Page 84 of Silver Spoon Falls, Vol. I
GARRETT
It’s not the alarm that wakes me. It’s having her close, always her.
Even before the idea of morning, before my brain boots up and remembers my own damn name, Ciara’s palm is right there, flat over my heart, fingers spread wide like she’s staking her claim.
She pins me to the mattress, heavy and warm.
Her breath is hot and damp where it pools in the hollow between my collarbone and jaw.
She’s got her leg slung over my hip, holding me down with the same innate stubbornness that defines my wife.
If I really focus, I can pick up the flutter of her pulse in her wrist, feather-light against my chest.
I keep my eyes closed, reluctant to greet the day just yet.
My body conducts its own roll call, noting the soft, pale curve of her thigh pressed against mine, the weight of her heavy breast snug against my ribs, and her ankle, warm and restless, sliding along my calf as she stirs in some half-formed dream.
She always sleeps like this, her body wrapped around mine as if she's afraid the world will sweep her away if she loosens her grip.
For months, our mornings have played out like this—a tangle of limbs beneath a mound of blankets, with the soft glow of dawn filtering through the window, casting warm orange hues across the room.
Today is no different. I attempt to remain still, but my cock stirs, pressing against her thigh, caught in the space between us.
My heartbeat thrums in my ears. The rapid rhythm reverberates through my entire being, awakening sensations I never knew existed.
She shifts, mumbling, and burrows her face deeper into my neck.
Her breath is hot and urgent on my skin, and the way her thigh tightens around me spikes my pulse even higher.
I slide my hand up her back, palm flat between her shoulder blades, steadying us both.
My fingers walk up her spine, tracing the bruised area from last week when she backed into the breakfast bar, then down the warm slope to the dip at the small of her back.
I risk a peek at the clock. The numbers are a sickly green, way too bright. Fuck, it’s six goddamn twenty-one. The alarm’s not set to go off for another nine minutes, but I’m already about to explode from wanting her.
I sink into the mattress and listen to her breathing. It’s slow, uneven, with a hitch of a snore that’s weirdly adorable.
My cock is throbbing now, impossible to ignore.
I try to shift, hoping to ease the pressure, but it just makes it worse.
Ciara tightens her hold on me, her knee climbing higher, pulling the covers tight.
She’s wearing an old T-shirt of mine, stretched out and basically see-through, and her thigh is bare.
The skin is smooth, scattered with faint freckles.
My hand drifts lower, slow, and I trace circles above her knee, feeling the heat of her through the thin cotton.
A soft, desperate whimper escapes her lips.
The sound seems to have been trapped within her all night, yearning for the perfect moment to break free.
Her fingers dig into my chest, not just kneading but clawing, like she’s trying to leave her mark, making sure I know exactly who I belong to.
Her lips brush my skin, warm and wet, and I feel her words before I hear them, all low and satisfied: “Mm. Morning.” It’s not a greeting.
It’s a claim. A fucking statement of fact.
You’re here. You’re mine. And I fucking love it. Almost as much as I love her.
Her hand slides up my chest, slow and deliberate, her palm scraping against the stubble.
When she gets to my nipple, she doesn’t just pinch it; she twists, her nails biting in just enough to make me hiss.
I gasp, rough and desperate, and she smirks against my neck.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always fucking does.
“Morning,” I choke out, my voice all gravel and need. My cock’s already hard, pressing into her thigh, craving her. She shifts, grinding against me, and I groan, grabbing her hips like they’re the only thing keeping me from losing it completely.
Her lips trail down my neck, leaving a line of heat that makes me shiver. She scrapes her teeth over my collarbone, then licks the spot she just bit. “Mm,” she hums again, sounding smug as hell. “You taste so good.”
Her hand moves lower, fingers tracing the line of hair below my navel. My stomach tightens, anticipation winding up tight inside me. She stops just above my aching cock, and I can feel her smirk. “You’re already so hard for me,” she purrs, voice all husk and heat. “I like it.”
Her soft fingers tease my cock from tip to base, and I groan as my hips jerk up, but she just laughs, pulling back. “Patience,” she whispers, her breath hot on my ear. “I’ll take care of you.”
My little cherry is in a playful mood this morning.
She kisses me, hungry and rough, tongue sliding into my mouth.
I melt into her, tasting mint and sleep and her.
Her hand wraps around my cock, squeezing just enough to make me moan into her mouth.
She strokes me slowly, her thumb rubbing over the tip, spreading the warm wetness that’s already there.
“Fuck,” I gasp, breaking the kiss. “Please.”
