EPILOGUE
NATALIE
“Mr. Sinclair. Be a good boy and get over here,” I crook a finger, beckoning the gorgeous man, standing mouth agape in front of the hotel door, to come hither.
He nods dumbly, clutching at the black tie hanging around his neck that came undone roughly two seconds after we said our vows.
Ever since he’s had to dress up for his hockey games he’s hated ties. Usually, I tell him there are worse evils and he lays me on the bed, writing sweet nothings into my thigh before agreeing that road games are an acute kind of torture.
They’re the worst.
Crossing my legs on the feather-down duvet spread over our king-sized bed, I try my best to pose demurely, hands behind me, chest out, casting a sultry look over my shoulder.
With the amount of eye make-up I have plastered on, I damn near feel invincible.
Rhinestones splattered randomly over my white skirt and top glimmer in the low hanging light.
Instead of opting for a second dress for the reception, I ordered a custom-made piece for later—for when we were alone. A decision that I am now reaping the benefits for judging by the incredulous look on my husband.
The dress vaguely resembles an ice-skating leotard, except what’s usually mesh on a leotard—the arms, mostly—is solid, and everything that’s supposed to be solid—like the chest, the skirt—that’s all mesh and rhinestones.
Slowly, Cole tugs on his tie, sliding it off his neck. His darkening stare never leaves me.
With how often he employs his worshipping stare, I really don’t need the ego boost, but this intensity, this dumbfounded demeanor, has me soaring to new heights.
“Do you like what you see?” I ask, toying with the hem of my skirt. “I had it made just for you.”
Again he nods, loosely holding his tie in his hand. “Best. Christmas. Present. Ever,” he says, hoarsely.
“Oh look, you found your words.”
He shakes his head, erasing his lack of composure.
A glint catches in his eyes, one my rhinestones can’t rival.
A crooked smirk growing on his face and dimples his cheek.
“I wouldn’t tease me so soon, sugarplum.
After what I have planned for you tonight, I don’t expect your vocal cords to be of much use tomorrow. ”
Deftly, he works at the button on his cuff, releasing it, before rolling up his sleeves and exposing his corded forearms.
The asshole. He’s already holding me entranced and slowly losing my verbal capabilities.
As he works on the second sleeve, the air in the room crackles to life with sparks, igniting the fire that blazes with an unrelenting hunger whenever we’re like this.
“Spread your legs for me, ice princess, and let me see your pussy in that.” He walks to me, slow and deliberate, a determined intensity in each step.
I follow his command and I’m rewarded with a blackening gaze. “So pretty for me,” he coos, running a hand up my thigh. He shifts the scrap of lace I have on under the skirt to the side and presses a thumb next to my sensitive area.
I whimper, wanting the pressure, wanting him. He grabs my other thigh, running his rough, calloused hands over my soft skin.
“Lay back on the bed,” he says. He tucks his fingers under my waistband and peels my lace thong off in a slow, deliberate manner, letting his fingers graze the length of my legs. He tucks the scrap of fabric into his pantsuit pocket.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
“This is my wedding day, I’m keeping these.”
“So obsessed.”
He unfastens his belt, sliding it out of the loops—stare still heavy on me. “Obviously. Have you seen my wife?”
He makes quick work of the button on his pants, sliding them down and stepping out. The slow, teasing strip gaining speed the longer he looks at me, like he’s struggling to be patient too.
“No, maybe you should describe her to me.”
Slowly, he crawls over me, dipping and pressing a kiss to my jawline. “Well first off, she’s got this damn freckle that drives me wild.”
“Freckle? That’s what you’re starting with?” I thread my fingers through his hair, euphoria coursing through every ounce of me. Until I let Cole in, I never knew it was possible to be this happy, this safe, with someone else.
“Hush woman. These are not in any order.”
“Don’t tell me to hush.” I feign offense and it earns me a bite on my neck. “Naughty!”
