Page 37 of Mistletoe Missus
My mittens worked as I packed together the snow and there was a wet drop on my cheek. I remember thinking the wetness was rather odd and peering up with the beaming sun’s rays blocking my view. I shielded my eyes in time to see another drip and a large icicle fall. Frozen in place, I couldn’t move, couldn’tbreathe as I watched the sharp chunk of ice fall and slice across my cheek. Everything after that was a blizzardy blur.
“I don’t want you to be afraid anymore, Tinsley,” Mitt whispered as he held the icicle in his hand and water dripped down his forearm. “I told you. I won’t have anyone hurting you, but I won’t haveanythingscaring you either.”
I choked out, “Please, Mitt, please... Don’t—”
“Sh... It’s okay, angel,” Mitt interrupted in a soft voice and touched the point of the icicle against his biceps on his other arm that held me. “See? I’m okay. It’s not hurting me.”
My rapid breathing slowed as I watched Mitt run the point across his flesh and the icicle left a tinge of redness on his skin. Beads of water dripped from him, and his eyes never wavered from me. But the bitter memory came back to me, and I thrashed.
“I don’t think I can—”
“Yes, Wife, yes you can,” Mitt voiced as the reminder of the crystal cut deep.
I yelped and clenched my eyes shut. “Mitt it hurts! It stings! Please, please make it stop!”
“Look at me, Tinsley! Angel! Open your eyes!”
I did.
The icicle was in my hand. I touched it. Mitt’s skin had the chunk of broken ice on it at the same time as mine. The ice was cold and melting against my body’s heat. Mitt didn’t let go. He didn’t want to give up on me and made me face my fear, but I wasn’t alone. He was with me, and we were connected.
“Oh my God, Mitt!” I breathed, feeling slightly hysterical, and I looked at my husband. “I’m touching an icicle! I can’t believe it!”
Mitt smiled. “Yes, you are doing it.”
My laugh cut short, and I asked, “What now?”
“Well...” Mitt teased as he moved the point from his arm and toward my neck. “Now, we play, Wife.”
“What?” I gasped as the chilly ice ran over my exposed collarbone, and I let Mitt guide my hand.
“No more living in horror over an icicle. I want you to experience pleasure from it instead of pain,” Mitt explained as he leaned in and licked his warm tongue where the ice had been. “I want you to think of me every time you see an icicle and never be afraid again.”
“Oh...” I whimpered as Mitt lapped his skilled tongue across my skin, and my toes curled into the carpet. “Jesus, Mitt.”
“No, angel. I’m not God,” Mitt said against my flesh, his breath mixing with the icy sensation. “I’m your husband, and I’ll be the only one pleasing you for the rest of your life.”
A hiss escaped me when Mitt bit into my skin, and his lips cupped around the area to suckle it in. He sucked on my flesh and the tug from it zinged straight down to the fiery pit bubbling in my stomach. The ache built as he let go and peered up at me with a heated intensity so powerful I could barely breathe. But my lungs filled up with air when the icicle met my scar and traced the injury it had caused.
I shuddered inside, but kept incredibly still as Mitt guided my hand over the old wound, and the bitter touch sent a chill down my spine. My eyes moved from watching the frozen water and Mitt as my body experienced sensations it never had before. The fright had turned to passion, my anger to gratitude I never thought I’d have. I always imagined I’d live in fear for the rest of my life from heights and stupid chunks of ice, but Mitt had proved me wrong. He had changed the rest of my existence and made me come alive.
“Can I try?” I asked with strength.
“Yes, but only if you’re ready?” Mitt questioned me with concern and my heart fluttered.
My husband cared, even if he had a funny way of showing it.
“I’m ready,” I answered with power and tilted my chin upward. “I’ll even prove it.”
Mitt let go of the piece of ice he had given me and tilted his head down, his eyes hooded with lust. “Show me.”
I bit my lip as he watched me nibble the tender flesh, and his eyes caught sight of my next move. I ran my hand past the frozen water and toward the buttons of his dress shirt I was wearing. Mitt’s breath caught as I painstakingly undid the first button and went onto the next. Water trickled down my skin as the icicle ran down my flesh toward the half-open shirt. The chill was intense, and the sensation burned me on the inside. The fire blazed out of control, and the heat was almost too much to take as Mitt watched me open the shirt. My perky tits were out and my nipples bit at the air.
“See? I told you,” I teased as my husband’s eyes left my aching breasts that were craving his touch, and his eyes locked on mine.
Mitt growled. “Fuck...”
And his lips crashed down on mine.
