by K. Bromberg
Her eyes flicker down to where green frosting is coating my chin and then back up to my eyes. She fights the smile on her lips when I raise my eyebrows in a silent warning. “You want to play dirty now, do you?”
The smirk she was fighting is now full blown as she keeps her eyes locked on mine when she leans forward to lick the frosting off of my chin. I swear to God the tip of her tongue is like an open ended livewire because fuck if an electric shock doesn’t mainline straight down to my dick and then streak back up to jumpstart my heart.
She finishes her tantilization by sucking gently on my chin. “There was some right there,” she murmurs. “I’m just trying to play clean.”
I laugh softly, my cock now thick and ready against her abdomen. Thoughts of wiping the counter clean in one fell swoop so I can have my way with her fill my head again. If she keeps this shit up, it’s going to be more than just a thought.
“Sweetheart, that right there was playing dirty...” She starts to argue with me, but I cut the words off by kissing her again. The frosting on her tongue and the simple taste of her sears my goddamn memory and what feels like my balls from the ache it creates there. Just when I have her where I want her – sinking into me, lips taking, and tongue demanding – I pull back and reach for the paintbrush covered in frosting.
“What?” She feigns innocence as those pursed lips of hers fall open in the shape of an O. And hell if my dick isn’t begging to put the space between them to good use right now.
Before she can comprehend what I’m doing, I have the neckline of her cami-tank pulled down, and sweet Jesus, I was right. No bra. The sight of her pink nipples has every part of my body begging to take her hard and fast. And then that sound - her shocked gasp when I take the brush and paint frosting around her nipple – only serves to intensify that slow, sweet ache I have to take her.
After admiring my handiwork, I flick my eyes back up to hers to find them wide and hazy with need. “See, you’re dirty now too.” I smirk. “Makes it a hell of a lot easier to slide into home plate when you don’t mind a mess.”
“Is that your master plan, huh? This woman has cookies that will burn if —oh God…” she moans as I close my lips over her nipple and gently suck on it, the frosting a nice addition to her already addictive flavor. She part moans, part sighs as I suck a little harder, causing her hands to grab my hair.
“Let the cookies burn,” I say and fuck if the immediate nod of her head isn’t more of a turn on than her tight peak in my mouth. The fact that she wants me just as badly as I do her fuels my desire.
She watches as I paint her other breast. This time I make a production of it despite my body being on edge – want and need crashing into each other. My tongue over frosting. Her fingers in my hair. The heat of her skin on my lips. Christmas cookies only come once a year so I might as well make the most of it.
The banging on the front door startles the hell out of us.
“What the fuck?” I bark as I stand up. Rylee pulls me in to her, tells me to ignore the distraction, and fuck, I’m more than game. No one’s going to stop me from hitting this homerun. We dive back in to our addictive desire with mouths and tongues and her bare chest pressing against mine.
The pounding starts again. “Go away!” I shout in frustration just as Rylee releases me. “No,” I groan against her ear, desperate for more.
“Dude, why’s your door fucking locked?”
Rylee and I lock eyes when we hear Becks’s muted voice. “Go away, Daniels. I’m trying to get laid!”
Rylee laughs and fists a hand in my shirt to pull me in for a chaste kiss before pushing me away. “See what he needs and then you better get your big stick ready because I’m expecting a grand slam, rookie.” She raises her eyebrows in a silent taunt as she lifts her chin for me to get the door.
Rookie? Bullshit. I start to correct her, tell her I’m far from that, but the words get lost in the sight of her stuffing her tits back into her top. She can call me whatever the fuck she wants as long as she’s moaning my name later.
“Yes ma’am,” I say as I adjust my dick in my pants and then yank open the front door. “Dude, you really know how to kill a boner don’t you? You better make this quick because we’re playing baseball here.”
Becks looks at me, confusion on his face, but the quick moment of silence allows me to realize that something’s wrong. His usual smirk and smart ass greeting are missing.
