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 2
14 February 2017
He lay there with her, on the rug in the grass, limbs intertwined, chasing slower breaths as they came down from their pleasure-high. "I love you," he breathed, skimming his lips across her forehead.
She pushed herself up to look at him, her eyes softly adoring and her cheeks still flushed. "I love you too," she smiled, making his heart want to burst with the rush of happiness flooding his veins just then.
Those simple words coming from her sweet mouth were the glue that held his life together, the driving force behind his every decision, and the light that kept the shadows from his dreams. He wouldn't, couldn't, ever grow tired of hearing her say it to him, and he still felt nothing short of amazed that she was here, his to have and to hold. And hold her he would, he vowed when she crashed back into his life, hold her with every ounce of his strength, every breath he took, and by every available means.
He stared up at her, saw her words plain as day on her face, and basked in them, greedily drinking them up like the thirsty man he was. Thirsty for her, and hungry. Sometimes, when they were apart, he actually felt deprived, as if some basic human right was being withheld from him. Fuck! He marveled, newly overwhelmed as an old truth resurfaced in his mind: he would never get enough of her.
He felt her shiver in his arms as she nuzzled into his neck. Reaching behind his head he grabbed the light blanket he had Mrs. Taylor pack and spread it over her. Though the evening was balmy, he didn't want her to be cold, and he sure as fuck didn't want her to move.
These post-orgasmic moments with her were something he cherished. Being with her like this stilled every warring emotion, every voice that told him that he was less than what she needed, than what she deserved. Of course, he couldn't deny that her skin, soft and sweaty, bared and pressed to him, was the most sensual thing in the world. Horny fuck that he was, he liked her best when she was naked, stripped of everything; clothes, inhibitions, but also of cares.
If he could he'd shield her from every hurt and worry, but he'd learnt by now that his feisty wife was not one to back away from a challenge, that she was brave in the truest way. Despite her fears she would chase her goals. Despite her insecurities she fought for him, and sometimes with him, he thought with a wry smile, but she would stand her ground and manage the hell out of him, his shades, and oftentimes the fucked-up shit his world threw at them. Hell, he really was proud of her, proud and in love, an utterly lethal combination that had him bound to her like white on rice, and damn grateful for every second of it.
She sighed happily and shifted, getting comfortable against him, accommodating that adorable swollen belly of hers. He almost laughed that the word adorable was part of his vocabulary now, especially in relation to a woman in his life, but she never looked better to him, sporting his little bump.
He was excited when she started showing, felt like a damn alpha ape knowing that every bastard Tom, Dick, and Harry would recognize that he sired this child. It was the ultimate symbol of his ownership, her belonging, and their all-enduring love. At first he thought the wedding ring would be it. Then, when she started wearing his collar, he soared to new heights of contentment, secure in the knowledge that she was bound to him. But the baby bump, HIS baby, left those two in the dust by miles.
And of course, like the rest of her, he couldn't keep his hands off of it. He abso-fucking-lutely LOVED to spoon her from behind so he could stroke the gentle roundness of it as he daydreamed about the precious cargo she's growing for him.
What the fuck?! Daydreaming? He was such a sap for her.
Not that all of it was pleasant though. There were times when his overbearing nature scared the crap out of him as he contemplated keeping this tiny human safe, along with his wife and son.
He thought back to their last scan, when Dr. Malone surprised them with her customary, matronly kindness and asked if they wanted to know the sex of the baby. Until then it was sort of an ethereal concept in his mind. It was a baby, not male or female as far as he was concerned. Even though he thought it was too early to say, at least according to the stack of preggie books that served as his bedtime reading, the doc said that the baby was lying in a good position to tell, and that she could make an educated guess as long as they didn't hold her to it.
Every scan was like an adventure to him, and he loved every minute of it, but he also prepared himself very carefully for the mind-blowing experience. With the joy of it came the fear, a duality he knew would be his to bear with everything that he held dear, and this was a titbit he was NOT prepared for.
