Chapter 35 Nancy
THIRTY-FIVE
NANCY
“Don’t you dare come in here,” I shout when I hear Karl shut the front door.
“Why not?” his voice slips through the door seam. “Are you naked? Because that’s probably not going to keep me from coming in.”
“I’m wrapping gifts,” I reply, folding another sharp corner into the snowflake-covered paper. Wrapping gifts is something I’m very good at. It probably has something to do with years of braiding manes and tails and wrapping horse legs. All those hours have turned me into a skilled gift wrapper.
There’s a soft thump on the door, followed by a drawn-out sigh of frustration.
“I’ll be done in a minute,” I tell him. Jack whines at the door and looks back at me pitifully. “You saw him three hours ago. You can wait another three minutes,” I scold halfheartedly.
“Three minutes?” Karl whines.
“Do that again and I’ll add another three minutes,” I warn.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “I like when you’re bossy, dearest.” I can hear the sly grin, and my fingers falter.
My period ended yesterday, closing out what felt like an extra-long week of me not wanting to be touched.
A week where Karl got to learn how to navigate around a slightly altered version of me.
Giving me space when I needed it, surprising me with an entire case of Aero bars, and rubbing my back in bed.
He even went out and bought three heating pads.
One for the living room, one for the bedroom, and a backup, just in case.
Today, though, all I’ve managed to think about is how badly I want his hands on me. I chose to wrap the gifts to keep myself busy, and now I’m cursing myself. Why’d I leave Karl’s gifts for last? Moron.
He’s silent on the other side of the door, Bing Crosby’s voice sounding louder than it had earlier.
The last piece of tape I add is on a diagonal, the only blemish on an otherwise perfectly wrapped gift, but I don’t care as I shove it into my suitcase along with the others, zipping it shut and sliding it under the bed.
There’s a crinkling sound, and I peek under, seeing the infamous Northern Reflections bag, and briefly consider finally removing the La Senza bag hiding within.
But then I remember how many straps the damn lingerie has, and in the time it would take me to put it on, Karl could have me fully unwrapped.
I fling the door open, ready to be swept off my feet, only to find no husband standing on the other side. Jack runs through the kitchen, his joyful cries letting me know that Karl is in the living room.
He’s sitting in the old armchair, Jack’s head in his hands, whispering to him when I round the corner.
God, he looks good, even after a day out with the cows.
Jeans, a blue flannel shirt, hair going this way and that after wearing his toque all day, and a smile that makes me want to giggle uncontrollably.
He looks up at me, the same grin he shot me that first day present on his face. The look had caught me off guard that day, disarmed me in a way no one had disarmed me before, and yet now it just sends butterflies racing through my veins, destined for the same place deep within me.
I wait as he stands slowly and practically prowls toward me.
I’m sure this feeling will ease eventually.
It has to. One day, he’ll come home from work and simply nod his greeting, then ease into that old armchair and turn on the TV.
I’m already dreading that day, so for now I hold onto these ones where he comes home and can’t get me into his arms soon enough.
When my lips are the first thing he searches for as if he has spent the entire day craving them.
“Wife,” he breathes against my lips, only letting my response come in the form of body language as I slide my hands into his hair and allow him to lift me against his body.
“Shower,” he says, walking with me in his arms to the bathroom, not putting me down while he turns on the water and adjusts the temperature.
Steam fills the small room quickly as he tries to undress us both without letting go.
When he realizes it’s not achievable, he deposits me on top of the counter, lips never leaving mine as he undoes his jeans and kicks them away, followed by his boxers and then his shirt.
A frustrated groan rumbles in his chest when he has to stop for half a second to get my shirt over my head.
A week never used to feel so long, but the past one has felt torturously so.
Karl hisses when the hot water hits him. He complains about the heat but refuses to turn it down, knowing how much I love it. The first time he told me he’d deal with it may have been the moment I tipped from liking him a whole lot to loving him.
He kisses me slowly now, switching gears as if he’s savoring every touch of our lips. His hands cupping my ass, dragging me harder against him, practically whimpering when I rise up on tiptoes, his cock gliding along my stomach, making me impatient to feel him deep inside.
His grip changes as he bends, his hands moving to the back of my thighs, and then he’s picking me up, my back hitting the wall as he lines himself up.
It’s only the second time he’s been inside of me bare.
We both received the all-clear from the doctor, and I started on the pill right before we were tested.
I joked about still using condoms because Karl wasn’t known for waiting, and he’d probably get me pregnant even on the pill out of sheer determination.
“Not ready to share yet,” he told me while drying the dishes a couple nights before.
We have talked openly about our future children multiple times over the last couple of weeks.
We both like the idea of three who look like me, according to him, and, oh, hopefully they aren’t lactose intolerant.
Those are his only hopes. Healthy is all I hope for.
But I am so glad we are on the same page about not being ready for that step, no matter how inevitable we both know it is.
“I am never going to get tired of this feeling,” he grits out when he’s fully seated.
“So fucking perfect.” He stays still for what must be a full minute, his hands kneading my waist, his eyes on mine, a slow smile forming as my cheeks heat, knowing full well it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
“So fucking pretty,” he growls, kissing me as he starts to slide out.
A tiny whine slips from me as the pressure in me eases. I want it back.
“Three minutes,” he says, a wicked grin pulling his mouth to the side as his movement slows even more. “I should make you wait a whole three minutes before giving you what I know you want.”
“I’m not sure you can wait three minutes, husband,” I tease, hoping to call his bluff.
He looks down as he slides back in agonizingly slowly. “I don’t know. This feels pretty damn good,” he reasons, like he’s lost in thought, mesmerized by the view. Then he starts counting.
“You’re counting too slowly,” I object, jogging my hips and earning myself a look that has me stopping immediately when his grip tightens.
“Four,” he says, restarting his rhythm, smirking when I try and fail to hold back my groan as he starts counting again.
I’m not going to complain. But I’m so impatient for more that it takes a lot of effort to not move, to do as I’m told. Once upon a time, doing what I was told was second nature. With Karl, I’m tempted to test the waters of disobedience just a little.
I take to counting in my head along with him, holding myself still as he enunciates every number, his hands squeezing in time with his countdown.
“Sixty,” he breathes out as he reaches the number for the fourth time and finally gives me what I want.
I’m sure those four minutes flew by, but it felt the same as when I had my fall. The only difference is I wasn’t thinking about how much it was about to hurt. I was getting more needy, more coiled up for what was to come when he finally stopped teasing and started fucking me.