Page 414 of The Christmas Wife

Her lips part. Her pupils dilate. Her gaze is fixed on how I stroke my swollen shaft from base to crown, and again. Pre-cum glistens on the swollen head. I scoop it up, reach forward and smear it over her lips. She licks it up, then opens her mouth again.

"Good?"

She nods.

"Good." I cup the back of her head, then position my cock between her lips. I tug her forward, and my shaft disappears into her mouth.Fucking hell, I’ve never seen a more erotic sight.The feel of her moist tongue grazing the underside of my dick draws a groan from my lips. I grit my teeth, trying to tamp down on the rising tension in my belly, but the feel of my wife’s mouth as she licks around the rim of my cock, the sensations it rockets to my extremities, surely warrant a poem dedicated to it.

I pull back, and when I push in again, I hit the back of her throat. She gags; drool drips from her chin. A trail of moisture slides down her cheek leaving a black trail in its wake. It’s so perfect, I almost come in her mouth. I squeeze the base of my cock to hold back my orgasm, then pull back again. "Open wide," I order.

She complies, and this time, when I push forward, I slide down the warmth of her throat. It’s tight and hot and perfect.She’s perfect. And she’s my wife.Mine.My balls draw up, and the pressure at the base of my spine curls in on itself, growing harder, higher and when she swallows, I know I can’t hold back. I pull back, and the climax boils up. A roaring sound fills my ears, and I come.

41

Mira

He paints his orgasm on my face, my mouth, my tits. He comes and comes, and there’s so much cum, it drips down my chin and clings to my nipples. He holds me in place with his grip on the back of my head, but even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t move. This… He’s given me power over him. He’s used my body, and it brought him so much pleasure, I know for a fact, he wouldn’t have been this open and he wouldn’t have let himself be this vulnerable with anyone else.So why can’t he tell me about the incident? Why can’t he share what happened to him? Why is he holding himself back? And why has he never taken off his clothes in front of me?

He squeezes out the last of his cum, then reaches down and massages it into my cheeks, across my mouth, down my throat, and around my breasts. His cock twitches, and by the time he raises his gaze to mine, he’s hard again.

"You’re gorgeous," he murmurs, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You deserve better."

"I want you."

"I’ll never be able to give you what you want."

"I don’t believe that."

"Believe it." He tucks himself inside his briefs and zips himself up, then pulls me to my feet. He hauls me to him, fits his mouth over mine and kisses me. There’s a desperation to how his lips close over mine, a yearning to how his tongue tangles with mine. An anguish to how he holds me close, a sea of agony to how his thighs push into mine. When I place my hand over his heart, it’s galloping with all the emotions he’d never allow himself to reveal. And when he releases me and peers into my eyes, I glimpse the regret in them before he shuts me out.

"Don’t do that, don’t hide what you’re thinking. Don’t conceal whatever thoughts are going through your mind. Don’t brush aside the sadness, the fears, whatever it is that feels too big for you to face alone. We’ll do it together."

He doesn’t respond.

"Edward…" I cup his cheek. "Talk to me."

He looks at me through that mask of the hot priest again. "I think we need to take a trip."

"A trip?" That’s the last thing I expected him to say.

"I promised Arthur I’d take you on a honeymoon."

"A honeymoon?"

He rubs his thumb across my mouth. "So you can earn your orgasms."

I glance at the flakes of snow that float down, only to melt when they touch the car. Outside, the Christmas lights on Regent Street light up the city. The display windows of the shops show off their festive decorations. There are crowds of people on thesidewalk. Families, children, everyone is out shopping. I can make out the shop windows of Hamleys—the biggest toy store in London—and the throngs of kids with their parents milling around outside. One day, when I have kids, I’ll be able to buy gifts for them, put up a Christmas tree at home, and surprise them on Christmas morning with their presents. Of course, I do need to get pregnant first. I cross my fingers. Hopefully, my time will come before too long. It has to. Meanwhile, I’ll have to make do with the gift I bought for Eddie, which I have hidden in my handbag.

We left the office an hour ago. He hasn’t told me where we’re going. When I asked, he said it was a surprise. Before we left, he led me to the ensuite and told me to shower. When I emerged with a towel knotted between my breasts, he gestured to the walk-in closet.

I opted for a skirt and a full-sleeved blouse, teaming it with a wool-lined leather jacket. Combined with a scarf, gloves and a hat, I was ready to go. He looked at me with approval when I strode out, then wrapped up the call he was on.

When I asked about clothes for the trip, he said it was all taken care of. Then, he ushered me to his Jaguar, slid into the driver’s seat, and we were off.

Now, I reach over and fiddle with the dial of the radio until I find a favorite radio station. The notes of WHAM!’s "Last Christmas," as interpreted by Ariana Grande, fill the car.

I begin to hum along to it.

"You really do like Christmas?" He shoots me a sideways glance.

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