The Christmas Trap #3
“Fat lot of good it did,” I mumbled around another mouthful of cookie.
“Might’ve taken the scenic route through Hell, baby, but we’re still here,” Teddy said, huffing out a strained breath when I reached back toward the coffee table.
“Scenic route’s one way to put it,” I deadpanned as I selected a handful of cookies, feeling him soften in me. Not all the way—just enough that I registered the loss of fullness.
It had been a frequent occurrence in the years before the divorce, when stress and grief and exhaustion had taken their toll on both of us. Before, it would have sent me spiraling into insecurity, wondering if I wasn’t attractive enough, wasn’t sexy enough, wasn’t enough period.
Now I just engaged my inner muscles to hold him inside me before settling more comfortably in his lap.
“Think this is your handiwork,” I said, holding up a gingerbread snowflake with a missing point before bringing it to his mouth.
The rigid expression on Teddy’s face softened into something like gratitude or maybe even relief. Like he’d been bracing for me to pull away and make it A Thing.
“Those were all you, baby,” Teddy drawled, taking a bite.
“Me?” I exclaimed, placing my hand against my chest in feigned horror. “I would never make such a mistake, Theodore.”
“Oh, really?” His eyebrows raised mockingly as he took another bite of the cookie, crumbs tumbling down his bare chest. “Seem to recall someone saying she was too high-brow for anything but the snowflakes and trees.”
I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a grin. “Fine, maybe I delegated the more… phallic-shaped cookies to you initially. But need I remind you that you were responsible for more than a few of those little artistic creations while I—”
“Recovered from seven orgasms?” Teddy helpfully supplied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
The playful back-and-forth was absurd and perfect and exactly what I hadn’t known I needed—the easy intimacy, the comfort with our bodies and their limitations, the ability to be completely ourselves without pretense or performance.
We continued like that, between kisses and bites of gingerbread, until his cock slid free of my body.
Feeling the tension return to his muscles, I reached between us to take him in my hand. “Wanna know what I’m thinking about now?” I whispered, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.
A shudder rippled through his body. “What’s that, baby?”
“I’m thinking about all those nights after the divorce when I couldn’t sleep. When I’d lie in bed, hand between my legs, trying to get myself off.”
His grip on my hips tightened, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to leave marks I’d admire later. “Yeah?”
“Mm hmm,” I hummed, feeling him twitch against my palm. “Tried everything—bought toys, read books, bought sexy lingerie—but I couldn’t do it. Nothing worked unless I pictured you.”
“Kels—” His voice came out strangled as I stroked him from root to tip.
“Had this recurring fantasy. You’d show up at the house, coming through the door like you still owned the place. You’d find me spread out on the bed with my hand between my legs.” I paused to adjust my grip, smearing the wetness over the head of his cock before continuing,
“Without a word, you’d drop into that old armchair in the corner before telling me exactly how you wanted me to touch myself.” I pressed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his throat.
“Would imagine your fingers digging into the arms of that chair while you told me slower… faster… deeper. Your voice getting rougher the closer I got.”
“Fuck, Kels,” he groaned, his head falling back against the couch.
I sucked hard on the spot where his neck met his shoulder, marking him the way I used to when we were teenagers.
“Sometimes I imagined being with someone else, and you finding out. You’d get jealous.
Show up and claim me, letting him see who I really belonged to, as you made me beg for it.
Used to get myself off thinking about that one at least twice a week. ”
His dick pulsed in my hand, fully hard again. I traced the prominent vein running along his shaft with my thumb, watching the way his jaw clenched.
“Now I don’t have to imagine anymore,” I whispered as I lifted my hips and took him to the hilt with a groaned curse.
“Lean back,” he ordered, voice suddenly rougher. “Hands behind you. Wanna see you.”
I obeyed, planting my palms on his thighs and arching my back until he was hitting my G-spot with every roll of my hips.
The temperature in the room skyrocketed. What had started as playful, lazy lovemaking shifted into something else entirely. Something almost desperate.
“Fuck, that’s pretty,” Teddy growled, his eyes locked on where our bodies joined. “Look at you, Kels. Taking every inch of my dick like a good girl.”
Heat crawled up my chest and neck. There it was. Not the praise, necessarily, but the rough edge creeping into his voice. Teddy had always enjoyed being in control when it came to sex, but his bossy side paired with his biker side did something shameful to me.
One hand slid up my ribcage before wrapping around my breast, squeezing while his other remained anchored on my hip, controlling my speed.
“You have any idea what these tits do to me?” He rolled my nipple between his thumb and index finger before dipping his head to drag his tongue over it.
“Didn’t matter if I was at school, at the shop, in church, on a club run—didn’t matter where I was, I was constantly thinking about these perfect tits.
How they feel in my hands, in my mouth. How they bounce when you ride me like this.
” He sucked one nipple into his mouth, hard enough to make me cry out.
Teddy immediately pulled back, catching himself. “Shit, Kels. I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” I caught his face between my palms, forcing him to look at me. “Don’t apologize for that.”
His brows pinched together, hazel eyes searching mine like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “But I—”
“I liked it,” I whispered, feeling heat flood my cheeks at the admission. “The biker side—the dirty talk. I’ve always liked it.”