She doesn’t answer, just keeps stroking, slow and steady, her eyes locked on mine. I can see the hunger there, the same wild need that’s tearing me apart. The alarm rings through the room, and I slap at the motherfucker until it shuts the fuck up.
Her fucking lush, wet, and sinful lips trail down my body like she’s painting a goddamn masterpiece with her tongue.
Every kiss, every bite, every flick of her wicked tongue sends electric shocks from my fucking brain straight to my cock.
Her teeth graze my skin just enough to make me hiss, her breath hot and ragged against my flesh.
When she finally reaches my cock, I’m begging her incoherently.
Her mouth is a wet, greedy trap, and the moment she wraps those full, pouty lips around my throbbing shaft, I’m already halfway to losing my goddamn mind.
Her tongue swirls around the swollen head like she’s savoring the taste of my pre-cum, then her lips slide down my length with a wet, filthy slurp that makes my balls tighten.
My loud groan fills the room around us as my fingers claw at the sheets.
I don’t fucking care if I rip them to shreds.
She doesn’t just suck. No, my gorgeous wife worships my dick like it’s her last meal.
Her tongue flicks and laps at the underside, teasing the sensitive ridge.
Then she closes her lips around my cock and sucks with a merciless rhythm.
Her head bobs up and down, her throat taking me deeper with every stroke, until I can feel the tip of my cock nudging the back of her throat.
She gags, her eyes watering, but she doesn’t stop. My little cherry fucking loves it.
Her soft hand grips the base of my shaft, pumping in time with her mouth, and the wet, squelching sounds are enough to make me nearly lose my mind.
She moans around my cock, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body, and I can feel my orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter like a fucking spring ready to explode.
But she’s not done—not by a fucking long shot. She pulls off with a wet pop, her lips glistening with spit and pre-cum, and looks up at me with those fucking sinful eyes. “You’re not gonna come yet,” she purrs, her voice dripping with lust. “Not until I’ve had my fill.”
And then she’s back on me, her mouth and hand working in perfect, filthy harmony, her tongue fucking me like she’s trying to milk every last drop out of my swollen cock. I’m panting, cursing, bucking my hips into her face, and I’ve never been so close to losing it in my life.
“Fuck, yes,” I hiss, hips pushing into her mouth. “Just like that.”
She takes me deeper. With her throat tight around me, the heat coming off her is insane. Her hands dig into my thighs, nails sharp as she sucks me harder, faster, until I’m right on the edge, ready to blow.
But she pulls off, leaving me throbbing, her lips swollen and wet. “Not yet,” she says again, her voice all promise and sin. “I’m not done with you.”
Her hands slide up my body, her mouth following until she’s straddling me, her core hot and slick against my cock. She grinds down, coating me, and I groan, grabbing her hips.
“Fuck me,” she demands, voice low and rough. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I flip her onto her back, and her legs lock around my waist as I drive into her. She’s so fucking tight, so goddamn perfect, and I can’t hold back. I fuck her hard, hands gripping her thighs, and she moans as her nails claw at my back.
“Yes,” she gasps, voice breaking. “More.”
Her hips slam into mine, her body shaking as she comes, squeezing me tight. I follow her, coming so hard I see stars, and then I collapse on top of her, both of us sweaty and wrecked.
“Morning,” she whispers again, all soft and smug.
“Morning, Cherry,” I growl, kissing her, wondering if we can go another round before the girls wake up.
She tilts her head up and gives me another one of those slow, dangerous smiles. “Think we have time for round two?” she murmurs, and I grin, already feeling my cock twitch at the thought.
“You read my mind, Cherry.”
She laughs, soft and snorting, then rolls on top of me with an athletic grace that always manages to take me off guard despite the years we’ve been together.
Her hair, wild with sleep, tickles my face as she leans in, and her lips find mine.
The kiss is slow, unhurried, all warm syrup and wicked promise, and even as I try to hold back, my hips can’t help but buck up, searching for friction.
“We have, what, six minutes?” she murmurs, glancing at the clock, then back at me with a glint. “Think you can make it count?” Her hand finds my cock—already hard, already leaking for her—and she squeezes, just enough to make my brain stutter.
“Fuck, Cherry,” I choke, reaching up to tweak her nipple. “You know I can.”
The sound of feet running through the house interrupts us, and I groan, realizing this round will have to wait until later. “Raincheck?” my wife groans.
I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling, willing my pulse back to normal. “Raincheck,” I confirm, and we both lie there listening to the sound of our typical morning chaos.
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