“You look like shit. Must be a woman who has your panties in a bunch. Who is she?” I have to tease him. This is our thing, harassing the shit out each other instead of having some Kumbaya session.
His silence tells me I’m right. It’s woman trouble. And now I’m even more curious. Who the hell has knocked Daniels on his ass while we were on our honeymoon?
Ignoring my question, he glances over my shoulder and nods his head at Ry. No smile. No quip. Something’s definitely up. Fuck. The best friend in me wants to invite him in and the selfish, horny bastard in me doesn’t want to. I glance over my shoulder to where Rylee’s wet and frosted and waiting for me. She meets my gaze. I can see the concern in hers over Becks and that I should deal with him first. But shit, there’s that smudge of green frosting on her collarbone calling to me. Sweet Christ. Am I really picking friend duty over sex?
“This better be good, Daniels, because you’re causing a rain delay in my game,” I say as I step back for him to come inside.
Rylee disappears from sight as we walk into the family room. “So what gives, man? Who’s the woman who’s fucking you up?” I ask, never expecting in a million years the answer he gives.
“Haddie Montgomery.”
1 Year Later
“I’M SO CONFUSED…INTRIGUED…TURNED on,” Colton says as I lead him by the hand through the tunnel. And the way he says it – half groan, half plea – causes that sweet pang of desire to stir in my core.
“Considering turning you on isn’t very hard to do…” I let the words trail off as his chuckle fills the night around us. Anxiety over all of the details dissipates when I see the blanket laid out with the picnic basket on it. My contacts have done their jobs. Everything else is up to me.
“Don’t you dare lift that blindfold, Ace!” I slap his hand away hoping that all of this was worth it: The surprise private flight, the blindfold I put on him before we landed so that he wouldn’t recognize our location, the mindless chatter to distract him as we walked into the facility.
“So if I leave it on, do I get sexual favors for obeying?” he asks, hope laced with suggestion in his tone.
“You just might get all kinds of favors if you’re lucky,” I taunt. His hand is still in mine but my feet falter when they hit the asphalt track and take in this iconic facility. Even under the cover of night, its enormity looms all around us. Our only company is a single light tree turned on at the opposite end of the grandstand and Sammy keeping guard at the entrance.
I stare at the empty speedway and then back to Colton. For a split second I’m reminded of that night back at the track in Fontana a little over two years ago. When he relieved the burdens on his soul he’d spent a lifetime carrying and let me completely into his life. The poignancy is not lost on me that I’m taking him to a similar setting to celebrate our first wedding anniversary.
“Almost there,” I murmur as I shake away visions from that night, grateful for the journey we’ve been on and the happiness we’ve found.
“I can tell we’re outside, the ground is hard…all I’m going to say is that there better not be a hundred people in front of us waiting to shout surprise, sweetheart, because when I think of a blindfold and you in the same sentence, it brings certain activities or rather positions, to mind and I sure as hell don’t think you’d appreciate having an audience while we play out that scenario. Then again…you might like having someone watch.”
“Just come here and shush.” Men. I roll my eyes and put my hands on his shoulders to position him perfectly: body squared to the asphalt stretch laid out
“Bossy, bossy,” he mutters under his breath.
Hours of preparation, secrecy, and anticipation lead up to this moment. He’s helped me find myself, lose myself again with him by my side, given me confidence, made me feel sexy…and whole – something I never thought I’d be again. My love surges as I lean forward and press a kiss to the back of his neck. When he doesn’t flinch, a soft smile forms on my lips.
“I wanted to do something special for you for our first anniversary,” I explain as all of a sudden my nerves begin to hum as I step to his side. I can’t wait to see his reaction.
“Ry…” I love when that tender tone comes into his voice, the one reserved only for me.
“You can look now.”
His trademark smirk returns and then falls into a shocked O as he lifts the blindfold. My heart skips over a beat in excitement as surprise flickers over his features.
