I'm fully aware of the fact that it's icy during February in Seattle, but for the purposes of this story Seattle will be having a very warm spell… It's fiction after all…
Valentine's Meander – part 1
14 February 2017
He lay there, staring at her. Every so often he would reach out and touch her because, honestly, he still couldn't believe that she was his. It had been this way every night since they started sharing a bed again. He'd fall asleep, wrapped around her like a vine, but he was never one for hours of it, so he'd wake up around 3 a.m. and stare.
His mind would trace over the memories of her, just to make sure that the edges never blurred, and then his thoughts would drift to his son. Whenever he heard the words son and his in the same sentence it shook him, jolted him like a spark. F.U.C.K! He was a dad. It was hard enough to believe that he was married to his salvation, but he also had a son.
At that point two things usually happened, and he replayed this little scene on a nightly basis. It always started with him examining the vulnerability of having children. Jeez, what a cluster fuck that was. He was so connected to this child, so irrevocably bound to him that it scared the crap out of him.
Pain and pleasure, he told Anastasia once, were two sides of the same coin. He was being cocky then, luring her in with his finely-honed skills of seduction, but it sure as hell had come back to bite him in the ass. Never before had that analogy been clearer to him even though the context, and here it made him smile, had changed so vastly. The pleasure of having a child to love and the love he received in return was enough to bring him to his knees - but the vulnerability. Oh fuck! The vulnerability left him wide open, gutted like a fish.
As he lay there gorging on the sight of his beautiful wife and thinking about his son, he inevitably was gripped by a fear that he knew was irrational but which he could never ignore. He had to check if his boy was safe. He never heard a peep from the baby monitor that they still used in spite of Chris being well past the age for it, but his control issues would never let him rest in peace if not for that and a hundred other things he put in place to ensure his wife and son's safety and wellbeing.
Carefully he untangled himself from her, hating the loss of her soft warmth against his skin, which craved her closeness like a drug. To think that there was a time when he dreaded her touch made him want to kick himself. He regretted missing even a second of that bliss, especially on the night he took her for the first time.
As if she was touching him now, he felt a shiver riding his powerful frame. He would do a lot of things to go back in time and take her virginity again. When he was poised above her, his hand fisted around himself, his aching hardness meeting her wet folds for the first time, there was a small part of him that was distracted by the thought that she might reach up and touch him. At the time he was relieved that she didn't, but now he thought about what a stupid fucker he was.
He remembers how hard he took her, how he ripped through that flimsy membrane that ended up meaning so much to him because he reckoned the quicker the better. He could feel her tense and jolt at his violent intrusion, how in spite of being so heart-stoppingly wet, her inner muscles gripped him in a fierce vise that almost made him blow his load right then, but it was that moment of his breaching that had his fantasies on fire.
What would her hands have been doing if he hadn't been such a pussy? Would she have gripped his biceps in a shocked squeeze? Would she have sunk her nails into his back? Maybe she would have clawed at his ass to grind him even deeper. Fuck! He broke out in a sweat just thinking about it.
It was, however, the only regret that he harbored of that night. In fact, every day he made love to his wife, every time he fucked her, he was immeasurably grateful that it was him and not some limp-dick, fumbling idiot who would have turned her stunningly receptive body off with an unskilled touch. He loved that the dirty skills he refined were ultimately used to awaken her pure sexuality and an appetite that he knew, only too well, was almost as insatiable as his own. He was a lucky, lucky bastard.
Grinning to himself, he fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and waited for his semi to go down. As always, his ability to switch moods could take him from sex fiend to CEO to father all in a matter of swift seconds, and right now his mood was turning anxious for its fix of his sleeping son.
Ever so softly he turned the doorknob and padded across the thick carpet to the bedside of Chris's slumbering form. He dropped down onto his knees and caught his breath, which always disappeared in the seconds before he got to see his boy's dreaming serenity with his very own eyes.
It still shocked him, how much the child looked like him. Sometimes, when he caught his own gestures in miniature form, it would be like a punch in the gut, a visceral reminder of his past that would then quickly be blotted out with a swamping relief that this copy of himself would never endure the pain and neglect his father knew.