In fact, if he was completely honest with himself, the sex of the baby was a big deal, a very big deal because he understood how much it would affect him. He didn't particularly wish for one or the other, but a girl… Holy fuck! Just the thought of a daughter had him breaking out in a sweat of teeth-grinding panic.
Girls are so, so… fragile, he thought, euphemizing the heck out of the anxiety that came racing through his brain every time he dared entertain the possibility. He looked at his beautiful wife and plastered a bright smile on his face when she twinkled at him, eyes sparkling with excitement at the prospect. He couldn't even say yes. His throat was suddenly closed, tight as a fist, and his heart felt as if it was about to slam right out of his chest. He nodded despite the alarm simmering slowly in his veins since that was his job - keeping his wife happy. And not even the night sky's brilliance compared to Anastasia smiling at him, for him, because of him.
"All rightie then," Dr. Malone lilted in a happy voice. "You see, it's not really about what I can see, but rather what I can't." She had her face turned to the screen, pointing in the general direction, and he felt his blood pressure drop. Deep down he realized that he already knew, that in his heart of hearts he'd been carrying that little fact. But he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it because if he did, it would be real, and he wasn't quite ready to deal with real yet.
He was supposed to have a few weeks still, and then another twenty to come to terms with being the father of a miniature angel he sensed would be just like her mom. And, he was sure, would drive him just as nuts.
In his mind's eye he pictured a mini princess, shaking her chocolate locks as she looked her father square in the eye, grinning with the certainty that she had him - lock, stock, and barrel - wrapped around her charming toddler finger. She would dare him with evocative pools of blue shining defiantly to stop her from doing some unthinkably dangerous thing, like climbing stairs, or jumping off from the kitchen counter, just so she could watch him have a coronary. Oh, he was so screwed!
Pull yourself together! he ordered himself. Millions of people have babies, roughly half of them girls who grow up being well-adjusted, sensible beings, he chided. Hell, Chris's birth had some complications and both his wife and son pulled through those just fine, he reminded himself. His boy was a testament to human resilience, a breathing miracle he was awed by on a daily basis. He would deal; he'd have to. He already loved the hell out of this unborn child.
With a deep breath he took Anastasia's hand and kissed the back of it, looking into the shimmering light of her gaze. She was teary, but she looked thrilled.
"A girl," she breathed, blinking and letting the delighted tears spill a single trail along her cheek. She held his look, and he could feel her reading him, could feel how she crawled into his head, measuring his reaction.
He wasn't even going to bullshit himself with the possibility that the doc may be wrong. Dr. Malone had years and years of experience, and just as he had developed a sixth sense for his business, he understood that it was the same for her, the type of inherent knowledge that could only be honed with continuous and prolonged exposure to a job. Not only was he going to be a daddy again, but this time around, the father of a girl, precious and fragile and his, in every way possible.
He would have everything he missed with Chris, all that and a healthy side-order of blind terror. Not that he ever dwelled on that regret. He was just grateful for the second chance. Despite Ana's misgivings, he had little doubt that he was at least equally to blame, if not more, for the reasons behind his wife's broken promises. Thank fuck they got back together and would forever work on clawing back the time they lost. Yes, this tiny bundle of joy was going to be the life and the death of him.
Sensing his distress she cupped the side of his face, tilting her head. "You'll be a wonderful dad, just like you are with Chris. Don't doubt yourself," she breathed her reassurance, wearing a look he recognized as reverence only because he felt the same way about her – in spades.
He blew out that breath he took and not for the first time conceded that his girls, both of them, seriously fucked with his self-control, and one of them wasn't even born yet. It would be so much easier if he could keep them only to himself so they'd never get hurt. Damn, he mused, the temerity of the women in his life was a bitch!
Ana stroked the back of her hand along his jaw, anchoring him back to their present Valentine's celebration. "Are you thinking about the baby?" she asked gently.