“Yes.” I feel the devilish smile against my skin. “Always for you.” He grabs my chin and brings my mouth to his, capturing it with a searing kiss. Since the bond crashed over both of us, winks of cocky Cole returned. After five years, he’s deliciously insufferable sometimes.
His hand slowly traces the curves of my body with a featherlight graze. Shivers grip my spine and I deepen our kiss, the urge to be closer, to be one, overwhelming me, just as it does every time we’re together like this.
He reaches below my skirt, this time going where I need him, slipping a finger over my bud and rubbing small circles there. Tension pulls in my stomach, soft still, but pleasurable. I need more.
“How are you doing, Mrs. Sinclair?” he asks, pulling away from our kiss and nudging my chin away with his nose.
“Good,” I manage, my lungs squeezing. “Really fucking good.”
He kisses my ear, grazing his teeth until he captures my earlobe with a teasing bite.
He rests there, listening to my breathing, as he changes the tempo of his finger, fast, fast, slow, slow, fast. He works me until I’m begging for him to give me more. I need more. And when I’m begging, he pulls away, leaving me with nothing.
I turn into him, wrapping my leg around him, desperate to at least feel his hard cock against my entrance.
He presses my back against the bed and grabs my breast, sucking my nipple through the mesh.
I gasp at the sensation and he mirrors it on my other breast, rubbing my hard pebbles with his thumb.
“God, my wife has nice tits,” he says. With every hushed “my wife” I melt more and more into him.
Hungry, my fingers pry under the waistband of his briefs and I go to drag them down.
He tsks. “Be a good girl for me and wait or I’ll have to make you.
” He grabs my hands and pins them over my head with one hand, while he uses the other to move down the length of my body.
After five years of playing professional hockey Cole’s filled out his broad frame, and he’s uses his new strength to his, and my, advantage. It’s not fair.
I fucking love it.
Inch by inch he travels, having his way with me. And inch by inch I’m powerless to the torture.
“Being a good girl blows,” I whine.
“Don’t worry, that’s where I’m headed.” He tucks his head under my skirt and lashes a powerful stroke over my bud with his tongue. I flinch. He does it again. And again.
Tight. Tight. Tight. The tension coils deep inside until I’m not sure I can take another punishing stroke from him. He brings his fingers up to my mouth.
“Suck on them.” He orders, and I comply through ragged breaths.
He stretches me, filling me first with one finger, and then a second, finding the spot that sends ripples of ecstasy coursing through the rest of me.
Pump by pump I get closer and closer, until I can’t hold back, I’m shaking, wrapping tight around him, and he gives me one final pump, one final lash of the tongue, and I scream, not just tipped over the edge, but plunged, falling from some cliff, so so high. Until I shatter, hitting the ground.
He captures my mouth with his, taking my moans on the come down, teasing and tugging on my lip with his teeth.
I reach again for his boxer briefs, and this time he lets me slowly drag them down. I grab his cock in my hand, pumping up and down. He groans, putting his head against mine. “I want to last.”
“Well, that’s inconvenient. I want to drive you crazy and watch you unravel in the palm of my hand.”
“Natalie.”
“I prefer ‘my wife,’ thank you very much.”
“As you wish but—”
I tease him, slowly bringing his tip to the slickness in my seam.
He breathes through it, before losing control on top of me, and plunging deep inside.
The action is so quick, so absolutely feral it causes me to lose it too.
We become nothing more than possessed, tangled limbs in the sheets, as Cole slides, in, out, frenzied, carnal, needy.
Hitting that spot again. I wrap my legs around his.
Claw my nails into his back. Becoming one, just like our souls did so many years ago now.
He thrusts harder, until he’s a shaking, writhing mess, and I’m right there with him, riding through his climax with one of my own.
We come down together, and he presses his head to mine, breath still ragged, bodies still entwined.
“My fucking wife,” he says. “Have I ever told you that you’re absolutely everything?”