He felt like Chris was his second chance; he could relive his childhood through his son and reset some of the nightmares that clung to him regardless of the efforts he made to shut them out. He was so grateful for this child. So very fucking grateful that he mostly just felt stomped by the miracle of it.
Apart from the fact that this was flesh of his flesh, the second chance thing would have been more than enough to love and care for him for all eternity, but Chris had also, unwittingly, given him something else. A gift that was so beyond measure that he didn't even know how to go about expressing his gratitude.
It was a simple thing really, and definitely not something he expected, but on the day he took Anastasia and Chris out for the first time, after they ran into each other on that blessed, fateful day at the zoo, his son handed him his mother. From the moment he saw Ana interact with Chris, the stunningly adoring look on her face - and make no mistake that he never, not for a second, doubted her unfailing love for her son - he recognized it.
He'd seen it before - many times over. It was the look that haunted his dreams because it was the one that made him hope that she loved him, the one he saw when she turned those piercing blue pools on him, the one he cursed when he was denied its radiance on his undeserving face.
It was a revelation that almost gave him a fucking heart attack, but Anastasia loved him. He was in the privileged position to be a rare keeper of that look, and the thing that surprised him most, had his head tied in knots, was the fact that he didn't mind sharing it with his son, not in the least. He felt it strengthened their bond, like they were in a special club, a secret one that held a membership so exclusive that the rest of the world was omitted and, as far as he was concerned, to which the world was mercifully oblivious.
He needed to see that look every day; he was addicted to it. He constantly searched her face for it and he'd do anything to see the light of it. If he happened to miss it for some reason, he wrote that day off as wasted. Twice so far he managed - by the mercy of some divine power - to capture that adoration on film. He had two photos that caught her expression just so that when he looked at them the muscles in his throat closed in and his heart swelled to bursting.
He kept them in his wallet even though the beauty of them deserved to be enlarged and displayed, but it was of her - unmasked only for him. He wouldn't display them any more than he would her naked body. That look was the hottest thing about her and he relished keeping it to himself. One day they would grow old and he was sure, like all women, she would worry if he still found her attractive, but he had zero concern about that. As long as she could look at him like that he'd be able to nail her with a hard-on that would definitely drive his love home.
If it weren't for his son he might still be flapping about, rudderless and anchorless. He might still be too terrified to give the woman his heart belonged to another chance, wallowing in the fear that the hole in his chest may never be filled again. But it was full now; it was so fucking full that he sometimes didn't know what to do with himself.
There was still a part of him that he held back, hidden from them because the love he felt for them was so big, so heavy, he knew that it could crush them. As it was, he made use of his vast reserves of willpower on an all-too-regular basis to gift them with a relatively normal life when all he wanted to do was lock them up and keep them from harm. The instinct was so strong, so overriding, that he had to fight it on a daily basis. Anastasia could attest that he sometimes lost that battle, but she still found it in herself to put up with him.
He knew how irrational he was. He knew that fifty shades of fucked up kept him dangerously close to the lines of obsession, skirting them, and every so often crossing them, but he would happily hold back knowing that it kept them at his side. It always struck him as ironic that considering his past of neglect and abuse he somehow forged this incredible capacity for love. Not that he knew he had it in him until he met her, and for that he would thank God above for the rest of his life.
He pulled the cover up, tucking it around Chris's shoulders, and leaned in to press a kiss to his smooth brow. Satisfied that all was well, he could head back to bed and take his second shift of sleep in the knowledge that his precious family was secure.
When he climbed back into his marital bed his wife stirred and reached for him. It was little things like that that really got to him, that took him by his adolescent emotional scruff and shook him with such force he could hardly breathe. In sleep, when all her defenses were down, she still wanted him, a place where she couldn't lie, couldn't deceive. Even though he knew that these things weren't really in her nature, the gesture was a powerful symbol of affirmation for him, and he lapped it up, savoring the hell out of it, more so because it was his alone.
