grip a little and said. “And I'm a quick study."

  He laughed, but then she tightened her grip.

  Still and all, he reckoned, your woman surprising you and grabbing you by the balls probably wasn't the worst welcome home in history.

  "Turn around,” she said.

  "You'll have let go of my testicles first."

  Slowly she did.

  He turned to face her.

  Talk about the element of surprise.

  What he saw was breathtaking. His wife, sassy, chee
ky, sexy, was indeed, wearing his desert combat uniform. Well, more or less.

  "See? I have on your fancy uniform. You looked straight at me when you came out and couldn't see me."

  He laughed. He couldn't have missed her, not with those bare legs and curvy body. He'd need more than thousands of pixels to fool his eyes ... he'd need to be blind.

  Her long blonde hair was loose, and it cascaded down her neck and across her shoulders. He'd spent many a night in his tent imagining running his hands through her silky strands again. His green beret sat at an odd, irreverent angle on top of her head. It was tipped to the right, like he wore his, but that's where the similarities between them ended. As big as the beret was on her, he imagined she'd had to pin it in place, or else it would have fallen right off.

  She was smiling and her green eyes twinkled with devilment.

  His shirt looked like a jacket on her. It covered her shoulders and hung low enough to cover her backside. The uniform would have looked ridiculous if she hadn't been so clever. But she'd rolled up the sleeves and used safety pins to secure them in place. And the little vixen had left every single button open. A good breeze would bare her breasts.

  Good thing the desert combat material was made to meet Soldier 2000 requirements, making it flame resistant. It needed to be with as hot as she looked in it.

  The cheeky lass had stuffed her feet into tiny-looking boots. They definitely weren't standard military issue; rather, they were feminine, with small heels that made the entire package sexy.

  He could have taken her in that instant, fucked her ragged right there in their backyard, not giving tuppence who saw them.

  "I'm glad you're home, soldier.” She moved in closer, looping her arms around his neck.

  If he hadn't been a trained professional, he wouldn't have been able to think, let alone react.

  While his brain still functioned, he seized control of the situation.

  He scooped her from the ground. She yelped, but was instantly silenced when he slung her over his shoulder, temporarily knocking the breath from her.

  He secured her kicking legs with one hand, then smacked her bum with the other. The uniform had ridden up when he'd up righted her, but instead of feeling the cotton knickers that she usually wore, his palm landed on bare skin. “Hey, up! Meghan? Are we flashing your cunny to the entire neighbourhood?"

  "We're not,” she said, the words nearly inaudible as she fought for breath. “You are!"

  He was going to spontaneously combust. No doubt about it.

  She ineffectively kicked at him as he carried her through the door, catching it with his foot and sending it flying closed behind him.

  "No quarter for you,” he told her.

  He climbed up the stairs two at a time despite her very-real squeals. He intended to have her. But first, he intended to torture her, just a little. After all, she was his prisoner.

  "I'm dizzy."

  "Sorry about that,” he said remorselessly.

  Her beret fell off, and he felt her fingers at his waistband as she sought to hold on.

  Once they were in their bedroom, he paused for a few seconds before putting her down.

  She was helpless, exposed, and he might as well have a feel before he put her down.

  Meghan squirmed and wriggled and he smelled the scent of her. She was as aroused by this, by him, as he was.

  She jerked and convulsed as he parted her labia and unerringly found her clit. He stroked and pinched, and he brought her to the edge. She was panting and pleading.

  And that's when he stopped.

  "Damn you."

  It certainly sounded as if her teeth were gritted. He grinned. He liked having her on the precipice. Exciting stuff happened there. She became a wild woman. “Right then, my lovely captive..."

  He put her down. She grabbed onto him until she found her balance.

  She looked so tiny in front of him, so delicious. And he'd have more than a taste of her before the night was through.

  Alan had wanted her from the first moment he'd seen her.

  She'd been out for a run with a few friends along the Thames. He'd been working off one-too-many Guinnesses from the night before. He'd opted to sweat off the beer, rather than hitting up the pub again with his mates. They'd all joined together to toast a fallen member of their regiment.

  That morning, they rang to tell him they were going back out for a bit of the ‘hair of the dog,’ reckoning another pint would put things to rights.

  He'd never been so glad to have missed out.

  He'd been an idiot, making a fool out of himself. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and he'd been consumed with the image of holding her by it as he devoured her mouth. Then he would slowly move lower, down her throat, not stopping until he closed his lips around her breast to suckle at her nipple. He'd jogged alongside of her and her friends, and then, beneath a tree, he'd dropped to his knees.

  She'd been done for.

