Page 137 of The Christmas Trap

The air between us hums with tension, electric and heavy. It skims over my skin and winds tighter inside me until I can hardly breathe. I open my mouth, ready to finally tell her what she means to me, but all that comes out is, “That’s it for today. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven. We’ll ride to the office together.”

Her face falls.

I almost jump to my feet and round the table to gather her in my arms. But I stop myself. I need time to think this through.

Maybe if I sleep on it, things will be clearer?

I rise to my feet. "Goodnight, Lark."My sweet wife.

I manage not to look at her as I walk past. Manage not to pause at the doorway and call out to her to come with me. Manage to keep my gaze straight ahead, mount the stairs, and head to the guest room. Once there, I look around the space, a little lost. Just a few nights of making love to her and holding her in my arms in bed, and I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep without her.

Shoving aside thoughts of her and the hard-on I sport at the thought of how I fucked her, I strip off my clothes and head into the en suite bathroom. I turn the shower on cold and step under it. I gasp a little at the contrast with my heated skin.

But long years of showers in the barracks, and wherever we stayed when on tour, means I adjust quickly. It also means, it doesn’t do much to bring down my chub. With a sigh, I pour conditioner into my palm, then squeeze my very erect shaft from root to crown. Thoughts of the welts I painted into her skin with the ropes fill myhead. Images of Lark’s big eyes, swollen lips, trembling tits and thighs, and all that glistening pink flesh between them, crowd my mind. I swell further in my palm. Fuck. This is not going to work.

Not when the reason for my being this turned on is down the hall in my bedroom. I squeeze again from base to tip, and again.

"That looks painful."

The words are spoken low, yet they reach me over the noise made by the shower. I’m not surprised to open my eyes and find her standing at the entrance to the large shower cubicle. She’s also naked.Fuck.Gloriously. Lushly. Naked. I drink in the sight of her hair cascading around her shoulders, the swollen tits I imagined in my thoughts a few seconds ago, now revealed in front of me. The tiny waist, that slight, sweet roll of her stomach, then those gorgeously flared hips, and fleshy thighs which I swear, I need to mark with my teeth and my nails.

I continue to jerk myself off as I take in my erotic dream come to life. "Come 'ere," I growl.

She swallows, then slowly puts one foot in front of the other. Step by step, she approaches. When she reaches me, I notice she has one hand hidden behind her.

"What do you have there?" I arch an eyebrow.

She looks guilty, then holds up her hand with a sprig of mistletoe suspended from between her fingers.

Her safe word. Which she’s now laying out between us as an offering, perhaps? A sign that she’s giving in to her innermost desires?

Does my little wife have any idea how transparent she is?

"Where did you get that?" I allow my lips to tilt up slightly on one side.

"I noticed an oak tree in your garden. After you left, I decided to walk out and pick one. Figured it gave me an excuse to come into your room. Then I found you under the shower." She shrugs.

"You don’t need an excuse to come to me. You never need an excuse to ask me for what you want."

I hold out my hand, and when she places the mistletoe in it, I carefully place it on the far side of the shower bench, out of the reachof the water. Then I seat myself, part my legs, and nod to the space between my feet.

She willingly folds herself and sinks to her knees. I reach out and shut off the shower. In the silence that follows, the sound of her breathing is audible.

She reaches for my cock, and I click my tongue. "You may only use your mouth, your tongue, and your teeth."

She scowls. "Is that a challenge?"

"Why not?" I lean back against the shower wall. As she stares at my cock, the blood rushes to my groin, extending it further, elongating it, making it bob against my lower belly.

She flicks out her little tongue to lick at her lower lip, a giveaway of how much she's aroused. The thought of my wife locking her gorgeous mouth around my shaft and sucking me off is enough to knot the muscles in my groin. My testicles tighten. I widen my legs to accommodate my erection.

As if it’s a sign, she bends and licks around the rim of my shaft. A line of fire zips up my spine. I grit my teeth and focus on tamping down this need to come right away. Instead, I hold her hair away from her face so I can watch my cock disappear inside her mouth. Everything I’ve said about eroticism before? Forget it. This…right here…my wife swallowing my dick down her throat and gagging around it, and my wrapping my fingers gently around her neck to feel the shape of my dick ensconced in the snug column, is the answer to a prayer I’ve never voiced aloud.

I tighten my hold on her hair. In response, she looks up at me. A teardrop stays balanced at the tips of her eyelashes. Unable to stop myself, I run my finger over it and scoop it up. She shivers. The walls of her throat tighten around my cock.

"Fucking hell, wife, you’re going to be the death of me." I gently pull her back, so my cock stays balanced on her lower lip.

Saliva drools from the edges of her mouth. Combined with the strands of wet hair that stick to her head, and her mascara running down her cheeks, she resembles something forbidden. Something almost innocent. Except, she isn’t. Not anymore. Not when I’ve introduced her to the pleasures of the world I inhabit.