He let her curl into him, letting her low, appreciative moan wash over him. He could never get enough of her and as if his body knew, his heart started stabbing at his chest in excitement, the earlier semi now a steel-hard rod just because she was there and loved him. He considered waking her up, ravishing her warm, sleepy body, but the need to let her rest overrode even this base desire. He chuckled quietly; obviously he liked to torture himself.
He sighed with a measure of both pleasure and frustration, then cast his mind on his plans for tomorrow. It was Valentine's Day, their first one ever, and even though he scoffed at a single day dedicated to showing you care - he was more than happy to love and spoil her every day - he wanted to do the conventional thing and observe it like a regular couple would.
At first he made all sorts of over-the-top plans, his imagination and bottomless budget opening a plethora of hearts-and-flowery doors until he remembered that she was much happier when he kept things modest. What could be simpler - and more traditional - than a picnic? In their very own meadow, away from prying eyes, he could take her in the moonlight.
He could kill two birds with one stone, surprising her with the completed house and spending an alfresco evening amongst the long grasses and flowers, preferably with her naked and willing. His mouth tugged into a rueful curve thinking how hard it had been to be vague about the completion of the house on the sound. She was so damned tenacious sometimes.
A little thrill of excitement coursed through his veins, veins that were, pre Ana, impervious to such things, when he tried to guess what she would be surprising him with. He knew she was up to something. She couldn't lie for shit - at least not to him, but she maintained a careful nonchalance about the day that had him crazy with curiosity.
That was another thing about her that kept him in constant awe. She gave the best damn presents in the world. Of course, he had everything money could buy. It sobered him that, with the addition of his treasured family, they were the things that money definitely couldn't buy, but she always managed to blow him away.
He couldn't help feeling like a little boy at Christmas time. She, on the other hand, was so easy to please. He'd had subs in the recesses of his dark past who were blatant gold diggers and there was little that pissed him off more. He was happy to give, he had more than enough to do so, but he resented the crap out of being manipulated for it. That was a surefire way to get your contract rescinded and your whipped ass out on the street before you could say sorry, Sir.
Of course he couldn't leave it at that; showing her the completed house and sharing a kinky picnic with her was nice, but not enough. No, he wanted her dripping with diamonds while he got his fill of her spread out for his pleasure on a rug in the grass.
He collected the piece this afternoon and the jeweler had exceeded his brief. The necklace was one long chain of the faintest pink diamonds, each in a claw so delicate that it made the most of the facets on the tiny brilliant-cut sides. The two strands would come together about an inch below the hollow of her throat, where they joined and would run a plunging path between her breasts.
It was an impractical piece because she would never be able to wear it with anything that would fully display it. A neckline that revealing was definitely off limits for her. Those firm mounds were his and his alone and he would never consider sharing them to that extent.
Now that he thought about it, the gift was quite a selfish one, for his benefit only. He would be the only one allowed to trace the trail the diamonds took between the sexy swells that he could get lost in. He couldn't wait to see how they sparkled against her skin, how the light refracted through the angles as they splayed a glowing pattern on her flesh.
What a shame it was a workday tomorrow, not that he would mind ditching if it meant he could spend the day between her thighs, but she had some serious work ethics. It thrilled him and it made him mad, a feeling he'd become accustomed to since the day he first laid eyes on her. With that thought and a contented sigh, he fell asleep, her body molded into the harder planes of his form for a night that turned out to be another restful one.
Mornings were usually a rush and on this fine day it was no different. He took his cues from her and ignored the whole "Valentine's Day" thing. He couldn't play it entirely cool - he needed her too much - so when the time came for him to leave, he made a point of taking her in his arms and kissing her soundly.
Kissing a woman was another skill that he'd mastered, and one he knew was often neglected by ever-rushing spouses, but he never wanted that to happen to them. There was nothing quite like the feeling of her melting in his arms to make him feel like a prized stud bull. He loved leaving her breathless and thinking of him and him alone for the rest of the day. She sure as hell did it to him.
"Dinner at seven," he called over his shoulder as he headed for Taylor, waiting in the foyer. He had to suppress the urge to jump and click his heels together, that's how happy he was feeling today. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of what his staff would do if he executed a perfect Charlie Chaplin hop on his way out the door.
