by Abby Knox
“Yes, Phillip, as long as I can fly my family here.”
The rain begins to fall harder, pelting his costly suit and shirt. I lean over and wipe the raindrops from his face, and he pulls me down for a kiss.
“How many?”
“Four sisters, my parents.”
“Four sisters! I’m in trouble.”
“Yes, you are, sir.”
“I don’t care; fly a hundred people here for the wedding. It’s a fucking castle.”
I nod. “An empty castle with no rugs or curtains or anything, I might add.”
“Will you help me with that, too?”
I nod, laughing.
“And will you help me fill this castle with babies?”
My whole body explodes with joy. “Yes,” I say.
“I mean, I want to start right now.”
The rain and wind pick up, and my hair is getting soaked. “Phillip, I wanted to have your babies since the first time I saw your face in my living room when I was seventeen.”
“But I have a condition,” he says, arching an eyebrow at me.
“Anything.”
I want you to be a good girl.”
“Yes, Daddy. Can we start now?”
“I want you to listen when I give you instructions.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And Chloe? You’re never to touch another stove or oven again.”
I laugh and grind him into the dirt. “Oh my golly, Daddy, don’t start dirty talk already; I’m gonna come way too soon!”
His thick hands grab my rump and squeeze tight. I yelp in surprise and laugh some more.
“I love you, darling.”
“I love you too. And I’m ready for the only daggum batter I’ve ever cared about.”
By the look on his face and the grip of his fingers bunching up my dress, I have a feeling we aren’t going to stop this tussling long enough to get out of the rain.
I’m so mad with lust I do not care.
If he has to pop my cherry in the rain, so be it.
Chapter Twelve
Phillip
* * *
There’s nothing in this world like kissing my Chloe in the rain.
I’m never going to stop kissing or petting my Chloe, not for the sake of weather, and certainly not for the sake of public decorum. Besides, no one is having a stroll in the rose garden in this weather. Probably.
“Yes. Now,” I say. “I’m not going to last a second longer, my little cinnamon bun.”
The rain falls harder. Chloe narrows her eyes and grinds her pelvis against me again.
This is not how I planned it. I hadn’t planned on a moment of unbridled passion sweeping us both into a frenzy of matted hair, mussed clothes, and wet skin. At least not before charming her in the paddling room with a hundred lit candles surrounding an enormous four-poster bed, strewn with rose petals, and a playlist of her favorite music.
All that will keep, for now. All that matters is Chloe. Here. Now.
We kiss until our lips are sore, as seems to be our habit. When the rain truly begins to pelt us, I quickly roll her under me, claiming my space between her legs. We frantically relieve my aching cock of its prison. Her sweet hands clasp around it, provoking a grunt of appreciation from me. Her touch is too soft, too tentative, and so I plunge my tongue into her mouth while I guide her hands up and down my shaft. I might get struck by lightning at this point, but at the moment, I don’t care because I can’t imagine anything more gorgeously electric than her touch.
In my passion, I roughly spread Chloe’s legs open. Coming to me free of knickers seems to be a fun habit of hers. I show her how wholeheartedly I approve of this no-knickers habit by swiftly introducing the tip of my shaft into her damp heat. All the while, her hands scramble for purchase, her eyes are wild, her teeth bear down on her lips.
“Relax your body, my love,” I whisper against her wet cheek. “Hold on to me if you need to hold on to something. Hold on to me and breathe.”
She takes my kiss, and I feel her tenseness let go. I ease my cock inside her bit by bit, then pause to watch her reaction as I stretch her out.
Her walls adjust to my girth, and I press in more.
“More, more,” she whines, arcing her hips.
Finally, I push past what’s left of her virginity, and she’s mine entirely. Her brows furrow with the brief sting of pain, and then her tense expression melts in relief. My body shudders with the perfection, the ecstasy of her tight channel.
“You have me. You have all of me,” she says.
I cradle her in my arms and thrust deeply and firmly. She is my home and no one else’s.
“That’s right, little girl. You belong to me now. You’re mine,” I growl.
The rain pounds against my back, ramping up our passion. My Chloe grabs onto me, her legs demanding I move inside her, filling her, claiming her.
The way her eyes never leave mine while I drive in and out of her is almost too much. Almost. Her unguarded soul chips away all my defenses. This woman has ruined me. She sees right through me, perhaps always has been able to see through me, just as she says.
