Page 11 of Mountain Man's Christmas Light
She swirled her tongue around the head, tasting the salt of me, before taking me deep, until I felt the back of her throat. Her hands cupped my balls, and the dual sensation was blinding.Pleasure, white-hot and electric, shot up my spine. The sounds were obscene—wet, sucking pulls, my own ragged breathing, her soft, satisfied hums that vibrated through me…
I was losing myself in the sensation, in the building pressure coiling tight in my gut. My fingers twisted in her hair, not pushing, just anchoring myself as her movements threatened to buckle my knees.
“Baby, stop… I’m going to…” I managed to choke out, my hips giving an involuntary jerk. “I want to be inside you when I come.”
She released me with a soft, wet pop, her lips swollen and gleaming. She looked up at me, her eyes dark with triumph and love.
“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked.
I helped her to her feet, taking a moment to admire her curves in the glow of all the lamplights in the room. Then I turned her, bending her gently over the table, her perfect ass pressed against my aching hardness. I kissed the freckles on her shoulder blade, my hands roaming her sides, her stomach, before I positioned myself at her entrance.
“Look,” I rasped in her ear, nodding toward the wall where our shadows, giant and intertwined, were cast by the lanterns. “I’m going to watch as I fuck my wife.”
I slid inside her in one smooth, devastating thrust, and a shared, punched-out groan filled the room. She was so wet, so impossibly tight, still clenching from her first climax. The feeling was absolute perfection. A homecoming. I buried myself to the hilt, pausing to just feel the connection, the way her body stretched to accommodate me, the way her inner muscles gripped me like a fist.
“You feel…you feel like heaven,” I gritted out, my voice strangled.
“You fill me up,” she moaned, pushing back against me. “God, Wade, fuck me. Please.”
I set a punishing rhythm, my hips slapping against her ass, the sound raw and animalistic in the quiet workshop. Every thrust was a claim, a promise, a prayer. I leaned over her, covering her body with mine, one hand braced on the table, the other sliding around to find her clit again.
“Come for me again,” I demanded, my mouth at her ear. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”
“Yes,” she hissed, her body beginning to tighten. “Right there… don’t stop…Wade.”
She came a second time, a silent scream on her lips as her body convulsed around me, milking me, pulling the orgasm from me with uncontrollable force. My own release followed, a blinding, soul-shattering wave that had my vision whiting out. I drove into her one last, deep time, my roar muffled against her shoulder as I spilled myself inside her, my entire body shuddering with the force of it.
We collapsed over the table, a sweaty, trembling heap of spent limbs. Our harsh breaths slowly evened out, syncing as they always did. The scent of sex and satisfaction hung heavy in the air, mingling with the familiar smells of her craft.
I nuzzled her neck, pressing a soft kiss there. “I love you,” I whispered, the words imbued with a depth that ten years together still couldn’t fully contain.
She turned her head, her lips finding mine in a tender, languid kiss. “I love you more.”
Eventually, I softened and slipped from her body. I helped her up, pulling her into my arms, not caring about the mess. We stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other, surrounded by the evidence of her passion—her art—and the evidence of ours.
Brielle rested her head on my chest, right over my heart. “This,” she said softly, her voice full of a wonder that never faded. “This is everything. This messy, loud, beautiful life we’ve built. This home. Our family.”
I held her tighter, my throat thick with emotion. I knew what she meant. The security wasn’t in the four walls around us, but in the unshakable foundation we’d built together. It was in the trust that had just been expressed so rawly on her worktable. It was in the laughter of our children, who were safe and loved by grandparents. It was in the shadow on the wall, proof that the wild, desperate love of two kids had grown roots, strong and deep enough to hold us forever.
She sighed, a contented, happy sound. “It’s everything I ever wanted.”
“Me too, baby,” I murmured into her hair, my heart so full I thought it might burst. “Me too.”