His day was filled with all the normal business of a multi-billion-dollar machine. Unlike the last four years without her, these past few months stood in stark contrast to the dull monotony that preceded her and Chris's arrival into his sorry-ass life. These days - carpe diem - he felt like seizing the day again.
By 3:30 he was feeling antsy, eager to wrap things up and spend the evening deep inside his wife. She would be dropping Chris at his parents' right about now and then making her way home to meet him for "dinner." From her e-mails and texts he knew she had a good day and she was getting excited about the release of her first novel.
By five he was ready to abandon ship and he did so, with little regret. "Good night, Andrea." He greeted his PA as he strode past her to punch the elevator button.
"Good night, sir. Do you and Mrs. Grey have anything special planned?" She was making conversation while he stood waiting for the elevator.
He turned around with a smile, his wife called it his panty-dropping smile. He didn't have another so it was all he could use, but the only panties he wanted to drop were Anastasia's, preferably with the help of his teeth. "Oh yes, Andrea, lots and lots of special plans," he confirmed as he stepped into the mirrored cube with a little wave and a cheerful grin that he couldn't seem to shake.
He got the sense that Anastasia was dodging him when he got home. First she ensconced herself in the library and then in the bathroom to get ready. Again he mused about what she was up to. He wasn't worried, he would know if she was upset, but it fueled his burning curiosity. He suspected that she was afraid to give her game away. He could read her like a book and she didn't want to spoil the treat - whatever it was.
When she couldn't hold out on him any longer she joined him in the great room where he was waiting for her on the big sectional. Of course she looked sensational and in a dress – perfect for what he had in mind. The black fabric was soft and clingy, accentuating the parts that made her all woman. The towering heels might be a problem but, then again, throwing her over his shoulder would be no small pleasure for him.
He stood up. His eyes, he knew, were bright with desire and love and he was pleased to see the same in hers when she lifted her gaze long enough for him to see it. There were times like this when, without training or prompting, she was so naturally submissive that he was hard in less than two ticks of a second. Not because he missed those days, but because it brought out the purest form of man in him, an animalistic beast that lived and breathed for the company of her welcoming body.
He felt his nostrils flare with the primitiveness of it all and when he saw the spark in her eyes, recognizing the thing in him that drew them together in spite of the world around them, it was all he could do not to take possession of her there and then.
Instead he threw her a salaciously wicked smirk, and coupled with his hooded eyes, he had her panting, and, he was sure, wet for him just then. "You look good enough to eat," he told her on a low purr.
Every so often she's shocked him with a mouth as dirty as his own. It was always stirring and so very unexpected because to him she was innocence personified regardless of the fact that his sheets once bore the stain of her loss of it. "I wish you would," she breathed, "long and hard." Her tone was husky, matching the lust-filled blue stare she was giving him without an iota of shame. It made her words seem all the more seductive, ultra heated.
He sucked in a short sharp breath and made a grab for her hand, quite literally dragging her out of the room and into the waiting elevator. The confined space did nothing to ease the humming current that flowed between them but wordlessly they fought it, neither willing to start a rare night alone on a moment that they wouldn't have time to see through to completion.
It was a good thing that this auspicious day fell on a Friday, because he sure as hell was going to make it count, take maximum advantage of their child-free time. He loved his son, could spend days playing with him, but he also needed to connect with his wife, and for what he had in mind they were going to need every second of the opportunity they had.
He shook his head at himself, being so hungry for her when he had her last night and the night before and the day before that. In fact, they seldom let a day go by without making love, but he craved the intensity of the times he could lavish her with the attention of his hands, his mouth and his brick-hard dick. To watch her fall apart because of his ministrations, again and again, is what he needed tonight and he couldn't wait.
He caught the quick dip of her eyes as she noticed his erection, already straining against the tight span of his slacks, and he growled at her when her teeth sank into her lip as she contemplated the delights the evening would bring.
He wanted her badly and by the flush of her cheeks she was more than willing to give it to him. Thank fuck he thought as he dragged her to the car and all but tossed her inside. He might be getting into trouble for speeding tonight.