“What? Is this…? Holy shit, Ry!” he exclaims as he takes in the sight around us: the famed Indianapolis speedway and its start/finish line delineated in bricks beneath us. I wonder how it looks through his eyes. Is the track still a place where he finds consolation to outrun the demons of his past or is it now a path to a brighter future where he can enjoy the wind in his face instead of worrying about the ghosts that linger?
“Surprise!” I hold my hands out to my sides and shrug, tears burning the back of my eyes. Colton swoops me up in his arms and spins me around, his laugh echoing around us.
His lips find mine causing that instant chemistry we always have to spark to life. I can tell he’s torn between prolonging our kiss and stopping to ask questions. I don’t make him choose. I pull back so that I can explain but he stops me.
“No. Not yet. Give me a minute,” he murmurs against my lips as he rests his forehead against mine and pulls me in closer.
After a few moments of silence, he kisses my nose and then slowly releases me so that my body can slide down the length of his. That spark? It turns into a full-blown wildfire at the feel of his chest, hard and strong, against my breasts.
“Ry…?” he says, voice gruff, fingers lacing with mine.
“What’s the one race you’ve yet to win?”
“The Indy 500,” he states, eyebrows narrowing as he tries to figure out where I’m going with this.
I take a few steps away, the coy smirk on my face unmistakable. “You mean you’ve never claimed the checkered flag here?”
“No.” He angles his head to the side and stares. I can tell he’s working this all out, thinks he knows where I’m going with it, but doesn’t believe I’d step outside of the box and do something like this.
Time to prove him wrong.
Taking another step toward the blanket, I begin to unbutton the top of my dress. His eyes widen. His breath hitches. His fingers fidget to reach out and touch. And even after a year of marriage, I love that offering myself to him still causes this reaction. It’s powerful. Heady. Comforting.
“Well…” I bite my bottom lip and shrug out of my dress so it can slide down my body and pool at my feet. “I’m giving you an opportunity to claim it. Right now.”
His eyes scrape over the sultry combination of lace and leather I’ve been hiding beneath my dress. His lips part in disbelief before slowly spreading into that I’m-going-to-claim-that-checkered-flag smirk of his that makes my stomach somersault. When he steps toward me, I’m able to see so many things in his eyes through the darkness: surprise, amusement, acceptance, and desire.
But the one emotion I recognize more than any other is the one thing he thought he could never give anyone: love. And that warms me more than anything as the arrogant, bad boy I fell in love with walks toward me with a swagger that says he’s going to claim what’s his.
“Fuckin’ A, Ry…” he groans as he takes another look at my ensemble before reaching out and yanking my body against his. Our lips are inches apart, our bodies breathing as one, and our hearts pound against each other’s.
“You gonna claim this checkered flag, Ace?” I raise my eyebrows to taunt him all the while every nerve in my body is attuned to everything about him: his cologne, the hitch of his breath, the widening of his eyes as they grow hazy with desire, and the unmistakable feeling of his dick hardening against me.
“Baby, I was born to claim it.” I catch a glimpse of his smirk a heartbeat before his mouth slants over mine. Our tongues intertwine in a savage union of lust and want, desire and greed, and I know there’s no turning back. Hands roam like we are touching for the first time, fingertips digging possessively into flesh, and it’s still not enough - will never be - because everything I feel for my husband intensifies with each passing day.
And by the way he’s kissing me, I know he feels the same. He nips my lip and pulls on it softly as he leans back, need in his eyes and my name a strained sound on his lips when his fingers dip between my thighs to find out that my panties are crotchless.
“Happy first anniversary.”
“Fuck!” he groans. “You trying to get me to rip these off of you?” He asks as his fingers slide along the seam of my sex. And now it’s my turn for my breath to stutter from the expertise of his touch, and the anticipation that he knows what my body needs without having to say a single word.
