The Wedding Night Before Christmas

by Kati Wilde

  I open my eyes as the vehicle stops in front of a house festooned with Christmas decorations. Movement on the upper level of a detached garage draws my attention. Warmth twists in my belly as I recognize Caleb’s big form coming down the stairs, wearing the same black twill trousers and red flannel shirt under a heavy canvas coat that he wore to the tree lighting ceremony. He greets my driver by name before getting in and choosing the rear-facing seat across from mine.

  “A bigger car today,” he comments, leaning forward to briefly press his lips to mine. “Are we pulling out the stops for the Wyndhams?”

  “For my employees. All of my drivers are on call to take home anyone who isn’t sober enough to drive.” The door closes, leaving us in a cocoon of dark and quiet. “I hope you don’t mind if we keep the privacy screens up.”

  “I don’t,” he says softly. “Was the Christmas party too much? If it was, we can skip this dinner.”

  This whole day has been too much. But the dark isn’t just to settle my brain. It’s how I hide when I’m hurting, too.

  I don’t want to say any of that, so I simply tell him, “Dinner will be fine. And there’s a Christmas present for you on the seat over there.”

  “You shouldn’t—”

  “It’s not from me.” I know he doesn’t want anything from me. That was made clear today, too. “It’s from Jeremy and Jessica. They didn’t think you had time to shop for an ugly sweater for tomorrow, so they picked up one for you.”

  “Ah, shit. That’s good of them. But they shouldn’t have done that.”

  “They like you. And they enjoy giving things to people they like.” Just as I do.

  “Yeah, but I was thinking we shouldn’t even go to that party.”

  Patrick’s ugly sweater party? “Why?”

  “Because the wedding’s only two days after that. I’m sure both of us have tons of other shit to do.”

  “Not according to my calendar.” And if I needed time to accomplish something, I’d schedule time for it. “Is there something else you need to do? Or you just don’t want to go?”

  Frustration roughens his response. “I’m just thinking it would be better if we didn’t.”

  “Oh.” My throat suddenly closes up. Tight, so tight. Because it suddenly occurs to me why he doesn’t want to go. Or rather, doesn’t want me to go. My voice is a jagged whisper as I ask, “Are you afraid I’ll be a rude snob to your friends again?”

  “What? No. Fuck no. That doesn’t worry me at all.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because of this, baby. Because you just got out of a party and you’re sitting here in the dark. And it’s not all ugly sweaters. There’s going to be a fuckton of people, they’re all going to be loud and drunk, they’ll have music blasting in one room and probably playing a Die Hard marathon at full volume in another room, and they’ll all be trying to grab you and hug you and shake your hand while congratulating us.”

  “I like Die Hard,” I snap before tapping on the overhead light, trying to control the emotions suddenly raging inside me.

  Sitting across from me, Caleb blinks a few times, then his brows lower in a dark frown. “Are you pissed off?”

  Partly pissed off. Partly touched. Mostly thinking that I never want this to happen again.

  In a tight voice I tell him, “I appreciate your concern. I do. But you need to understand that I don’t accept invitations because I think it’s a polite thing to do, or because I feel an obligation to go. I only do what I want to do—and this party sounded fun. I also expect the noise and music, and if I thought I wouldn’t enjoy myself or be okay, I wouldn’t go. As it is, the worst that will happen is that I space out or have to find a dark room for a while. And those aren’t such bad things.”

  “They aren’t bad things at all.” His eyes close and he gives a heavy sigh, dragging his hand through his hair. “All right. I was just—”

  “I know what you were just. You were trying to protect me. And I like very much that you are thinking of me, Caleb. I truly do. But please do not ever think for me.”

  His jaw clenches but he gives a tight nod. “But you’ll tell me if you need me, or if it’s too much.”

  That, I can give him. “I’ll tell you if I need you.”

  “And I live right over Patrick’s garage—so if you have to escape, I’ll keep it open for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He groans. “Don’t thank me, baby. It’s the least I can do. But while we’re at it, is there anything else you want to get off your chest?”