The powerful roar of the R8's engine was exhilarating and echoed the roar he wanted to issue, to her and to the world, that she belonged to him. He was proud and damn fucking delighted to have her - wife, mother, author, and sex kitten. Again he reminded himself - he was one lucky SOB.
His game was well and truly up by the time they reached the tree-lined street; she was glancing at him every so often, a knowing smile gracing her full mouth. She knew what was coming. When they stopped on the cobbles, the house lit from the inside and everything in perfectly restored order, she clamped her hands over her eyes then dropped them again to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
"Your home, Mrs. Grey, is all done and all yours." He jutted his chin toward the house while keeping a very careful watch on her, eager to absorb and commit to memory every squeak and squeal of delight she deemed to share with him. He loved spoiling her; her absolute enthusiasm was a joy to behold. He couldn't think of a better way to spend his impressive wealth than to furnish her dreams.
"It's done?" she asked, shaking her head in amazement. She was obviously completely overtaken. It never failed to touch him, almost undoing him.
He threw her a roguish grin, knowing that almost three weeks of half-truths and subject-changing tactics preceded this moment. "It is," he confirmed, his baritone low and suggestive even though he wanted her to take it all in before he took her. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby."
He loved to hear her giggle and she did that now, fluttering her lashes before leaning over the center console to kiss him. "Thank you." She ran a palm up his shirt, her dainty hand coming to rest on his shoulder as she fixed him with a delighted stare. "I was expecting flowers at the office today."
His poor heart tipped, then dropped into his stomach. How could he not have thought of sending her flowers? She must've been the only woman who didn't get a bunch. He cursed his lack of experience with this hearts-and-flowers stuff, staring at her with a bewildered expression on his mug until he noticed that her smile didn't falter. It remained adoring, no trace of accusation or pouting, when it hit him - she was teasing!
She would be the friggin' death of him! He grinned, then thought better of it and brought out the big guns. He gave her his panty dropper, but in full HD. Beaming at her like that was easy when he had the emotions to back it up, and he loved watching it take effect. She blinked, then gasped, and he was sure that if she was standing he'd have to catch her. Damn straight, baby!
He took her through the house and thoroughly enjoyed watching her reactions to every little detail, but he wanted to get to the better part of the night. He dumped the small overnight bag he had Mrs. Taylor pack for them in the main bedroom and decided it was high time to drag his wife into the meadow.
He found her at the edge of the back patio, overlooking the meadow with the tree line beyond and the sound beyond that. He sensed that this would be a happy place for them. He could feel it in his bones, so to speak. Even though it took them five years to get here, he was now glad that he had kept the house.
Her sparkling eyes betrayed her surprise when she turned and saw the basket and rug he was carrying, along with his smile that he knew now veered dangerously close to lascivious. Let the ravishing begin, he thought as he stalked her already-trembling form.
He could never get enough of her responsiveness, of her blatant desire for him when all he had to do was give her a look - like now. There was nothing that drove him wilder. He had his plans for tonight reeling through his mind the whole damn day but now came the time to put those plans in motion. He could already feel the tips of his fingers tingle with their need to skate over her bare skin.
Before she had time to negotiate or even object, he swooped down, bringing his shoulder to her waist and snaking his arm around her calves. Pushing up through his knees, she fell over his shoulder and he clamped her there, tight and secure. Good job, he thought, pleased with himself as he strode into the meadow with her delectable ass next to his cheek and her cries of protest ringing in his ears.
He liked her screaming, especially if it was in delight, so he bit into the curve of her behind because it was so convenient right beside his face and, of course, because, well, he loved her ass. She rewarded him with a screech and a wiggle, and it made him chuckle. As if he'd let her get away.
When they reached the small clearing that he had mowed just for this occasion he let her slide down the front of his body, enjoying every soft inch of her feminine curves squashed up against him. He kept his leg anchored so she was forced to ride it on her way down just so he could feel her heat on him.