Grinning, he looked at her. "Guilty," he stated simply, wondering how she knew.
"I could tell." Her eyes were laughing at him, teasing him, and he could see the corners of her mouth struggling not to turn up.
He raised a brow, curious. "How, Mrs. Grey?" For good measure, he also slipped a hand under her arm, holding his fingers tickle-ready, a little further incentive to get her to spill the beans and to stop making fun of him.
She rewarded him with that sweet giggle, squirming at the threat of his fingers. "Your whole body goes tense!" she exclaimed. "It's only a little girl, you know?"
Fuck yes, he knew! All too well. That's why he broke out in spine chilling trepidation every time the thought crossed his mind. And clearly she was still toying with him, making some light retribution in order. With a quick roll he pinned her under him, secured her arms above her head with one hand, and sought out her most ticklish spots with the other.
She bucked and fought, kicked her legs and giggled, only spurring him on. How he loved that sound, and how he LOVED seeing her happy.
"Mercy, mercy!" she panted. "I'm pregnant, I might pee!" she pleaded, making him laugh even harder, but he relented, stroking the side of her breast instead. He smiled down at her and felt the way her chest moved with her quickened breaths, so alive, so warm.
"I love that giggle, Mrs. Grey." His whisper sounded much more serious, more intense than he intended, especially in light of the fun they just had, but as was often the case, his feelings for her ran deep and he felt the weight of them in his heart. It was a good weight to carry; he knew how empty he'd be without it. But it reflected just how deeply he was into her, how, when the chips were down, she OWNED his ass – completely.
In response to him her face changed, the smile fading as she mirrored his feelings, acknowledging that she felt the depth of their love too. Sometimes there simply weren't any words. They stared at each other, awed, and he was getting hard again. Seeing her love for him always did that to him, blasted him with a hit of arousal just as it soothed his soul.
When the moment passed he gave her a wicked grin. "You still haven't seen the upstairs of the house." He leaned in and ran his nose along hers. "And seeing as you've been such a naughty girl, teasing me, I think a little punishment might be in order."
Before her teeth could graze her lip he bit the plump flesh, gently drawing her bottom lip out. Again she shivered, confirming what he already knew. She enjoyed their kinky fuckery just as much as he did, craved it even, and fuck knew, he was happy to oblige. It also happened to fit in very nicely with his plans.
With that panther's grace he rose, and pulled her up with him. He bent to pick up the blanket, wrapped it around her and lifted her into his arms. The picnic stuff could wait. Right now, all he could think about was being inside his wife.
Even with her in his arms he took the stairs two at a time. He did want her to see the upstairs, especially the baby's room, but that too could wait for later. In a few long strides he brought them to the center of his study, just off the staircase landing. Gently he put her down, making sure that she was steady on her feet before he let her go, but he watched her intently.
She held the blanket around her like a towel as she took in his space. "Wow, this is stunning, Christian." Over her shoulder she smiled at him as she glided her fingertips along the wall of books, tickling their spines with her light touch.
"Thank you. I'm glad you approve Mrs. Grey." His voice was low, almost humming. He might be here in the room with her right now, but in his mind he was already fucking her well into next week. He could feel his stare grow heavy as he watched her move around the place that he would spend many hours working in. And playing in, he added silently, wickedly to himself. "Do you notice anything out of the ordinary?" he husked as he slid a finger into the edge of the blanket where it hung around her back, tugging so that it would give way. He wanted to see her, all of her, those come-fuck-me curves in that gauzy scrap of nothing she was wearing.
The blanket fell away and she turned to him, looking demure and delectable – a combination that always got him salivating for her. "No," she replied, her voice equally heated. "It's beautiful, but you've always had exceptional taste so that's no surprise."