“Fucking is the point. And the panties?” I say, my breath hitching when he slides his finders back and forth coating them with my own arousal, teasing my clit with a hint of touch before moving back down. “They save you from ripping them off of me.” On the last slide up and down, he tucks his fingers into me. My fingernails score his shoulders as I hold tight and let the sensation swamp me when
We both groan. My muscles contract around him in response causing every interior nerve to engage. The night around us fills with the sounds of my moans and his hushed praise as he works his fingers in and out of me.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against the skin of my shoulder The warmth of his breath causes goose bumps to race over my skin despite the heated fever pitch he’s working my body into. “I’m gonna make you come…then I’m gonna lay you down, fuck you hard and fast because you – this – right now – has me so fucking turned on…but after…later…I’ll make it up to you. I’ll slide my tongue in your pussy, flick it over your clit until you come so hard your muscles will be sore tomorrow from it.”
His words, his actions, the here and now – all three of them drive me faster to the edge. “Colton,” I pant as I buck my hips into his hands, taking what I want, getting what I need. And what I need is more.
“Almost there.” He changes the angle, adjusts the pressure, and adds his thumb against my swollen clit. Within a minute that ball of white hot heat churning in my belly explodes into lightning bolts of pleasure, surging out to my limbs before retracing their steps right back to the apex of my thighs with a pleasure so intense it bears on painful.
Still lost in my post-orgasmic high, I don’t realize he’s supporting my sagging yet sated body until he withdraws his fingers from me and steps back. My legs are unsteady but I get lost in the devilish smirk on his lips when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. There is something so damn hot about the action but it’s the words he says next that are even sexier.
“My turn.” He unfastens his pants, pulls down the zipper, and frees his dick. I lick my lips in reflex as he runs his hand up and back over its length. He’s a striking picture standing there so devastatingly handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders looking so much like the bad boy I never wanted but now can’t imagine living without. My heart swells in my chest. And then of course when he strokes himself and lets his head fall back so I can watch, I’m seriously turned on.
Like that’s not hard to be when it comes to Colton.
He lifts his head back up, emerald eyes blazing through the darkness. “Get on all fours,” he commands and my pussy clenches at the dominance in his tone. A part of me wants to challenge him, keep my control, but with my panties wet and body on fire for his touch, I obey. Ever so slowly, I turn my back to him, make a show of dropping to my knees, and crawl out onto my hands.
The carnal sound he emits deep in the back of his throat tells me he likes what he sees: my ass in the air, lace top stockings at mid thigh, and my face looking over my shoulder with a coy smile. Colton moves toward me, his teeth biting his bottom lip and his hungry eyes roam over the lines of my body as he drops to his knees.
His hands knead the flesh of my hips, fingers laced with intention and dick rubbing ever so softly at my opening. My lips fall lax at the sensation and I drop my head down to wait for the pleasure just within reach. I’m lost in that suspended state of anticipation when he surprises me by leaning over, his chest to my torso so he can scrape his stubbled chin against the bare curve of my shoulder.
“You blindfolded me, took the reins…mmm…it was fucking hot, Ry, but a man has to get his control back somehow...And I’m taking that control right now.” The deep timbre of his voice is strained - the sound of a man about to lose restraint – and the knowledge that I can do this to him, for him, still surprises me and turns me on.
“You want control?” I ask
His chuckle resonates as he runs his chin down the bare skin of my back. With one hand on my hip, he takes the other and runs the crest of his cock up and down my pussy to make sure I’m ready for him.
“Then take it, Ace.”
The words aren’t even out of my mouth before he enters me in one slick thrust. We both cry out from the sensation. My hips buck from that pleasurable burn that tells me he’s filling me to the edge of reason and from the knowledge of what’s coming next. Because God yes, I love the soft and slow with Colton but damn if I don’t like his hard and fast too. To know that I can push my husband to the brink, cause that animalistic urge to surface momentarily as he pistons into me is an extremely heady and satisfying feeling.
And no sooner than the thought passes through my desire laden mind, does he start the slow withdraw out before grinding back into me. That sweet ache of pleasure begins to simmer anew. The feel of his hands – one on my waist and the other on my shoulder holding me against him so that he can draw out every last sensation gives the whole act a sense of desperation.
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