chapter 37
Matleon
“What’s your favorite thing in this garden?
” I ask her as we roam around. We’ve spent the whole morning and afternoon working.
I take my laptop into her lab, and with her within visible range, I work.
When my eyes aren’t on the screen, they’re on her, and I realize that working so close to her is an incredibly fulfilling experience.
I will make this permanent, the first thing I do after taking her back to San Diego is create a space for myself in her lab. Of course, with her permission. I’m a gentleman, after all.
“My treehouse,” she says, pointing toward it.
“What’s so special about that ugly treehouse?” I ask.
She gives me a pursed-lips look. “It’s not ugly. Papa made it when I was ten years old.”
“I know the story of this treehouse; you told me back then. I thought you’d outgrown liking such things.”
“You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen it from the inside.”
“Then show me.”
She climbs the ladder and goes inside. I shout from below, “Are you sure it won’t collapse under my weight?”
She shakes her head and moves further inside.
I climb the ladder and enter. It has a low daybed along one side, pressed against the walls on three sides, with beige and brown covers and matching pillows.
Half of the wall next to it is a glass window.
On the opposite side is a bookshelf. The floor is covered with a cream carpet. It’s simple, yet beautiful.
She sits on the bed, grinning. “Isn’t it cozy?”
I nod, sitting beside her. I press down on the bed. “Umm, it’s quite sturdy.” I meet her eyes. “I could fuck you here.”
Her cheeks flush instantly. “Can’t you think of anything else?”
I shift closer to her and lower my voice. “Close your eyes. I’ll tell you a good story.”
She stares at me for a second, then does it.
“It’s raining outside. The sound of raindrops hitting the roof echoes through the room. There is only darkness, inside and out. There’s no one outside, neither in your house nor in the guesthouse. It’s just a blue-eyed angel and a handsome gentleman.”
She opens her eyes, her dilated black pupils locking onto mine. “I don’t want to hear your story,” she mutters, her voice coming from a throat that wants to moan.
“You will like it. Now close your eyes again, like a good girl, and let me finish the story,” I whisper in a thick, hoarse voice.
She closes her eyes. I lock my hands together, gripping them tightly.
“The angel is shivering in the cold.” A shudder runs through her body, I smirk.
“So the gentleman moves closer and wraps her in his arms after covering her with a blanket. But the angel keeps shivering. The gentleman makes her lie down on the bed, rubs her hands and cold feet, but nothing works. So he decides to share his body heat with her, moving under the blanket. He rubs her arms and shoulders, and his hand accidentally brushes her hard nipple… the angel moans.”
My eyes trail down to see the two points jutting out on her stretched t-shirt over her tits.
My mouth waters and my dick hardens. With a hoarser voice, I continue, “The gentleman likes the sound of her moan, so he touches it again. The angel likes it, so she grabs his hand and presses it on her tits, rubbing over her hard nipples while moaning.” I lean a little closer.
“Isn’t the angel a little dirty?” I whisper near her ear.
She nods.“The gentleman pinches her hard nipples and squeezes her soft tits. But that was not enough for the angel. She takes his hand and puts it inside her shorts.” I look down to see the clenching of my Angel’s thighs.
“The angel is wearing lavender-colored shorts. She takes two of the gentleman’s fingers and pushes them inside her tight, wet cunt.
She orders the gentleman to fuck her with his fingers, and the poor gentleman obeys.
But the angel isn’t satisfied, so she removes his fingers and her shorts, spreading her legs wide open and demanding him to fuck her with his cock.
She opens her glistening, wet lips with her fingers for the gentleman.
The poor gentleman has no choice but to slide his dick inside her.
She demands him to fuck her harder and faster until she comes all over his dick. ”
I stop and watch the flushed, aroused state of my little wife. She opens her eyes, looking drunk, seductive, and utterly seduced.
I lean closer to her face and whisper, looking into her drunk blue eyes, “If I put my hand inside these lavender shorts, will I find my wife’s pussy dripping?”
She nods in a daze but recovers quickly and pulls away. I chuckle. “I bet it’s dripping hot and—” She covers my lips with her fingers. “Shut up.”
I kiss her fingers, and both of us drift back to the night before my birthday in our memories.
She drops her hands in her lap. “You talk so bad.”
“We don’t call words bad that make you wet, Angel.”
She tries to glare at me but fails. “If you talk like this, I won’t speak to you.”
I sigh dramatically. “I’m also a poor gentleman, I too have to obey the angel.”
She raises a brow. I lean back against the pillows, stretching my legs straight on the bed. She sits on the other side, facing me.
Our legs brush together. That tiny touch sends a thrill through me.
“Why is it blue?” she asks, her eyes fixed on my wrist.
“I like the color of your eyes.”
“I also like the color of your eyes.”
“What do you like about black colour of eyes?”
“I’ve never seen eyes this black.”
I lean my head back against the wood. “What else?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you like in me?” I ask.
She shifts slightly, uncomfortable. “Your lips… your hair… your jawline.” Her eyes trail down, a soft blush spreads across her pale cheeks. “Your hands, your muscles… your height.”
I smile. “And what don’t you like? Apart from my bracelet.”
She looks away, brushing her gaze past me. “I haven’t thought about it.”