He pushed away from his desk and took a step towards her, raking his eyes along the sexy contours of her body. "I do have fucking phenomenal taste," he said with a truckload of gravel in his voice, nodding his head as he took in her heavy breasts, already swollen with at least a cup size from the pregnancy, and the taut little belly. Fuck, he was glad she wasn't mewling about being fat like some pregnant women do. She was like a ripe peach, glowing, and juicy, and delicious, and it became her in every way. She was indeed one hot momma. Unf! Those shapely legs, and he couldn't forget the plump heaven between them. Yes, his taste was beyond exquisite, and it had fuck-all to do with decorating his home office.
He heard her gasp at his lascivious appraisal and he didn't blame her. He was sure he looked like a hungry wolf, ready to pounce and devour. He felt damn hungry. He was inside her only 30 minutes ago, but he was starving again as his straining zipper could attest. He couldn't stop looking, not that he wanted too, and her coy blush only made him want her more.
He was a fiend, he thought to himself. He was being devious and deliberate. With her being all but naked, and him - fully clothed, he knew her vulnerability would be through the roof right now. It was all part of the plan he was banking on to stoke her arousal. He felt the way the air around them was charging with the sparks of their electric attraction, and it was clear that she was feeling it too. He would bet his life that she was sopping wet for him right now. Hhmmm, he mused, nothing better than his wife - wet and ready for him.
"Push the first book of the very top row with the heel of your hand," he instructed her, indicating the left end of the built-in book case. Of course he could be a gentleman and do it himself but then he'd be denied the fantastic view of her ass he was about to get.
Her eyes rounded, and if he was not mistaken, sparkled with understanding and delight. Yep, the naughty cat was well and truly out of the bag. She grinned her mischievous grin and strode to the corner of the room, following his instructions. With the sound of a soft click the wall gave way, swiveling to reveal a low-lit space. She didn't hesitate, or falter, she stepped into the secret place that was almost a perfect replica of the playroom at Escala. Automatically the sound system activated, playing the playlist he selected for the evening.
You And Me - Lifehouse
Just like the first time she walked into his playroom, he heard the catch in her breath, but this time he could sense, not her trepidation, but her excitement. He followed her inside, guiding her with his hand on the flare of her hip. Now this was their playroom, not just his.
"Do you like it?" he asked her in a rough whisper before he dipped his head into the curve of her neck to take a long draw of her scent. Fuck! She smelled good, of sex, and meadow, and woman.
"Yessss," she croaked, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder.
"Good," he breathed, reveling in his own anticipation of what was to come. He bit her earlobe and skated his palms up her arms to feel her goose bumps. On cue she shivered, making him grind his erection against her behind. "I want it to be like that first time. Do you remember, Anastasia?"
She took a moment to answer, swallowing against what he knew was that delicious blend of fear and the thick arousal that flowing through her. "Yes." The single word was barely audible, a grated whisper, and in turn, made him shiver.
Oh fuck, yes! He was so in the mood for this, actually jonesing for her sweet submission, for the gift of her body to do with as he saw fit. Slowly, deliberately he moved his hands up her sides and cupped her breasts. "Do you think it's nice to tease your husband? To make fun of him?"
She shook her head against his shoulder. "No," she admitted on a ragged breath.
"No, who?" he reminded her, pinching her nipples as they conveniently poked through the slits of her bra.
"Good girl." As reward he toyed with her luscious tits some more, making her moan. "Tell me, baby, are you wet for me?"
"Yesss, she hissed. "Yes, Sir." Her breathing was shallow. He already knew she was oh-so ready for him, and it made him twitch with urgency, but they had time, lots of time, and he intended to use it well.
Disappear Without A Trace – The Parlotones
"Good girl." He pushed the straps of her outfit off her shoulders, and slid the elastic down to her hips. Behind her he dropped to his knees, then dragged it the rest of the way along her legs. Obediently she stepped out of it when he tapped first her one foot and then the other. Her perfect ass was right in front of him, and he would call himself less than a man if he didn't spend some time enjoying those fine assets.
