Page 39 of Mistletoe Missus
“Oh, fuck!” I cried out.
My eyes snapped open.
I gazed up only to see Mitt grin and dip his head back between my legs. His mouth was warm against me and his eyes watched me as I threaded my fingers through his hair and held on for dear life. My lower body quivered from the mixed sensations of hot and cold, his temperature play driving me insane. His hazel gaze glowed with desire as his tongue playedwith my clit all over again, and he brought me closer to where he wanted.
I was a wild, wonton woman at the mouth of her husband in his bed.
“Mm...” Mitt groaned against my pussy, and his whiskers teased me. “Such a fucking sweet wife.”
Mitt pulled back.
“What are you doing?” I questioned breathlessly, letting go of his hair.
Mitt reached over to the bedside table, and he took the mug. He blew against the steam, and I shivered at the thought of his mouth doing the same gesture to me. His eyes were the same as the Big Bad Wolf, ready to blow the house down. Except there was no little piggie inside to feast upon. Only a scorching hot pussy waiting for my husband to huff and puff, attacking my little puss in heat.
Mitt didn’t answer me as he took a drink and ran the chunk of ice over my navel. I hissed at the commotion stirring in my belly until he replaced the chill with the heat of his tongue, moving the same distance as the cold icicle. I yelped in surprise while he stopped and took another gulp of hot chocolate, but he didn’t swallow it. He held the hot beverage in his mouth for a few seconds before he spit the liquid into the ravine of my belly button.
“I always prefer my hot chocolate with a sweet treat,” Mitt said as he dipped a white marshmallow into the pool of chocolate goodness and took a bite. “Fuck. Tastes even better from your gorgeous curves, angel.”
Then my husband licked up the drink from my navel. He gulped the beverage down, leaving a hint of it on his whiskers as he grinned wickedly, and he proceeded to move back between my thighs. His mouth dove right back in, and he didn’t even give me a second to process what he had done.
“Oh, fuck, Mitt!” I cried out.
Quickly, without a thought, my fingers slid back into his hair, and he grazed his skilled muscle up the entirety of my slit. The tip of his tongue flicked the most sensitive area of me while his teeth immediately pulled flesh between them. He tugged, and I whimpered for more until he let go. His tongue plunged inside my tight pussy, the walls contracting against him as he ate me out.
The wild sounds he made as his mouth ravished me only made me push his face in deeper. I couldn’t get enough of him and wanted much more—needed so much more—and craved him even more than I ever had before. Mitt had set me on fire, thrashing on the bed, my head tossed back with my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Uncontrollable screams of passion tore from me, and my back arched until he pulled out his tongue.
“No, don’t stop. Don’t—” my protest ended when two fingers plunged in, and I whimpered in complete ecstasy.
Next, I felt the sting of ice against my throbbing clit. The point of the icicle was now rounded from melting, and Mitt circled it against my sensitive flesh. My hips had a mind of their own and rolled with each rotating motion.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I cried out repeatedly.
White dots flashed behind my eyelids, and my entire body quaked with an uncontrollable need. The frozen heat swirled higher like a snowflake lost in a winter storm, but the skies had opened up and let the sunlight in. The illumination overtook me, and I let myself go, free-falling into pure utopia, giving into my need for release. My husband’s name was the only words screaming from my satisfied mouth.
Breathless, I lay there for a few moments after my heartbeat stopped pounding in my ears, and the blood finished rushing to my head. I couldn’t move, my body was completely pleased with Mitt’s effort to make me only remember him. He mademe no longer fear icicles and only think of him. Goddamn, I was incredibly wet. Underneath my ass cheeks, I had soaked the sheets. A mix of my juices and water from the ice, which was now almost melted in my husband’s hand.
God, Mitt knew how to turn up the heat!
My husband put the remains of the small piece of ice back in the ice bucket and the area surrounding his mouth glistened in the light. Heat rose to my cheeks, and Mitt must’ve noticed because he smirked at me. He was fucking gorgeous. I could jump his bones and forget all my embarrassment and discomfort I felt from coming in his mouth and leaving a mess on his face.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No,” Mitt interrupted me. “Never apologize.”
My husband surprised me when he took his fingers, wiped off my juices from his whiskers, and licked his fingers clean.
“Fuck. You were so damn good, Wife, coming all over my face,” Mitt praised me and lifted me into his arms. “But it’s time for me to tuck you in, angel.”
Carefully, Mitt pulled back the bedsheet and laid my head against the fluffy pillow—an extremely soft padding, they must contain top quality feathers plucked straight from a rare bird and stuffed a million times over into the casing. Only top value for Mitt Morgan’s smoking hot head, which contained a mouth that could eat out a pussy.
Mitt covered me up and patted the sheet in place before he went to his side of the bed. I gulped. I was frozen in place out of disbelief from letting Mitt devour my cunt the way he had. I should’ve withstood the temptation and my inner urge, but I couldn’t. My husband had me lost in the moment, utterly consumed. This was the man whom I had hated so much I wanted him to grant me a divorce, but now my head spun with confusion all over again.
Instead of cowering, I turned to Mitt. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes. I did,” Mitt said as he laid on his back and peered up at the ceiling.
“Why?” I questioned. “There must be some reason, other than you won’t have me going around feeling terrified.”