“All right, love?”
She nods, grabs my face, and kisses me through our bodies crashing together.
Now accustomed to my size, Chloe locks her ankles together at my lower back, demanding I move deeper, fiercer, faster. My wife loves this as much as I do, loves me as much as I love her. I’m utterly smitten with her sweet soul, and I’m never letting her out of my sight. That’s right; I’m calling her my wife because that’s what she is, and I don’t have to wait for a piece of paper to make it official.
My release seizes me, and I roar out her name. I pulse into her, marking my woman. Owning my wife.
“Fuck!” I cry as thunder crashes around us.
I don’t stop until she’s taken every last drop out of me, and we’re both thoroughly fucked. Not until then do I fully realize the danger. As much as I’d love nothing more than to do a hundred more rounds of what we’ve just done, I’m reasonably sure a tree has fallen somewhere nearby, and if I don’t get my girl out of the rain this second, both of us could die.
What a way to go that would be.
Chapter Thirteen
Chloe
* * *
Sun shining and little birds chirping wake me the following day, along with a sultry tongue gently teasing between my legs.
A smile crosses my lips when I realize I’m waking up with a man in my bed.
No more waking up alone for me, I think to myself, contentedly.
The next fact I absorb as I wake up is I’m in Phillip’s bed—our bed.
Last night, in the rainstorm in the rose garden, Phillip made all my dreams come true, far beyond what I imagined my first time to be. And now, my soon-to-be husband is gifting me with yet another first.
I lift the sheet and look down my body. I gasp. Watching it is ten times more erotic than in my imagination.
He stops his ministrations and looks up at me. “Good morning, poppet.” He winks at me from between my thighs. Because this man never passes up an opportunity to shock me, his masculine hands spread my thighs wide, and he dips one finger inside my cunt. My face goes slack; I’m dumbfounded watching him pull it out again and pop it into his mouth.
“Oh…my,” I breathe.
“Your baking isn’t the best, but your nethers, on the other hand. Grand prize. Best in show, darling.”
I could be offended, but I’m not. I’ve said exactly that about my baking, so I don’t give a hoot.
How could I be outraged when this man’s multi-talented mouth is currently giving me the ride of my life?
Now that I’m awake, he’s pleasuring me with far more gusto. I appreciate him waking me up gently, but now it’s no-holds-barred. The heat and desire from his adventurous tongue sets off shivers all over my body. My hips arc into his face involuntarily. Does this extraordinary, wonderful man know he’s going to make an unquenchable maniac out
of me?
The warm licks, gentle nips, and nudging lips build my pleasure so fast and so hot, I can barely find words. But I have to try. “You’re setting a terrible precedent, you know. I’m going to demand that you wake me like this every morning.”
The filthy noise his mouth makes stops for a moment, and he looks up at me again, his face shining in my juice. I almost cannot handle how much this makes my toes curl with shock and arousal.
“Fair exchange. I’ll bring the bread; you bring the box.”
I gasp. “You’re a filthy, naughty man. I ought to bend you over my knee and…oh my god…Phillip, what are you…oh my…”
I slide into a nonverbal stupor because he’s done it now. Sucked my clit into his mouth and made my body react in a sudden, powerful, mind-numbing orgasm. I shout and spasm, feeling like I might levitate off the bed.
My screams fall silent as I release, my body pulsating, cascading into blissful nothingness.
His sinful mouth refuses to relent, pushing me onward until I’m coming so hard, so many times, I fear I might break in half, and my soul might fly away.
Phillip may be a wicked boy, but his care with me is as impeccable as his baking.
He’s there to catch me when I fall back into the real world.
“Thank you, my darling, my sweet Chloe.”
“Hmm?” My eyes close as he gently tosses me on my side and spoons up behind me, kissing me up and down my neck and shoulder.
“You absolute wrecking ball of rainbows, thank you.”
I feel like a mid-morning cat-nap is in order. We can plan the wedding later.
“Oh, wait,” I say, turning toward him, letting his lips catch me in a kiss. “I never heard how my cake turned out. Did I win?”
He winks at me. “It was perfect. You won.”
I giggle. “No, I didn’t.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But don’t worry. I think you got what you came here for.”
