Page 36 of The Spinster & the Sock

With a satisfied grin, he sits upright once more, his fingers deftly slipping beneath the stocking and rolling it down my leg slowly. Purposefully. His fingertips graze a trail down my skin until my bare limb rests against him.

Before he can say anything, I drop my leg off of his lap and promptly find my seat once more. “Next hand.”

In the following ten minutes, Blaze loses his final sock, and I torture him by forcing him to slip off my remaining stocking. The next loss, I have him unclasp my necklace.

Yet again, we play our hands, and he has won. “Do you have clips in your hair you will now make me remove?” His voice is thick with tension.

I shake my head slowly and lift my hands to extract my own pins. A waterfall of platinum curls tumbles over my shoulders, and I stand again, turning my back to him.

“I’m afraid I will still require your help, though.” While I can not see his face, the quick intake of breath is unmistakable. For a moment, I hear and feel nothing, my senses numbed with anticipation. I fix my attention on the hearth until, at last, warm fingertips brush against my shoulder, gently clearing a path through my hair to my tight laces. I recall his words.

This isn’t real.

But what I consider more is the way he calls me his wife with a conviction that can not be fabricated and called a ruse. I think about the last several nights, how his body curls protectively around mine. A conscious decision. And waking each morning thereafter to find him still behind me. And lying in bed, each reluctant to leave each other’s sides. I consider our habits, how we coexist so effortlessly, how our lives unify without any pain in accommodating one another, and how is that even remotely possible when one realizes logic and reason and science itself tells us we should not be together.

For in my world, he is not yet born, and in his world, I am long since dead.

Yet here we are. Our words say this isn’t real, so why does it feel like our hearts and our minds…and our bodies believe it to be very real indeed?

It is real even now when his arms coil around my middle, pulling me against him. It is real as he buries his face in my neck, pressing slow, warm kisses to my skin. And by god, it is real when his big hands move to my back, working the laces as carefully as an inexperienced man possibly can, until I fill my lungs with a full breath and the corset tumbles to the ground, leaving nothing but my thin chemise between my bare skin and his.

My heart pounds, and perhaps I should say something. Instead, I lean back against him and savor the trickle of his hands as they trace the edges of my body. First, both of my shoulders, trailing down my arms, and tangling momentarily with my fingertips. Then, my hips, meandering directionless across my belly and ever so slowly, making their way up, until at last, he warmly cups my breasts. I incline my head with an ecstatic gasp, longing suddenly for his kiss, and he obliges, pressing his lips to the corner of mine, then my cheek, and finally, the sensitive skin beneath my ear, where he whispers, “Do you want me to stop?”

A Man On His Knees

Blaze

My vision tunnels. The entire room could be on fire and I wouldn’t notice. I only have eyes for Jo and these perfect fucking tits in my hands.

“No, I don’t want you to stop. I want more,” Jo breathes.

Her heart pounds beneath my fingertips. I pull away from her, smiling as she whimpers, and turn her by the waist until she’s facing me. Like a rubber band, we come back together, firmly pressed against each other with the tips of our noses touching. Every breath she inhales drags her pert nipples across my chest, and fuck if I’m not seconds away from making a fool of myself by cumming in my boxers.

“If you change your mind,” I whisper against her lips, watching her eyes flutter shut, “at any point…” I breathe along her jaw. “...Tell me.” I kiss the base of her ear. “I will stop.” I kiss down her throat, backing her up so slowly that I don’t even think she realizes she’s moving. “You’re in control, wife. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Blaze. Yes, yes, yes.” Her hands rove across my skin, leaving chills in their wake. When the back of her legs meet the table, her eyes snap open, but I don’t leave her half a second to speak. My hands slide down from her waist to her thighs, and I crouch just enough to pick her up and place her on the wooden surface—cards and chips from our game completely forgotten.

I catch her gaze long enough to see she’s still with me, but I can’t help taking in the full picture. She looks like a goddess perched on her altar, and I intend to pray.

I drop to my knees.

Jo tracks my every movement with wide, colorless eyes as I hitch her leg over my shoulder and begin peppering kisses along the inside of her ankle.

“Have you ever touched yourself, wife?” I inquire between kisses, making a point of glancing between her legs so she doesn’t chastise me with, “However would I plait my hair otherwise?”

“Not in the way I suddenly wish you would,” she admits, attempting to hide behind her hand.

I hum and wait for her to look back at me. “Do you trust me, Josephine?” Zero hesitation—she nods and drops her hand back to the table. “When I vowed to take care of you, I meant it. Will you let me take care of you now?”

“Please, husband.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

I take my time and drown in her warmth and when her arms tremble and she can’t hold herself up anymore, I carry her to our bed.

She licks her lips, bliss glazing her eyes. “Do I need to play another hand, or would a simple please be enough to receive my proper introduction?” As if I could possibly not know what she means, she slides her palm over my aggressively tented boxers.

“You can have my soul if you ask. I will give you anything.” Fuck me. I mean that.