While she slid she moaned; it reverberated through his chest, darting straight to the raging torrent of blood heading south. He also didn't mind the fact that her dress rode up while she went down, and in spite of the darkness he thought he caught a flash of red before she jumped away to smooth her skirt down in an enticing display of modesty. He knew the blushing accompanied the nervous giggle she issued at his overt display of testosterone. He sure as hell was happy to cop a feel of her anytime, anywhere, and he could never be ashamed of that.
It was weird, he thought, that when he could have all he wanted - like with his subs - he never wanted them this much but here, with his wife acting all demure, he burned to rip that dress to shreds and fuck her well into next week. He didn't dwell on it though, mainly because he thought he'd figured out why. The first time he made love to her, his first vanilla encounter, had taught him something that all his training never had - love made one helluva difference even though he was too dim to realize it at the time.
He shook out the rug and she helped him unpack the basket while he encouraged her to make small talk. He wanted her to relax and eat before they began; she was going to need her strength. When she passed him a plate and smiled down at him he mentally congratulated himself on sprouting this damn fine idea.
"This is lovely, Mr. Grey, I feel very spoilt. Thank you." She kissed the tip of his nose as he sat there feeling awfully smug.
He didn't want to put her off her food but it was time to kick it up a notch. Slow seduction was his forte and she was getting it in spades tonight. "You're welcome, baby." He let his words hang, fooling her into thinking that it was all he was going to say before he dropped the first of his teasing bombs on her. "You'd better eat up; I don't know how much longer I can wait for that dress to disappear."
The hitch of her breath was exactly what he was hoping for when he teamed his words with a darkening gaze that always bore a touch of his Dom alter ego. She stopped mid chew, and now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark he could really appreciate her flush as it crept up from the dip between her breasts.
He had to adjust himself but he did so in the full knowledge that she was watching him, telling her that she was the reason he was already this hard. His restraint slipped a little when she hissed through the teeth that bit into her bottom lip. That was another thing that never failed to get him; that luscious lip and the perfect teeth sinking into it made him want to come in his pants.
She resumed eating but her pace had definitely slowed; now she was doing it for his sake alone, he knew, because it was hard for her to eat when she was that turned on. They watched each other, hardly tasting the feast they had before them, and he let the tension build by being close enough to touch but not lifting a finger to do so.
She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and smiled at him over the rim of her glass, her eyes turning playful so he knew what was coming. She was going to take her moment now. "I have something for you, too."
For a beat he closed his eyes at the delicious anticipation unfurling in his belly. This was a whole new thing for him, this child-like excitement he felt when she was dishing out gifts. He thought about it a lot and he came to the conclusion that it was the deliberation she put into it that captured his heart so completely.
She rooted in her handbag and came up with a wrapped rectangle about the size of a book. He caught the fleeting apprehension that told him she was unsure about what he would think. He didn't understand why; even if it was socks, he'd love it because it came from her, but her concern was there nonetheless so he resolved to gush regardless of what the gift was. He doubted his reaction would need a boost. Experience told him that this would be valuable beyond measure, just like all the other times.
She scooted closer and presented it to him, her eyes cast down as though she was offering it. He didn't hesitate to take it; curiosity was roaring through him as he made light work of shredding the wrapping. He was surprised, but no less delighted - it was her book. "Wow, baby, that's fantastic. The first of the first editions! I hope you'll sign it for me." He gave her a wink before staring at the cover that read Anastasia Grey. His heart was pounding, happy, and so damn proud.
When he looked up he saw her frown, then shake her head, her smile a little embarrassed, "Uhm, not the book so much as the inside."
For a moment he was confused until he found the dedication page. Yep, she did it again. He grew hot as his throat tightened and his heart set off on a sprint.
To my husband:
If it weren't for you my life would be empty, but like the words of a book you gave the pages of my life meaning and color that I cannot do without. I love you for so many reasons, but mostly because you are mine.
Yours - only and always.
Holy mother fucking shit! She dedicated her book to him, made an extremely public and honest declaration of love - and possession - he didn't mind adding, that grew a fresh layer of healthy flesh around his heart, which he long ago thought was forever dead. He fucking loved how she was healing him.