He took a cheek in each hand and kneaded the flesh, that prefect combination of soft and toned. "So fucking sexy. Do you know what you do to me, Anastasia?" With firm hands he parted her along the seam of her butt, exposing her. She would be wondering what he had planned, the uncertainty only adding a delicious layer to her want.
"No, Sir," she stammered, already a little shaky from the tension building in her responsive body.
Swiftly he rose, circled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, pushing his achingly hard arousal against her bottom. "You make me hard, baby. So fucking hard."
She let out a sound, a suppressed mewl as she fell further under his Dom spell, but she stood still, playing her role beautifully. He walked his fingers over her bump, then dipped then into her slippery folds. "Will you be a good girl and scream my name if I make you come?"
She convulsed against him, already teetering on the brink of orgasm. Wow, he thought, awed once more. She was fucking magnificent.
For a moment she forgot herself, and dropped all pretense. "Christian. Please!"
He loved it when she needed him this much, got off on her wanting him so badly. "What do you want, baby?" he teased, He wanted to hear her say it. "Tell me."
In perfect obedience, she answered him quickly. "I want you. Please fuck me, Sir."
"Soon, baby, real soon," he promised. He fisted her hair in the nape of her neck and angled her face towards him. He took her mouth – hard with a kiss backed with the violence of his desire. When he broke away, they were both panting. He dropped his arms, letting her out of his hold. "Show me how you would sit, how you would wait for me."
Gracefully she sank to her knees in a perfect kneel, resting back on her heels as she spread her legs and dropped her gaze.
Holy fuck! So flawless. "Very nice," he rumbled his praise, swelling even thicker as he strolled around her, taking in her submissive form. He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved the diamond Y-chain. She was going to look so beautiful wearing nothing but a string of delicate-pink gems.
"Happy Valentine's day, Mrs. Grey." He smoothed her hair out of his way and his deft fingers worked the claps at the back of her neck.
Her hand flew to her neckline, instinctively touching the long drop of stones that ran between her nude breasts. "Christian," she said simply, breathlessly, looking up at him as he came around her side.
"Hhhmmm," he hummed again - appreciatively, the low sound rumbling from his chest. The sparkle not only added to the depth of her cleavage, but was like a beacon, calling for his touch. He held out his hand to her, helping her up. "Do you like it?"
He could see that she was struggling to find words. It truly was a stunning piece, and only made more beautiful by the wearer. "I...," she swallowed, looking down. "I love it. It's exquisite. Thank you." The sincerity burned in her eyes, as well as a touch of bewilderment. She was never comfortable when he spent money on her, especially not large amounts, but if he couldn't spoil his wife then he really saw no point in all the hard work he did. And he fucking loved spoiling her.
He didn't need a grand gesture, didn't want anything from her in return, but for her to realize how much he loved her. If he could say it with diamonds, or anything else for that matter, he would happily buy her truckloads.
For a second time she abandoned their game, pushed up onto her toes, and kissed him. Not the wild-fire kisses they had shared tonight, but a gentle kiss, packed with her sweet thanks. Her lips lingered on his as he gratefully, joyfully accepted her gratitude but it wasn't enough. With her, it was never enough. He snaked his arms around her, pulling her to him, and ravenously deepened their kiss.
This, right here, was fucking life-giving stuff to him. He could survive on her mouth alone. That's how much she affected him, how much he wanted her, and how constantly. With renewed force his need for her tore through him, spurring him into action.
Carefully he walked them backwards until her thighs hit the edge of the desk. "I'm going to fuck you now, Mrs. Grey. Are you ready, baby?" Frantically she nodded, their mouths still joined as he lifted her onto the table. He wanted her spread, spread and bound so he could fuck her from every angle. He was desperate to feel every inch of her, wanted nothing more than to watch her come for him.
