by Dani René
Hank, the curious little fucker, jumps on the bed and curls up against her back. Evidently, he knows all about this cuddle shit and is a fan.
Hank may be a texture man . . .
But I’m a cuddle man, it would seem.
I smile at the fucking cat.
12
Cerys
I roll over in bed, reaching for James, but find his side of the bed cold. His side. I make it sound like he belongs there. As if he's spent night after night next to me, holding me. But it's not like that. Last night was the first time I ever fell asleep next to another human being in this bed.
Even when Saskia stays over, she has the guest room.
Attempting to ignore the ache in my chest, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pad into my en suite bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I glance in the mirror, noticing the bright red mark on my chest. Teeth marks. He really did mark me. But then he left.
Even though we didn't have sex last night, just falling asleep in his arms was something surreal. Never did I think I would ever be in this position. Falling for a man twice my age. Okay, more than twice my age. But it doesn't matter because even after our admissions last night, he left.
Once I’ve freshened up, I head toward the kitchen and am halted in my tracks when I find James dressed in only his black slacks and nothing else flipping pancakes. He doesn't see me as he moves around my kitchen as if he's always been there.
I can't help just watching him. Reveling in his happiness. It hangs around him like a cloud, light, fluffy, and white. Last night he seemed haunted, almost as if he was forever in darkness, and that's when I decided to drag him from it.
If I had to offer up whatever light he saw in me just to see him smile, I'd do it. He spins on his heel finding me staring at him. I'm dressed in just my floppy gray sweater and knee-high black-and-white striped socks.
"Good morning, sunshine," he offers with a lopsided grin that makes him look far younger than his forty-something years.
"I thought you'd left," I tell him, sliding over the laminate flooring and settling on one of the stools which stand at the counter.
"You made me dinner. The least I could do is cook you breakfast." He stacks two plates high with hot pancakes, syrup, and some fresh cream I didn't even know we had. "Your kitchen is a breeze to work."
"You work a kitchen?" I giggle as I take a bite of the pastry on my plate. Flavor bursts on my tongue, and I can't help moaning out loud.
"If you keep making those sounds, I'll be working you, sweet girl." He leans in, planting a kiss on my forehead. The gesture is sweet, almost romantic.
"I thought you weren't the romantic type?" I question in between mouthfuls of delicious pancakes dripping with sugary syrup and heavily whipped cream.
He glances at me then. A cloud of worry and darkness changes his carefree tone and attitude, and I'm afraid I've fucked it up. Silence stills us for a moment, but then, he offers a smile. "I wasn’t. Things change. Apparently, an old dog can learn new tricks." He chuckles. He fucking chuckles, and the sound fills my heart with happiness.
"So that makes me the owner, right?" I taunt, teasing him as I watch him inhale the breakfast on the plate. "Jesus, Stalker Darden. Better be careful learning all these new tricks. I might miss the grumpy old fucker who stole me from my apartment and took my virginity." My sassy remark earns me a hungry glare.
"Don't tempt me, love. I'll put you on this counter and eat that sweet little cunt next," he growls, rising from the stool and heading toward the coffee machine.
His promise is illicit and filthy, but my body is already responding in kind. Needy and achy. Who knew one good session of sex could turn me into a wanton slut. I'm turning into Saskia.
I watch him pouring two large mugs of freshly brewed java, deciding now is the time to tell him. "I told my best friend about you," I say in conversation.
He stiffens. "And?"
"She reckons you're just scared of feelings. Any normal man is apparently," I inform him, grabbing my mug from his offered hand and sipping the thick, dark liquid.
"I'm not normal, Cerys. I told you, there's so much you don't know about me." This time, he is serious. There's no longer the carefree fun from earlier.
"Then why don't you tell me. I'm not here to fix you, James, but I'd like to know who I'm falling for." The words tumble from my mouth involuntarily, and I immediately want to swallow them back in.
He flits his eyes to me. Shock present on his handsome face. His gaze roams mine, as if he's trying to ascertain if I'm lying or not. But I know for a fact I'm not. I am falling. Perhaps I've already fallen.
Immature.
Stupid.
"You're falling for me?" he questions, keeping his eyes on mine, searching, probing with only those dark orbs. They penetrate me more now than they ever did when we first met. They steal my words, grip my throat, and cause my heart to stutter.
"I think so."
"Cerys," he mutters, leaning closer so his face is in mine. Literally, he's all I can see. "I meant what I asked you in my apartment."
"Before or after you'd fucked me?" I question with a biting lilt to my voice, hoping I sound stronger than I feel. Truthfully, I'm out of my depth. I'm new to all this. Emotion isn't something I know how to handle. Especially when it’s this intense. There’s nothing that prepared me for the onslaught of emotions that seem to be barreling through me at a hundred miles an hour.
