Page 65 of Short Stack 3

I laugh, but it turns into a squark as he puts his cold hands on my balls. “Fuck off and warm your hands first,” I mutter.

“Come on. Let’s get on with it. The clock is ticking.”

“Your foreplay used to be a lot more on point.”

“It must be marriage. It’s making me complacent.”

My laughter turns into a groan as he shoves onto my back and then wriggles under the covers.

“Let’s see if I remember how to do this,” he murmurs.

My snarky retort dies as Joe licks up my cock before suckling on the head. I spread my legs in invitation, and he settles between them, looking up when I raise the duvet to watch him.

“Feel like a show?” he asks huskily.

“I do. But not tickets forWickedagain,” I say quickly. I’ll never get back the hours of my life spent staring at that stage while Joe hummed and swayed as if he was in a cult, but thankfully not one I belonged to.

“Who needsWickedwhen you’ve got me?”

“Did the plot of that show focus on a husband edging his partner?”

“Iknewyou weren’t paying attention to the musical.”

“What gave me away?”

“The snoring. A man two rows forward wondered if it was thundering.”

He hums thoughtfully before blowing a cold stream of air over my cock, making me thrust my hips towards him.

“Joe,” I say warningly, and he gives his merry laugh before bending back to my cock with purpose this time. I try to watch him, but he’s too good, and eventually, I close my eyes and explode into orgasm, feeling sparks behind my eyes.

When my breathing is under control, I look down at him. His head is resting on my hip, his bright eyes watching me intently. There’s a flush on his cheeks, and his dick is hard.

“Come up here,” I say, throwing my pillows off the bed and lying flat. “Feed me your cock.”

“You have thebestideas,” he says fervently.

I grunt as his knee bangs into my hip in his hurry. “Well, castration wasn’t one of them.”

“Spoilsport,” he chides and then does as I instructed him.

An hour later, I finish my last mouth of food and set my knife and fork on the plate with a sigh of happiness. I take another drink of coffee, enjoying the new blend Joe bought me last week, and look around the kitchen.

It’s a sunny room with bi-folding doors that lead out onto the terrace and the walled garden. We’d kept the old parquet flooring and had it polished so that now it shines, and I’d insisted on having the units painted the same robin’s-egg blue as Joe’s eyes.

I look back at Joe, who’s watching me with a smile on his face. “What?”

He shrugs. “You just look happy in this house.” He considers his words. “Contented.”

“I am.” I reach out a hand and pull him into a kiss. “It’s not the house, though. It’s you.”

His whole face softens, and then he looks around. “I love it here. It’s really home.”

“It is.” I take another sip of coffee. “So today is your day. What are we doing?”

Joe works most weekends of the year, so I work as well, or see friends, or go to weddings as Joe’s assistant. Weddings are enjoyable now in a way they never were before, mainly because I get to see Joe in his element — a sight that never gets boring.

However, Mondays and Tuesdays have become our new weekends, and we do something fun together, taking turns picking our adventures, and I’ve grown to love the time. We experience the dates we should have gone on when we first met, but now, they’re a thousand times better because I know he’s all mine — every sparkling, effervescent inch of him.

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