Even though he wanted to jump onto her, he couldn't find the coordination just then. He took a breath and a minute for himself to recover before shaking his head at her in amazement. "I don't know what to say, baby. I can't imagine being more touched." He was sure she heard the crack in his voice as his gaze dropped back to the words that she wrote there for him. He wondered why she was hesitant. What's not to like? Anything that decreed that she was his made him feel like pounding his chest like a fucking gorilla.
He was relieved when he saw her beam, all apprehension gone. Now she was the holder of a smile that was his undoing. He knew she was about to say something, probably that he was welcome, but he didn't wait for it. Without so much as a pang he forgot his carefully-laid plans and tackled her into the spongy grass. He took her mouth first, showing her with his tongue and his teeth just how much her gesture meant to him. He tasted her, licked her, nibbled her, and teased her until he knew that he'd get her off with very little effort on his part.
He broke away, then sat up, lifting her astride his lap in a single move. "I want to get my mouth on every single inch of you." He heard the raspy rumble in his own voice, knowing that the sound of it would push her into a frenzy, and he wasn't disappointed when she ground herself against his bulging crotch, mewling in desperation for the friction that would have her coming all over him.
He pushed his hands underneath her dress, skating his palms up and up to rid her of the barrier between them, then caught his breath on the sight that greeted him. She was wearing red all right, but it wasn't the usual, lacy lingerie that he kept her stocked in. Oh no, this was clearly all for his benefit and he felt it right there where it mattered the most as he hardened further, into an aching point.
He knew she was watching his reaction, and if spellbound was what she was hoping for then that's exactly what she got. Fuck! Instead of lace it was made of an extremely fine netting, completely sheer and gossamer thin. The bra cups had a slit right down the middle and had her tight piked nipples poking through the opening in a blatant, sexy-as-fuck invitation.
He was already drooling thinking about the resistance those hard buds would offer his tongue. The bra didn't close in the back in the usual way either; instead the back crossed over to the front where it laid thin elastic straps in a symmetrical pattern down her belly until it made up the edges of the panties.
He knew that his eyes changed color as his arousal grew, and he felt the filter slipping on. Now they were hungry, a stormy gray as they roamed along down the trail the pattern was guiding him on. It led his overstimulated gaze to the freshly waxed patch that was covered by the same slit as the cups above. Finally, when understanding punched through the fog of his lust, it dawned on him that she was completely open to him in spite of wearing this sensational piece of nothing.
The crisscross lines lying against her skin were extremely evocative and it took him a moment to grasp why. When he did, his heart was in his throat and the beating pulse he felt was all concentrated in a body part that now had a mind of its own. Those lines that pushed into her soft flesh left the sides around them slightly raised and mimicked the Shibari bondage style in a way that had his toes curling with appreciation. Beautiful!
He swept his hands over the red elastic along her belly and her back, fascinated, and savoring the indentations it made. All the while she watched him through the veil of her hair as it cascaded down over her shoulders, anxiously waiting to gauge his reaction. He groaned then latched his mouth onto a conveniently poking nipple as his hand dove into the open slit of the panties. Her hands were already roaming his back, foraging into his hair, unsettled, restless, keen. He knew that she was on the verge of release and she was using him to keep her hands occupied rather than using them to try to get herself there.
He kept a supporting hand on her lower back as his seeking fingers found her a wet and wanton mess. She threw back her head and he smiled at the trick that always had her pushing her breast deeper into his mouth. She moaned, pleasing him to no end, "Please, Christian."
He was a fiend - he knew - but he loved her like this, begging for it, and he'd use whatever skill and ploy he could to get her this way. He sometimes wondered if she knew how deliberate he was with her, how he stoked and stoked her desire for him because he couldn't get enough of her but also, if he was honest with himself, because he hoped it would keep her bound to him.
It was a full-time job but he lived for it, wanted nothing more than to call her satisfied and only so by his efforts - thoroughly fucked. That was another problem that she presented him with, one he never encountered with his subs. Sometimes, like now, he was so hot for her, wanted to do so many things to her that he almost couldn't decide where to start. That was why nights like this had become so important, just so he could work through his wish list because one round with her rarely was enough.