"I want to keep you. Do you know what that means?" he questions earnestly and warily.
"You want to lock me in a dungeon and have your wicked way with me?" I sass.
Another chuckle vibrates through him, lightening the mood that seems to be clouding the kitchen. The coffee in my hands doesn't calm me like it always does. I doubt anything can.
"I want to lock you away. I want to fuck my fat cock into your cunt and knock you up. I want to see you swell up with my babies. Not just one, Cerys. I want you to give me a family." He laughs wryly. "Jesus," he expresses, raking his fingers through his hair. "Never did I see myself here. Pleading with a girl to have my children, to offer me something I never thought I could give anyone."
"I'm . . . I'm sorry." I don't know why I'm apologizing, but it feels like the right thing to do.
"No," James grits out. "Never apologize for the way you make me feel."
He reaches for my face, cupping my cheek in his large hand, and pulls me to him. Our lips meet in a heated kiss. I moan, parting my lips for his tongue to enter. To explore and delve into my heat. My warmth.
His low growl is enough evidence that I please him. I offer him something no woman he's ever been with has ever given, and that in turn gives me confidence. I've always been afraid. A little nerdy girl with weird clothes.
The artsy one.
The girl they made fun of.
Many times, I've run home after school in tears because I was the weirdo all the kids picked on. Called names. But now, now I'm here with the most amazing man, and he cares for me. He wants to claim me and make me his.
When he finally pulls away, his eyes implore me wordlessly to say yes. He's begging. This time, I'm the one in control. But as the moment passes, I realize I was always in control.
James never took, he never forced, and the way he bombarded into my life wasn't done violently. He did it lovingly even if he'll never admit it. He is a romantic. I see it in the way he now asks me for permission.
I nod.
"Are you going to make love to me now?" I question, earning me a sexy chuckle.
"Little girl, I'm going to make love to you. I'm going to eat your sweet little pussy, then I'm going to claim that tight asshole until you're chanting my name like a prayer," he promises, causing me to blush at his filthy words.
"I'm not religious at all," I bite back as his hands find my hips.
"Today, all day, you'll find God again, and his name is James."
With that, he lifts me off the stool and walks me back to my bedroom.
Epilogue
Jame
s
Six months later . . .
“You’re a stalker, Darden,” I grunt as I tap away on my laptop without looking up.
Her laughter fills my soul. “You’re my muse. What can I say?” she teases. “I didn’t think you noticed me staring at you anyway. You’re quite distracted over there.”
I snap my gaze to her and revel in how beautiful she is on the balcony of our rented flat in Venice. She belongs here. A part of the picturesque world around us. Today, she’s wearing a pair of overalls and a yellow tank top. Her red-and-black streaked hair is piled messily on top of her head. Orange paint is smeared across her cheek, but it suits her. “I miss nothing,” I remind her. “Show me what you’re working on.”
She grins at me. Wide and full of perfect teeth. Lips painted matte red, and my cock twitches knowing how many times she’s stained it with that exact shade. “You. Always you. You’re quite popular over here in this city.”
I arch a brow at her and snap my laptop closed. The contracts on the new hotel have been finalized, and I have bids from builders that need going through, but none of that matters right now. Right now, all that matters is my girl. “I’m only popular with you. Nobody else cares about my broody ass.”
“Then how come I sell out every time I put paintings of you in the shop down the street, hmmm? I think other people are fond of your gloom and doom too. Not just me.” She turns her painting to where I can see. Mr. Ricci was correct. The sunsets here will make you weep. But seeing how she views me in front of one is breathtaking. I get glimpses of the man that hides inside through her art—only the man she gets to see. And apparently a few locals who buy her art, it would seem.
“You trick them,” I grumble. “You make me look like that.” Something worth seeing. I wave at the picture where I’m smirking. I’m not wearing a suit but jeans only. My bare feet are kicked up on the railed balcony, and my laptop is in my lap. I look relaxed and happy and free. “Does my hair really look like shit?”
She laughs, and I can’t help but smile. “Yes, it does. But I love it.”
“What happens when you grow tired of painting me?” I ask as she rises from her seat.
“Never,” she assures me. Fierce and protective. Protective over me. My cold heart warms each day I spend with her.
She straddles my lap and runs her fingers through my messy hair. I love her chaos. Her disorder. Her paint splattered all over my dark world. Our flat here in Venice is a fucking nightmare of a mess, and I’ve never been so at home.
“Did you talk to your dad?” I ask, remembering he called earlier.
“Yeah, he and Liv will be up for Christmas, he said.”