  Her friends had tried to warn her not to talk to him. He could be a rapist or murderer, but she'd taken a cautious look at his military identification.

  "I'm with The Queen's Royal Hussars."

  "Impressive."

  One of her friends had rolled her eyes.

  But Meghan had been as smitten as he. She'd told her friends she'd be in touch later, and she'd told him to get up from his knees.

  With his smooth, and fast, talking, he'd convinced her to join him for breakfast after their run. And then, since he hadn't wanted the day to end, he'd invited her for dinner. At the end of their first official date, he'd decided to marry her. And that was before they'd even fucked.

  He'd thought back to the previous night, when he and his mates were at the pub. They'd saluted Duncan. And they'd talked of their regiment, The Queen's Royal Hussars, the same Hussars who claimed Winston Churchill as one of their own. It was noble what they did, noble and dangerous.

  After another toast, they'd taken up a collection for Duncan's family. The lad had only been twenty-four, married with a wee baby. He'd had his entire life ahead of him.

  He'd died on Alan's watch, and with their regiment's motto on his lips. Mente et manu. By hand and mind. They'd memorised it, drilled it. And Duncan had lived it.

  Rather than using the lad's death as a reason to be morose and reflective, Alan had made a decision to honour the young man's courage by taking risks in his own life.

  Life, he'd learnt, was far too fragile to sit on the sidelines. Safety was only an illusion.

  So what if he'd only known Meghan for a day? Her humour and sense of adventure were enough to make him a believer. They belonged together.

  His military training had taught him strategic thinking. He was a simple man. He stuck with what worked. All he had to do was follow the advice of his own regiment's motto, hand and mind, to convince her of what he already knew: she should marry him.

  So she wouldn't think him slightly cracked, he'd actually waited a few days before proposing.

  Now, with her standing in front of him, her hair mussed, his uniform gaping open on her, he knew he'd make the same decision all over again.

  "I want to know all your secrets,” he said.

  "Never.” She tipped back her to meet his gaze. “I'll tell you nothing, Lieutenant."

  "You'll be tortured then, dear Meghan."

  She snapped her teeth. “Bring it on."

  His cock strained for release. It'd been so long, he couldn't wait to bury himself to the hilt inside her moist, tight cunt. “Stand at attention while I'm speaking to you, captive."

  She did.

  Time and again, she amazed him. She stood at attention almost perfectly. Her eyes were forward, her shoulders back and down. Her muscles were rigid, her knees were straight without being locked, and her heels were together with her feet at the precise thirty-degree angle. She formed her hands into tight little fists. If she'd actually been wearing trousers, which thankfully she was leaving to him tonight, her thumbs would have
been completely aligned with the seam.

  With a soft, cocky smile, she made one minor adjustment. She stuck out her chest.

  Crikey.

  Who was being tortured here?

  Reaching out, he opened the shirt, then slid it back so that it hung from her shoulders. “I'm afraid your chest isn't sticking out quite far enough."

  "Oh.” She used the sultry voice that softened his nights and made the days bearable. “Sorry.” She made another couple of exaggerated movements.

  She had the most amazing breasts of any woman he'd ever seen. Firm, ripe, luscious. He cupped one, holding it, then increasing the pressure slightly as he moved his grip ever so slowly towards her nipple. She moaned deep in her throat. Then she bit her lower lip when he squeezed her nipple hard.

  "It's been so long,” she said. “I've dreamed of you doing that."

  He repeated his motions with her other breast. She was such a good sport, she never broke position. How the hell had he gotten so lucky?

  He drew both of her breasts together. Tonight, or one night soon, he would have her hold them, tightly pressed together, while he fucked her between them.

  He pinched both of her nipples and she cried out. “Yes!"

  Because she enjoyed having her nipples tormented, he pulled on them slowly, drawing them away from her body. He could see the struggle on her face, in the way her brows were furrowed, that she was fighting to stay at attention despite the combination of pain and pleasure.

  He continued to hold one while he bent to suck on the other. First he soothed it with his tongue, then his lips. Gently, tenderly. Then he viciously twisted the one he was holding and bit the other.

  She climaxed, screaming.

  After she rode it out, he released the nipple in his mouth. “It seems my captive enjoys being tortured.” He'd never known a woman before who could climax just from nipple play.

  She shook her head desperately. “No. I don't like to be tortured."

  "I think your body tells a different story. At ease, my beautiful captive."

  She shook her head again, but more slowly this time.

  "At ease,” he repeated, releasing her other breast.

  "Please...” Miserably she moved her left foot to shoulder width. Without being coached, she placed her hands behind her back, her right hand inside her left. Still blinking from the force of her climax, she extended her arms downward.