I let a slow smile tug at my lips. I like to think she dislikes nothing about me. The thought alone tightens my chest, sending a flutter through my stomach. Even my butterflies seem to approve.
She’s gazing out the window, the low evening light brushing her pale skin and sunset-colored hair. “I’ll build a treehouse for us in our forest,” I murmur, imagining countless evenings spent there with her, just like this.
She catches my gaze, her lips curve into a small smile. She doesn’t say no. That’s enough. My chest swells, warmth coursing through me, a surge of something fierce, yet quiet.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly the six feet between us feels like an eternity and nothing at all. Every nerve in my body pricks with the tension between us.
“I want to touch you so badly,” I whisper, my voice low, rough, carrying all the weight of what I feel. The words hang in the air, almost tangible, as if the space between us could ignite at any second.
She fiddles with her fingers. “But you can’t.”
I smirk. “Don’t sound so disappointed, Angel. I’ll break your daddy dearest’s rules.”
“I’m not disappointed.” She frowns, but the shy smile gives her away. I watch that smile with reverence. I’ve finally got it back, and I will never lose it again.
“I love you.”
She freezes. After a slow recovery, she asks breathily, “What did you just say?”
I smile. “I said I love you.”
“Why?” she breathes.
“Why do I love you? That’s like asking why the earth longs for the rain, why a sunflower reaches for the sun, why rivers run to the ocean. It just… happens. It’s unavoidable and unexplainable.” I chuckle. “At least I couldn’t explain it. We can find some good philosopher for the job if you want.”
She doesn’t answer, just sits there staring at me. The sun has long gone down, and darkness starts falling around us. We keep watching each other until it becomes impossible to see anything.
I stay rooted when I feel her moving, my heart is hammering like it wants to break free, her vanilla scent drawing closer. And then she’s right here—hands on my chest, leaning in, her breaths fanning my neck.
I clutch the sheets tightly in my fists.
My chest pounds against my ribs, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
Then her lips brush my jaw, and my heart stops.
Her lips move slowly toward mine. Sweat rolls down my back, soaking my T-shirt and the pillows behind me.
At this rate, I’ll die before she even kisses me.
But I don’t move. And I don’t die, because her lips find mine, moving over them in a nervous, tentative attempt to kiss. They tremble over mine. I’m not really better than her, my own lips are trembling. Why does this feel like the first kiss all over again?
Her hands hold my face on either side as we move our lips over each other in a slow, delicate kiss, as if we are both learning how to do it.
I leave the sheets and move my hand along her back, touching her everywhere.
I hold her waist and pull her onto my lap, our lips never leaving each other. Our tongues slide over one another.
I massage the back of her neck with my other hand, pulling her further into me.
A sound comes from the base of the tree: “Kroshka.”
She jerks away. “Yes, Papa?”
“Come down, dinner is ready.”
“Yes, Papa.”
I pull her into another kiss before she can even close her mouth completely. I don’t care about dinner. Right now, my mouth has other priorities. And I’m not letting her go either.
My hand slides down her thighs. She moves her lips away, breathing hard against mine. I move my hands between her thighs; she clenches them around my hand.
I lower my face to her neck, kissing every inch of her soft skin. She quivers in my arms. Fuck. Every inch of me wants her all at once.
I move my hand inside her shorts. She breathes laboriously, rolling her head back, offering me more of her throat to sink my teeth into. I hold myself back, I won’t be able to explain this to Damir Mikhailov.
My fingers slide between her slick folds. I push one finger inside her wet pussy. She covers her mouth with her hand. Damn it, I love her moans, and I can’t hear them. I’ll see you someday, Damir Mikhailov. I promise.
I add another finger, working her tight cunt with two of my fingers while rubbing her little clit with my thumb. She shakes violently, her pussy clenching around me. I keep working her until she comes down from her high. Only then do I slowly withdraw my fingers and suck them clean.
She collapses against my chest, her head resting on my neck. I wrap her tightly in my arms. My dick is screaming curses at me, I’ll deal with it under the shower later. Right now, I have something far more important in my arms, and I need to imprint this moment in my soul.
I touch her entire body, revising every detail—the curve of her waist, her shoulder, her collarbone, her arms, her hands. I lift her hand to my mouth, kissing each fingertip, then follow the line of her palm up to her forearm, leaving gentle kisses on her soft skin.
She giggles. I hug her tighter, needing to trap this sound, this feeling, forever.
“Miss Mikhailov, Mr. Mikhailov is calling you home,” a woman’s voice calls from downstairs.
“I hate your father,” I mutter.
She slaps my shoulder lightly, then calls out, “Coming!”
“You already did. Want to do it again?”
She slides off my lap, giggling. “I don’t remember any such thing.” She opens the treehouse door and starts climbing down.
I adjust my dick and follow her.
“So you want to keep what happened in the dark… in the dark?”
She tilts her head toward me, putting on a fake innocent expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I chuckle. “You’re playing a dangerous game, wifey.”
She grins and runs ahead of me. I follow her at her pace, deliberately not catching up until we reach the house.
This playful, happy version of Iselyn Mikhailov I thought was lost forever is still here. The shine of my sun wasn’t gone; it was only hiding.
My sun is getting her shine back.
My angel is flying again.
And this time, I won’t let anyone take that shine away. I won’t let anyone touch her precious wings.
Not even myself.