  I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to at all. But my eyes suddenly burn, my throat thickens with tears, and it bursts out. “I didn’t know it was a gimmick.”

  Caleb goes utterly still. “Audrey—”

  “And I feel like such a foolish dipshit!”

  His expression hardens. Instantly he leans forward, catching my hands. His gaze locks on mine. “First of all,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, “you are the smartest person I’ve ever met. Hands down. No fucking question. The most brilliant. So you don’t ever think or feel like that. And second of all…” His voice suddenly hoarsens. “I can’t say I’m sorry for doing it. I’m so damn sorry it’s making you feel like this. But if I only asked you to be a business partner, then I wouldn’t be here with you now. I wouldn’t know what your pussy tastes like and wouldn’t be jacking off every fucking day while picturing you under me on our wedding night. If I hadn’t asked for the whole damn pie instead of a single slice, I wouldn’t be marrying you in three days. So if I said I was sorry that I went into your office with a marriage proposal that I never believed you’d accept, it’d be a lie.”

  I swallow past the thick lump in my throat. “So your only lie was the first one?”

  “Yes. Except it’s not a lie anymore.”

  Because he wants to marry me. Maybe not forever. But for now. And despite all this pain and uncertainty…I also know that I love him. I know I’ll hurt even more when I eventually have to let him go.

  Fortunately that won’t be today.

  A ragged breath shudders from me. And another. Then I ask, “You jack off every day?”

  A short laugh escapes him, as if that was the last thing he expected me to say. “Every day since I met you.”

  “Why don’t you do it with me?” I only get to touch him above the waist or through his jeans.

  “Because I’m keeping my pants on with you. But I usually come while I’m eating your pussy, anyway. I’ve done a hell of a lot of laundry this week.”

  “I haven’t done any,” I say and as he grins in response, I demand quietly, “Show me.”

  His fingers tighten on mine. Heat flares through his gaze. “My laundry?”

  “I want to watch you jack off.”

  His breathing deepens. “We’re only about five minutes away from the Wyndham estate.”

  Not enough time. “Then we’ll save that for the trip back. But I want to see you now.”

  “Me?” His voice roughens. “Or my dick?”

  “Both,” I whisper huskily. “I want to look at you—and the big cock that I’ve felt against me but never seen.”

  His eyes darken. “Say all that again, Audrey. And then tell me you want my long, thick cock balls-deep inside your tight little cunt.”

  Is that what he wants to hear? But I want something, too, and negotiating is an activity that I do very, very well. “Maybe I’ll tell you after you show me.”

  “Oh fuck,” he groans and leans back, sliding down a little in the seat and unbuckling his belt. “You’re such a hot tease.”

  “I’m not the one holding out until the wedding.”

  A tortured laugh shakes through him. “Trust me when I say that I’d do any damn thing to make Christmas come earlier this year.”

  Me, too. But I don’t think he expects a response, and I can’t give one anyway as he unzips and drags his erection free, his fingers wrapped around the base. The heavily veined shaft that juts up through his fist is crow
ned by a broad, flared head—and all of that is going to be inside me. My inner muscles clench almost painfully hard. I make a needy sound low in my throat, aware of his burning stare locked on my face, but I can’t look away from his massive length.

  “It’s fatter than I thought,” I whisper. The shaft is even thicker than the wide tip. As his fist strokes upward, his fingers tighten near the head. “And a little longer.”

  “The perfect size to fill you all the way up.” His voice is taut with strain. “The perfect size to make you feel so damn good.”

  “Yes,” I agree breathlessly, because I don’t know what size is right but simply looking at it makes me feel so good. Because every rigid inch is evidence of his desire.

  His desire for me.

  “If we were married, you could climb up on me right here and…” His fist slowly drags down his length as if to demonstrate the way my pussy would take him in. “Or you could turn around in that seat and I’d get up behind you, fuck you so deep and hard.”

  Oh god. He demonstrates that, too, with his fist jerking up and down his shaft, rough and fast—before slowing, slowing.