Play – David Banner
With her butt perched on the edge he gently pushed her down, making her lay on her back. "Open your legs and bend your knees, baby." It pleased him to no end when she obeyed quickly, and equally as swiftly he secured each ankle to the two corners closest to him. "Lift your arms, baby. Hold on to the top edge and don't let go. I need this to be hard."
He issued a groan, looking at her as she lay ready for him, nodding her understanding. She was a sight to behold. Her breasts thrust up; displaying the two, full mounds beautifully and her nipples were tight, like plump raspberries, just begging for the scrape of his teeth. With her legs spread wide, her lips were open to him, so swollen, lust-flushed, glistening in the muted light. He could already feel himself playing with her, sliding the head of his penis along her creamy cleft before he breached her snug hole.
"You comfortable?" He asked quietly, keeping his lust leashed for just a few moments longer.
"Yes," she replied, confirming her hoarse words by lifting her hips, enticing him to take her.
He stared at her sex and raked his teeth over his bottom lip, torn for a moment. That feast between her legs beckoned and now he wanted to taste her and fuck her. Best of both worlds, he decided. Taste first, then fuck. The table was the ideal height to accommodate his needs. If he was on his knees, his face would be level with the apex of her thighs, and if he stood, he was perfectly positioned for penetration.
Yes, he was going to have a taste of her dripping flesh, but she was close, and he wasn't going to let her come just yet. Dropping to his knees he blew on her folds, tickling her with his breath. She couldn't move much with the way she was bound, but her hips bucked, trying to get closer, more.
He watched her face as he pushed his tongue into her opening, teasing her with his shallow entry. She winced, almost as if in pain, pinching her lip between her teeth in a bid to hold back, but he knew she was lost to pleasure. For the moment at least, she was quietly waiting for him to decide when she could come.
He wasn't going to torture her for long, and truth be known, he couldn't. He was already dripping pre-cum, his shaft pulsing as it grew thicker with his urge to release. But she tasted so good, and he loved how copiously she creamed for him.
This he had to share. He rose and leaned over her, finding her mouth to give her a taste of her want. Hungrily she licked into his mouth, took the full force of his kiss as he mashed their moths together and roughly palmed her breasts. And with that, his restraint failed. He broke away, unzipped and was poised at her sex within seconds. Hot, ready and hard as steel. He wasn't going to last long, everything about this scene had him on fire, and to boot his wife was hot-as-fuck, and all but begging him to make her come.
Fuck yes, this was heaven, he thought with what little rational thoughts he had left as he slid his crown along the length of her lips. The music was suggestive, the beat echoed the tempo he was after, and his wife cried out, grating his name in a strained plea. "Christian!"
He needed no further encouragement, and with a practiced swivel of his hips, he thrust deep. "Jeez! Fuck!" He spat. She was already rippling around him, gripping him, her core muscles milking at him, and so damn slick.
She felt so fucking good he wished he could spend days buried inside her tight warmth. He bent his knees, altering the angle of his intrusion to hit her sweet spot, and she, in turn, immediately started thrashing her head from side to side. From her mouth spilled a series of noises, incoherent grunts as she climbed closer and closer to orgasm, and he was not far behind.
Watching her only made him stroke harder. To him, it was the hottest thing in the world. The sounds she made, her smells, the way her channel hugged him, and the way sex stripped her of every reserve. She was never as bare to him as she was in the moments she was coming, and she was coming now.
"Come for me, baby," he barked, gripping one of her beautifully bouncing breasts just as he rubbed quick circles on her clitoris with his fingertips. Everything around him tightened and he felt the shockwave of ecstasy travel down his spine, and through his shaft. His balls drew up, coiled with tension, and then released, lashing his sperm into her quivering depths.
"Fuuuuuucccckkkk," he growled, issuing a primal cry as they came together, euphoric in the mindless flash of mutual pleasure.
This was going to be a Valentine's day to remember….
Hanging By A Moment – Lifehouse
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