He had to laugh at himself. Grey-steel was the hushed and well-earned nickname to describe him around the spreader bars and suspension chains of the BDSM clubs he used to frequent. He really had a reputation for being able to stave off his orgasm, one he used to be proud of, but with a couple of words and a flimsy scrap of fabric his wife could turn the tables on him and brand him a desperate man. These days he was more grateful for his stamina because fuck knew she shredded his control with an awful regularity.
Just as he predicted, she was close, and judging by her moaning and gasping, making no bones of the fact that she wanted it now. With coordinated, devastating intuition he executed three things at once. He pushed up his hips, grinding his rock hard self into her undulating hips. Then, very gently, he pinched the lips of her sex together to trap her clitoris, rubbing them between his fingers, and lastly he bit down on the taut point in his mouth, tugging, and dragging his teeth over the length of her nipple.
And there it was. He didn't ask her to keep her eyes on him, he knew that this one was shuddering through her with such violent force that there was no way she'd be able to concentrate on keeping her gaze glued to his. So, he just sat back and enjoyed watching the pleasure ride her body as she screamed his name and came over the fly of his slacks.
There was nothing like the sound of his name on her lips, especially in the throes of what was clearly an obliterating experience. He loved to watch her come, when she was stripped of her inhibitions, vulnerable, when her defenses were so down she was naked in more ways than one. It provided him the intimacy he craved to share with her. Also it was mind-blowingly hot; he was already freeing himself to plunge into the aftershocks of her intense ripples.
Without missing a beat and before she collapsed on his shoulder, he was inside her, slipping past the sodden folds and into the warm sheath that almost instantly brought him to the edge of a cliff he was deliriously happy to see. His intention earlier was to take it slow, but when her muscles gripped him like this he loved nothing more than to give her body what it obviously wanted - a hard and fast fuck that made full use of the cream she just produced.
"Hold on, baby," he gritted, hoping that she wasn't too worn out to listen before he stabbed into her with a gratifying thrust of his hips. It jolted her enough to get the message and he was grateful when he felt her brace herself against him as she cried out. She was moaning again, hardly down and already on her way to the next one. That was exactly where he wanted her. Now he could move with the pistoning power their bodies demanded.
Her quick breaths at his ear were in time with his, spurring him on. As she adjusted to his punishing rhythm she made a little room between them and ran a hand over her breasts, which now boasted a fine sheen of sweat. She was being very brave tonight and he liked it, he liked it a whole fucking lot. He watched her hand slide across her damp skin, pinching her nipple as she crashed her mouth into his.
With the deep kiss they swallowed the desperate noises they were both making. She, like a woman possessed, regained her strength and started riding him back, setting a pace and an angle that made him hit the end of her. Her whimpers were getting louder and he could feel her telling clench start. He applied what little reserves he had left to wait another few seconds so she could join him.
"Now, baby!" the words were ripped from his throat along with his control as he let go, soaking her with his seed as she milked him for all he was worth. Oh dear sweet motherfucker! He felt like he was turned inside out and back again, his eyes almost making a full revolution as they rolled into the back of his head.
When they came down she was like jelly in his arms and they were both panting -hard. He managed to slide them into a lying position so they could collapse together. He was always reluctant to pull out of her so he kept her partially impaled and draped across him. He smoothed down her hair and kissed her head but she only grunted in response. He understood perfectly well; he felt the same way.
It was always good between them but sometimes, like tonight, they reached a whole other level. He wasn't sure if it was because of their deep connection or some other fortuitous thing but he sure as hell was grateful that he went with it and shelved his plans, keeping them for round two.
He hugged her to him when she pressed her lips to his chest, touched by what they just shared. In a few moments, once they'd recovered, he'd give her the diamond necklace and then he would enjoy taking his time while he made love to her.
Thank you for reading and please don't forget to review! If you liked this you can also can check out my other stories here on Fanfiction:
Fifty Shades Meander (FSOG fan fiction)
Christmas Meander (FSOG fan fiction)
Crossfire Meander (Crossfire fan fiction)
I also have a blog with more one-shots and some extras… See my profile page for the address.