Chapter 39
Lark
He pulls back until he’s balanced at my entrance. Then, in one graceful move, he sinks inside me. It’s forceful enough that I move up the bed, and hard enough for the headboard to slap against the wall.
"Don’t let go," he warns.
Then he begins to fuck me in earnest. Like he’s racing to a finish only he can comprehend. Or like he’s finalizing a merger that everyone else has decried hostile but which he views as challenging.
His complete focus is on me, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set, a fierceness to his features that lights fires under my skin.
I love how his cock fills me up and pushes down against my inner walls.
And how his big body dwarfs mine. And how the heat from his skin infuses mine, uniting us in more ways than just his cock impaling me. I love that.
But it’s more than physical. More than how he fucks me, like being inside my cunt is the only thing that brings him pleasure. It’s all of it, really.
The physical, and the way it feels like we’ve fused our souls together. Plus, it's on a cellular level. And in the meeting of our eyes. He’s overpowering me. Overwhelming me. Making me feel like I’m his to command. His to do with as he pleases.
His. I’m his. And he’s mine.
He’s the bad boy appealing to the wickedness inside me. Giving me permission to unlock the sinful part. The part that wants him to do dirty things to my body. The very things which also appeal to my spirit.
The skin around his eyes tightens. He thrusts inside me again, making sure to hit my G-spot.
Vibrations of pleasure sizzle out from my core to my hips, my back, my limbs.
He keeps going, making sure to pinch my sensitive nipple, drawing a groan from me.
Then slipping his hand between us to pluck at my clit.
I’m helpless to stop the climax zipping up my spine, then bouncing down to my feet.
It crashes over me with the force of a tsunami.
I open my mouth in a soundless cry and gratefully receive his lips on mine, as he absorbs any stray sounds that escape me, before filling my cunt with his seed.
When his biceps tremble and he begins to sag, he makes sure to sink down on the bed on his back and pull me on top of him.
I like being draped over him, love how my skin sticks to his, and how my head seems to fit exactly under his chin.
I belong here. I flatten my palm over his chest and soak in his presence.
If only he‘d realize he belongs with me, too…
Almost as if he hears my thought, he stirs. "Did I hurt you?" he asks in a soft voice.
"It was perfect." I look up at him. "You are perfect."
“You too.” I want to say that sex with him has blown my mind. That he’s it for me. But when I open my mouth to speak, I end up yawning.
"Sleep." He settles me in his arms.
I want to ask him questions about his emotions for me. Tell him that the way he made love to me tells me he must feel something, but the events of the last few days catch up with me, and I slide into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When I wake up the next morning, I feel refreshed. Also, it’s Christmas Eve. Even better, the world outside is covered in snow.
It’s going to be a white Christmas.
And I’m stranded in a chalet with my handsome hunk of a husband, who finds me very desirable.
I can’t remember the last time I slept more than twelve hours in one go. I stretch, wincing at the soreness between my thighs. Which reminds me of how my husband made love to me. I also realize I’m alone in bed.
I take a quick shower, pull on jeans, a sweatshirt, and soft socks, then pad down to the kitchen.
He’s looking out the window with a cup of coffee in hand.
He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats, and a T-shirt that hugs his shoulders and pulls across his back. It highlights how built he is.
When he raises his hand to take a sip of the coffee, his biceps stretch the T-shirt sleeve.
The muscles of his forearms ripple, and I feel an answering response in my lower belly. The soreness in my pussy makes itself known, reminding me how my very well-endowed husband fucked me earlier.
But apparently, I haven’t had enough of him. I watch him for a little longer, reveling in the fact that I know how it feels to have his weight on top of me. Then, when I can’t stop myself any longer, I walk over to stand next to him.
Without missing a beat, he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close.
I melt into his side, looking outside at the world covered in white.
It’s quiet. Completely quiet. Not a soul stirs anywhere.
There’s not a breath of wind. Just snow-covered earth and boughs weighted down with white.
The surface of the lake has frozen over and reflects the blue of the sky. It feels almost otherworldly.
"It feels like we’re the only people alive," I whisper.
"I have you. I don’t need anyone else." He turns to me, and the puzzled expression in his eyes tells me he wasn’t expecting to say that aloud.
"Is that good?" I ask slowly.
"It’s…" He hesitates. "I’m making up my mind about it," he says honestly.
Disappointment clenches my chest. I’m aware of him watching me closely, so I look outside. I nod in the direction of the pine trees. “You did say we could put up a Christmas tree and decorate it?”
He nods. “We have ornaments in the basement.”
“Oh good.” I blink away my disappointment and flash him a smile. “And I want to bake Christmas cookies.”
He groans.
“It’s one of my traditions to bake Christmas cookies at least once during the festive season. I haven’t had the time this year.”
He takes in the excitement on my face and his own softens. “Whatever my wife wants.”
That’s it. My pussy melted into a puddle because he said, ‘my wife.’
“What?” He frowns.
“You’re romantic.”