  “But on our wedding night”—his breathing is heavy, harsh—“I’ll be so gentle. Because I want you so goddamn bad but I’ll never hurt you. So I’ll slowly ease into your hot little cunt when I open you up for the first time.”

  Thighs clenched tight, I squirm in my seat, my pussy drowning in molten heat. “Caleb,” I gasp.

  “You want that, baby? Then you tell me. I showed you the goods, so you tell me how bad you want this big cock inside you.”

  I’m not done negotiating. “Only if I taste it first.”

  “Christ help me,” he groans, his eyes closing. They open again when I slide out of my seat and kneel in front of him. “Audrey. Baby. Your mouth looks so goddamn fuckable. You’re killing me.”

  Not any worse than he’s killed me this past week. Softly I say, “Please, Caleb. I want it so much.”

  “Ah, fuck. Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to resist that? All right, then.” His voice suddenly hardens as if he’s steeling himself. Gripping his cock just below the crown, he angles the ruddy head toward my lips. “You lick away that little drop right there. That’ll give you a taste.”

  The pearly bead of semen that decorates the fat tip. More evidence of his need for me. Eagerly I lean forward to sip away the drop.

  But it’s all over too fast. I barely process all the sensations coming at me. The salty flavor. His harsh curse and the small, involuntary jerk of his hips. The taut, slick skin beneath my tongue. His heat and my own arousal, the deep throb in response to it all. And foolishly, I closed my eyes, as if I were kissing his cock. So I didn’t witness his reaction.

  I look up at him now and see the strain visible across his face. My voice thick with hunger, I request, “One more?”

  Jaw clenched, he gives a tight nod. “Just one,” he rasps.

  But he doesn’t specify how long that taste can last. And this time I keep my gaze on him, just like he does when I’m so close to coming and his mouth closes over my clit, when he begins to suckle and lick and I can’t see what he’s doing but I can feel all of it—and he never looks away from me all the while.

  Now I know why. Because I do the same, closing my lips over the head of his cock, sucking and licking and watching as agonizing pleasure overtakes Caleb’s expression. I’m doing that do him. Making his teeth grit on a tortured moan and his head fall back. Making his fingers convulsively tighten around his shaft. Making the heavy muscles in his thighs tremble before stiffening.

  I swirl my tongue and his breath hisses through his teeth. The tendons in his neck stand in sharp relief before he lowers his head again, gaze locking with mine. His dark eyes gleam with need, an aroused flush reddening the skin above the hollows of his cheeks. For an instant, his left hand hovers above my hair—whether to push my mouth down farther or to pull me off of him, I don’t know. Then his hand clenches into a fist and drops to his thigh.

  With another groan, he begins stroking his shaft with his right hand. “Fucking hell, I can’t stop this. Your mouth feels too goddamn good.”

  I try to make it better, sucking harder. His curled fingers rhythmically bump against my lips, wrapped around the flared rim, and when I frantically rub my tongue along the underside of his cock head, that rhythm suddenly increases. His breath shudders before he drags in another, his broad chest heaving.

  “Baby— Ah fuck.” His head bows, lips drawing back in a grimace. The clenched fist on his thigh opens and convulsively closes again even as his right hand pumps faster and faster. “You’ve gotta stop— Holy shit, I can’t… I’m gonna— Audrey, ah fuck, fuck—”

  On a harsh grunt he curls forward before his entire body turns to iron—except his cock, which throbs beneath my tongue as his salty release fills my mouth. He’s absolutely beautiful as he comes, his features flushed and taut, his eyes glazed and unseeing. With awe expanding in my chest, I watch the orgasm overtake him.

  Immediately I want to make him come again, to witness this one more time. And although my body is on fire, my pussy aching, I feel utterly content in this moment, knowing I’ve just given him the same ecstasy that he’s given to me over and over again. If Caleb felt even half this satisfied after making me come, then it’s no wonder he was able to keep his jeans on. I would love to fulfill my own need right now, but it’s only physical desire. Emotionally…I feel completely sated. And so pleased.

  Swallowing a mouthful of cum is an effort, but as soon as I manage it, I grin up at him. “No laundry this time.”