“Good,” I reply and genuinely mean it. Her father and I may have nearly gotten in a fist fight the first time we officially met a couple weeks after Cerys and I started dating, but we eventually got past our differences. I suppose catching some old-ass man plowing your daughter up against the living room wall one day isn’t exactly the best way to meet for the first time. And then waltzing his daughter in front of him not only wearing my ring but my last name, too, a week later also didn’t help. But when he realized how happy she was, he eventually caved. I’ve even shared a couple of drinks with him on occasion. Baby steps.
“When do we have to meet Mr. Ricci and his wife for dinner?” Cerys asks as she starts peppering kisses all over my now-scruffy face.
“In a couple of hours. You better get cleaned up.” My palms grab her ass through her overalls, and her breath hitches.
“Maybe I want to get dirty first, Stalker Darden,” she purrs, her hips rocking against me as she grinds against my erection in my jeans.
I reach up and unhook one side of her overalls and then the other. Once I’ve peeled it down past her stomach, I lift her tank top and admire my art. “I think you’re bigger today,” I state, marveling at the silvery stretchmarks on her stomach. “Your tits certainly are.”
She laughs and swats my shoulder. “Hey now, asshole. Watch it.”
“You’re beautiful, love,” I mutter, suddenly struck by how very lucky I am. Cerys is mine. My motherfucking wife. And the mother of my child.
Her daddy and I didn’t share a drink over that development, that’s for sure. In fact, he spent the better part of the day threatening me within an inch of my life for knocking up his daughter.
“So are you,” she expresses, her voice growing serious.
“What if . . .?” I trail off. I can’t even say the words. But she knows. She always knows.
“Never,” she assures me, her voice strong and firm. “You’re not like him.”
When I finally broke down and told her about the demon who haunted my past, she cried. She cried for the little boy who didn’t get to just . . . be. I was driven to be a man from an early age. I never got to just live in the moment. Slowly, Cerys has taught me how to live. Day by day. Minute by minute. We spend our time together, unraveling tiny facts about us. Our past. Our present. Hope for our future.
“You’re right,” I tell her as I stand with her in my arms. Even big and pregnant, my sweet love is easy for me to tote around. “I will do everything in my power to make this child feel loved. I’ll never hurt him,” I vow.
She hugs me tight as I carry us to our room. “I know, James. I know this because I base how you’ll love him on how you love me. It’s unwavering and unbreakable. I don’t doubt it for a minute.”
I set her to her feet beside the bed and strip down my wife. She’s not shy about doing the same for me. When we’re both naked, we crawl into our unmade bed. Since being pregnant, she likes being on top. I love being able to watch her fat tits bounce and her lips part when she loses her mind to ecstasy.
Her eyes lock with mine as she rubs against my aching cock. Fingernails dig into my chest as she teases me. Her cunt is drenched, and she rubs her wetness against my dick in a way that maddens me in the good sort of way.
“I love you,” I blurt out. Sometimes it comes tumbling from my lips at the most random times, but if I don’t tell her, I’ll fucking die.
Her lips curve into a smile. “I love you too.”
She continues her teasing, sliding against me. “Everyone thought we were crazy,” she says, her voice breathless. “Instalove, they said. Nobody falls in love at first sight. That’s for movies and books.”
I groan when she lifts her body and grips my dick to guide it inside her tight hole. She seats herself on my thickness, and the way her body clenches around me has me nearly blowing my load immediately. Thankfully, she remains still, giving me a moment to compose myself.
“Our kind of love is the kind of love people create art about,” she tells me. “It’s messy and confusing. Splashes of color and smears of black. It’s deep and meaningful, and if people will just take a moment to truly see it for what it is, they will understand it. Not just understand it, but feel it. A love like ours can’t be ignored.”
Reaching up, I grip her dainty neck and draw her to me. Her stomach is big between us and I’ve never been so happy. My lips brush against hers, and I smile.
“We never had a chance to ignore it,” I agree.
She kisses me deeply, her hips rocking against me. Then she pulls away. “No, love followed us, beat down our door, and forced its way in.” She winks. The irony is not lost on me.
“Meow,” Punky Brewster cries from the floor.
Cerys giggles, and I flip off my cat. “Privacy, Punky. We’ve talked about this.”
When I saw the stray black cat a few months ago near our flat with red paint stuck in its fur, I knew I had to get her. Cerys had to leave her four cats with her dad until we get properly settled in Venice, so I knew she was sad. Punky cheered her right up.
Cerys rocks harder against me, her tits bouncing, and I’m stunned by her beauty. We get lost in our own little world, and soon we crash. But at least we crash together. With my cum running out of her, my wife slides off my cock and curls up against me. Our son moves in her belly, pressing against my r
ibs, and I smile.
He’s a cuddle man, it would seem.
Just like his daddy.
THE END
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