I so did.
Epilogue
Five years later
* * *
Chloe
* * *
“Have some Christmas cake.”
I laugh because he must be joking. I’ve seen how this fruitcake thing is made, and it does not look at all appetizing to me. Phillip, my loving baker husband, makes every Christmas morning special with an array of sweets for me to enjoy while we watch the children unwrap gifts. The fruity and pungent Christmas cake is the only thing that looks, to me, uninviting. He does this every year, and every year I refuse.
“No, thank you.”
He’s explained to me again and again that it’s a Christmas family tradition.
I do not care. I’m not eating that brandy-filled piece of sludge that looks like a rotted tree log.
“I insist you at least try it.” He sips his tea as the children scramble around the Christmas tree, squealing over their new presents. Katie and Rufus are already firing up a new video game. My parents. sisters and a brother-in-law are all milling around, adoring their gifts, enjoying their spiked coffee, and casually watching a holiday movie. Dad keeps asking to re-watch my episode on Phillip’s baking show, but my sisters keep shooting down that idea. My understanding is the American episode remains one of the most streamed episodes of the show ever. My biggest internet accomplishment, though, is becoming a GIF. Phillip’s on-screen reaction to my infamous baguette creation has endured, and I feel like that is something to be proud of.
As for my comedy career, it’s gone slightly better than my baking. Not going to lie, my ties to the popular show has opened many doors for me among London comedy clubs. My “tight five” has expanded into a full forty-minute set—how could it not, when I live with such great source material? Of course, I’m under strict instructions not to talk about Phillip in my stand-up routine, but try telling that to the producers from the streaming service who want to make produce my special. However, every time I break Phillip’s strict instructions with some good-natured ribbing, I get to go to the paddling room. So, obviously, I joke about Phillip a lot.
At this moment, I’m not joking about Christmas cake. Jutting my chin out, I refuse once again. “I said no thank you, sweetie.”
“Is that any example to set for our children?” He leans over and sets the tea down on the coffee table.
I arch my eyebrow at him. “They aren’t paying us any attention today, not with the way you’ve showered them with presents.”
The rolling up of his dressing gown sleeves is slow and deliberate, revealing to me his thick forearms, carved from a lifetime of kneading dough. Planting his elbows on his knees, he shoots me his most severe expression that still makes amateur bakers’ eyelids twitch in nervousness. I know what’s coming. “Listen to me; you’re going to try that fruitcake or suffer the consequences.”
I know what he’s doing, and I’m not going to play this game. At least not exactly the way he wants me to. I might be a ball of sunshine, but I’ll always be a little bit of a brat.
“Fine,” I say, taking a tiny bite of the fruitcake. “Gross.” My shudder of revulsion causes my robe to fall open slightly.
He dabs his upper lip as his eyes fall to my chest. “That recipe has been in my family for hundreds of years,” he warns.
“Then your family has no taste buds.”
He squints but doesn’t blink. “Surely, you can give me a more thoughtful review than that, Chloe.”
I sigh. “Fine. It tastes like someone sucked all the joy out of Christmas.”
He stands. “That’s it. Let’s go.”
I look around. “Now? On Christmas?”
He waves his arms. “You said yourself the children are too busy playing to be bothered with us. Let’s go.”
Every year, we try to play this game. Now that the children are a bit older—and my four sisters and parents are around if the children need something—we can successfully sneak off to the paddling room without notice. Usually, we have to wait until everyone’s in bed.
It might seem a little off-kilter to insist on a paddling every Christmas, but I think it’s important to keep up traditions.
As he unlocks and pushes the door open, he whirls me around with a deep, soul-affirming kiss.
“I love you, even if you insult my granny’s fruitcake.”
I smirk as I reach for the sofa, bending over and flipping up my bathrobe.
“Your granny’s shit at baking, Phillip, just like I am.”
“You earned yourself an extra paddle, my love.”
Whack!
Oh, golly, I hope so.
* * *
THE END
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Thank you for reading Judge Me. If you enjoyed this short story, please visit my website for links to my Amazon page where you can find lots more titles to read. Follow me there to keep up with my latest releases. Or, just say hello! Turn the page and find out where to track me down on social media and email, or sign up for my mailing list to be the first to know about upcoming projects.
About the Author
Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.
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