  He chokes on a laugh and catches my face in his hands, hauling me forward. His mouth captures mine in a hot, deep kiss that ends far too soon, with Caleb resting his forehead against mine, his breathing still ragged. “Christ, I’ve never gotten off so fast. But the sight of your lips wrapped around my dick, and the way you were looking up at me… It was too fucking much. Now you say it.”

  Against his mouth, I murmur, “I want your long, thick cock deep inside me.”

  Gruffly he asks, “You want this cock enough to marry me?”

  If that was the only thing I wanted…? I still would. “Yes.”

  That earns me another kiss before he pulls away. “You’ll get it, baby. Just three more days. You’ll be a virgin for our wedding but I’ll be taking your sweet little cherry about two seconds afterward. We’re going to shock all the guests.”

  I laugh, but then a tiny worm of uncertainty wriggles under my skin. Because…I’m a virgin. I don’t think of myself that way very often, because it’s a label I don’t put any real stock into. I don’t think it matters much to Caleb either—aside from his planning to be gentle that first time.

  Because it’s supposed to hurt.

  “You okay, Audrey?”

  “Yes.” I can think about my virginity later. The car is slowing, so I quickly return to my seat and reach under my skirt to peel off my drenched underwear. A few tissues take care of most of the wetness, then I snag a new pair of panties from the small bag of toiletries I brought with me. I slip them on and smooth my skirt down.

  Caleb watches the whole process with his expression showing a combination of lust and bemusement. “You came prepared with dry underwear?”

  “Of course. You keep making me wet. So I have a new ‘Caleb keeps making me wet’ kit. Do you need to wait a few minutes?” I gesture to his cock, which he’s shoving back into his pants—still partially erect. “That looks painful.”

  “Meeting the Wyndhams will shrivel it.”

  “If I had one, it wouldn’t shrivel.” Not after what Bradford told us today regarding his investigator’s findings. “Instead I’d be rock hard with anticipation and ready to spew loads of spite all over them.”

  When my driver opens the door, Caleb’s still laughing so hard he staggers getting out. Then he staggers a little more—but this time it’s because he got his first look at the mansion, I realize.

  “Holy shit,” he
breathes. “I thought it would be like the Bennet House.”

  Which is Neoclassical in style, whereas the Wyndham mansion is a dramatic Gothic structure of gray stone, with steep gables and gargoyle-studded towers and forty thousand square feet of living space.

  Still appearing slightly stunned, Caleb glances at me. “You were going to buy this thing?”

  I shrug. “It’s not to my personal taste, but I thought students would like it.”

  “Were you going to build a Quidditch stadium, too?”

  “Don’t tempt me. I’m a Slytherin, by the way.” And I bet he’s full-on Hufflepuff. I take his hand as we head for the front door. “So are you changing your mind about selling it?”

  He shakes his head. “If I kept it, I’d burn the fucking thing to the ground.”

  The large arched door is opened before we reach it, but not by one of the Wyndhams. Instead I recognize Mr. Ferry, Eleanor’s butler. Attired in a crisp black suit, the elderly gentleman first greets me and welcomes me back to the mansion before turning to Caleb.

  “Mr. Moore, I believe that I speak for the entirety of the staff when I say how very pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” He bows slightly, inclining his head. “I am David Ferry, and I am at your service.”

  “The staff. Shit,” Caleb mutters under his breath before reaching out and shaking the man’s hand. “Good to meet you. We’re here to see the Wyndhams.”

  “Yes, sir. They await you in the drawing room.”

  “The drawing room. Great.”

  Ferry’s lips quirk. With a sweep of his arm, he ushers us inside and begins showing us down a long hallway. “If I may be so bold, sir—I had the pleasure of knowing your mother for a short time. We were all quite shaken by what befell her.”

  Caleb’s reply holds the same raw edge that always deepens his voice when he speaks of his mother. “She only had good things to say about all of you. Especially the housekeeper, Mrs…?”

  “Mitchell,” Ferry supplies.

  “That’s right. Mrs. Mitchell made sure my mother had a place to stay when she was trying to get back on her feet. Is she still around?”