He seems taken aback then pretends to look around. “Shh, don’t let anyone else hear you say that.” He smirks.
I chuckle and pat his massive chest. “Come on, Bossman, let’s see if you’re as good at wielding an axe as you are a pen.”
Turns out, he’s very good at wielding an axe.
He’s also stripped down to a thin white T-shirt which is stuck to his back because he was sweating freely as he chopped down the fir tree, we both agreed upon.
It's a seven-foot-tall Normann fir, which will fit perfectly in a corner of the living room.
Naturally, I've been unable to remove my gaze from my husband as he brings his axe down into the trunk.
His biceps flex. His shoulders seem to have swollen to twice their normal proportions.
And I can make out the bricks of his abs, and the outline of his male nipples against the fabric of his T-shirt.
He looks good enough to lick up.
I give up any pretense of helping and watch him from the sidelines.
He brings his axe down again, then with a grunt, pulls it out. The tree shudders.
“Take a few more steps back,” he warns.
I obey him, without taking my eyes off his intent face. The muscles of his jaw tighten. He buries his axe into the trunk one last time and when he pulls it out, the tree topples over.
“Timber,” I cup my palms around my mouth and yell.
He eyes the fallen tree with a very masculine look of pleasure on his face. “Not bad, huh?”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” I point to the grove of Christmas trees around us.
“Not me, but I did watch Arthur cut down a tree when we were but young boys.”
“Oh?” I look at him with interest. “I can’t picture your grandfather doing something this physical.”
“My brothers and I get our build from him. Our father was slender in physique. We spent many of our Christmases with Arthur in this house.”
He thunks the axe down in the tree stump, then walks around the tree. He’s figuring out the best way to carry it back.
“And did you enjoy your time here?”
He shrugs. “The gifts were always welcome.”
“Wow, don’t smother me with your enthusiasm.” I chuckle.
He shoots me a quizzical glance. “You know, I’m not big on Christmas.”
I nod. “And I can’t understand why.”
He rolls his shoulders; then his eyes reflect him coming to a decision.
“The last time I remember my parents and my brothers and me being together as a family was here at this house, celebrating Christmas. It was one of the few times my mother seemed to be genuinely happy. Or so I thought.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“My mum and dad had a big fight on Christmas morning. Something about the gift he got her, which she hated. She accused him of never really understanding her. They had a massive fall out. He walked out, met with an accident and died on the spot.”
“Oh my God!” The words scrape out of me on a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault. Or my mother’s fault. I was five when my father died.
My last memory of him? He looked haunted…
Upset… Hurt. It was also the last time I saw my mother smile.
After my father’s passing, she became increasingly distant; drowned herself in alcohol.
She couldn’t get through the next holiday season, so she overdosed on sleeping pills and passed away. ”
I flinch. No wonder, he hates the holidays. What he went through as a kid would put anyone off Christmas.
“I’m really sorry that happened to you.” I close the distance to him and throw my arms around him.
He rests his chin on my head and pulls me close, the hard line of his body softening a little.
“Christmas reminds me of things I’d rather not relive. That’s why I hated it. But you changed that.”
“I did?” I tilt my face up at him.
“You sailed into my office, demanded Christmas decorations, and called it a workplace morale initiative. After that, I figured the season might deserve another shot.”
“Thank you.” I cup his cheek. “You won’t regret it.” Then because I want to lighten the mood, I add. “Your Royal Grinchness.”
It has the desired effect, for his lips curve.
He arches an eyebrow. “You being sassy, Siren?”
A thrill runs up my spine when he uses that nickname.
“How can you tell?” I flutter my eyelashes at him.
His eyes flash. His gaze fixes on my lips. “You can show me how grateful you are later.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. My panties are suddenly wet. I have no doubt exactly what he means by that. A shiver grips me.
His gaze narrows. “Let’s get you and this tree, inside.”
“It’s looking amazing.” I smooth down the tinsel that hangs from one of the branches.
Brody hangs another ornament, then steps down from the ladder he’s been using to decorate the tree. “Go on, switch the lights back on.”
After testing the lights, we turned them off to up the 'wow factor' once we finished decorating. I skip across to the wall, flip the switch, and the lights come on.
“Oh!” I walk over to stand next to him. “It’s beautiful.” I gaze at the tiny lights dotting the decorated Christmas tree.
“It is.”
Something in his voice makes me turn. He’s looking down at me. I flush a little. “I meant, the tree.”
“I meant, you.” His smile is tender.
“Aww.” I go up on tiptoe, and when he dips his head, I brush my lips against his.
Of course, he hauls me against him and licks his lips over my mouth.
When I part my lips with a sigh, he kisses me deeply. My head spins, and I clutch his arms for support. “Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth.
“You’re welcome.” He tries to kiss me again.
I lean back in the circle of his arms. “Oh no, you’re not going to distract me.”
“Who, me?” He tries to look innocent and fails completely.
“Yes, you. You’re not getting out of making Christmas cookies.”