by Nikki Winter
She placed a hand over his mouth. “But you have to consider that I haven’t always trusted myself. Sometimes I still don’t. At least not until you pluck me and tell me to cut it out.” Removing her hand, she pressed her forehead to his and whispered, “I’m my harshest critic. A taskmaster without mercy. And I hate the thought,”—she stopped, swallowed—“I hate the thought that I could accomplish so much in this life and go on without the one thing that I wasn’t even sure I wanted until I was told that I possibly couldn’t have it.” Nyssa blinked back the sudden and uncomfortable burn of tears. “It was never a question as to whether or not you could love me through this and always a question as to whether or not I could love me.”
He gazed at her for a stretch of time that seemed to imitate hours and announced, “My God, I want to have so much sex with you right now.”
Nyssa slapped his shoulder. “Sansone!”
His kiss was hard and fast. “The dirtiest variety of sex.” Another kiss. “Because you talked to me.” Another. “You talked to me and told me all your feels without me having to spank you to get you to do it.”
She halted the next brush of his lips. “Spanking was an option?”
“One I weighed the merits of more than once.”
Nyssa made a face. “And you didn’t use it?!”
“Don’t make me mental right now!” he bellowed. “Not when I’m enjoying the distinct feeling of pride!”
“But—whoa!” She punched one of his thighs after finding herself flipped around and turned over his literal knee. “Dammit, Sunny!”
“You asked for the mighty blow of my godlike hand, now you shall receive it!”
And once again, he ruined it.
***
“Beg me,” Sansone demanded against her mouth.
Nyssa rose above the hardness between her thighs, the gentle wave of sudsy water rocking her into his torso as steam made a slow climb towards the ceiling around them. A bath had been a necessity after their late night adventures of sea frolicking, but this served more than just that purpose. The reasoning naturally centered on their reluctance to disturb the closeness they’d gained in the hub of activities they’d occupied themselves with. Nyssa had admittedly thought her dear, sweet, narcissistic husband was being ridiculous upon his proclamation that they needed to find their footing in intimacy again. And now…well now she’d come to the same conclusion he had—they’d lost them over the course of the last year.
There had been so much concern and worry about pregnancy that their foundation had been thoroughly shaken. What would it matter to have a baby if they couldn’t even communicate anymore? If they couldn’t take the time to mend what had been fractured under a host of vulnerabilities? The entirety of their desire to start a family rested on the love they shared, the closeness. Somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten that. She had taken them for granted. There had been a disconnect and Nyssa had treated her spouse like a donor as opposed to her partner.
So if nothing else, she owed him a bit of groveling. It didn’t have to be overdone or trite. Just enough to make him spread his feathers and strut about. Because he’d done such an excellent job of showing her the error of her ways. And despite what she’d shown him unintentionally, her fulfillment did lay within in his.
Her fingers filtered through the locks at his nape, curling around the normally shorter strands. She tugged and popped her hips atop his just enough to make him draw in a sharp breath. The contact of his flesh, the warm rise and fall of his chest as he exhaled, caused Nyssa to stare at him dazedly. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, these moments; the anticipation of having the wolf hover just outside of her door before he came bursting in. That was sex with Sansone in a nutshell. His touch was sin personified and she could never bring herself to repent. Not when just the hypnotizing latch of his gaze was enough to send cream rushing to the seat of her panties. It wasn’t his eyes alone, but the possibilities they never ceased to hold when he cast them her way. It was addictive.
She rolled her hips and rode his length, allowing it to glide through the lips of her pussy. His hands grasped either side of the tub in a white knuckled grip and his lips parted. Undulating now, her nipples having turned into precious stones, she placed her palms against the width of his shoulders and leaned forward.
Nyssa skimmed the tip of her nose over his and murmured, “Please fuck me, Sansone.”
His knees bent behind her, cradling her where she set astride him. “I’d like to hear that again, wife.”
She scraped her nails down his chest, flicking a nipple and pulling. “Please fuck me, Sansone,” she repeated.
A splash sounded as he dropped his hands into the water and clasped down on her buttocks, yanking her tightly against him. He dug his fingertips lightly into either half and pulled her up. A quick lurch and his cockhead was splitting the center of her sex at a pace that was entirely too slow for her liking. It was the fullness of him that she needed. An ache had built with every passing day, the core of her desiring to be stuffed with every inch of that carnal thing she couldn’t recreate with the thrust of her own fingers. She moved to take him deeper and he blocked her.
“Sunny…”
“Hush,” he told her in a sotto voice, his breath warming her chin. “Just…feel me.”
Nyssa swallowed, trying and failing to calm the beat of her heart.
“Right there, hovering inside of you,” her husband went on. “I know what you want—to move, to slide over me until your spine dips and your mouth goes dry.” She nodded rapidly. Clear words eluded her. “But for just one moment. I want you to appreciate the sensation.” He pushed in a fraction more and stopped as a groan left him. “The clamp of your cunt around me…cara, there is absolutely nothing else that will ever be as good as this.”
Her breath hitched.
Sansone raked his teeth over her collarbone, her throat. “That this belongs to me and me alone, that I can have it whenever I want, makes me want to beat my fucking chest.” He hummed. “And it does belong to me and me alone, doesn’t it, Nyssa?”
Pride. Be. Damned. “Every corner,” she panted in answer.
Could laughter be depraved? If so, her spouse had it down to an art form. “I don’t need to tell you that you own me, do I?” he queried, haltingly working her over the portion of his length that he’d speared her with.
Her head swayed at the same pace of her hips; jarring in its movements.
“Good.”
The croon of his voice ceased and he slammed her down completely. She gasped and he caught the surprised sound with the stroke of his tongue, smoothly guiding her waist into a wind that sent their moans echoing around the moderately sized room. Jesus Christ had it always felt this good? Was she out of her mind to deny herself something so intoxicating?
He’d told her to appreciate the sensation and she couldn’t pick one to focus on. The tunneling of his member digging away at what little logical thinking she had left, the feathering of her walls over every vein and ridge, the band of his arms, the rasp of his pecs against her nipples or the potent drag of his mouth. All of these served to make her babble.
His hold tightened and the jolt of her motions became disjointed and out of rhythm. “Sansone…”
“Want me to come inside you?” he grated in her ear. “Give you every ounce of what I have?”
She buried her face in his shoulder, whimpering.
“Ask me,” he commanded. “Ask me to come inside you.”
Nyssa dug her knees into his sides and lifted her head. She petted his jaw, kissed him wherever her lips could find room and pleaded as her climax crept up with a blinding speed, “Come inside me.”
He took her mouth again. His tongue punished her, his dick rewarded her and the moment she felt him swelling inside, she clenched down and exploded.
Eight
Tiring of this wasn’t even a possibility. The welcoming lull of his wife’s thighs as he languidly rocked into her, gulping air when his lungs allowed it. Other
worldly may have been an excessive description to others, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. They didn’t—and would never—know what it felt like to have Nyssa’s complete supplication beneath them. There was something about having your partner leave themself in the palm of your hands with no questions asked that was heady. Intimacy had been confused with a good fuck on one too many occasions. However, marriage had taught him that the affection between them lay in their ability to read what one another wanted before it was voiced.
Sansone didn’t have to ask her to tighten the nestle of her legs or tease the space between his shoulder blades. She’d watched his reaction to the caress enough times to know that was what he needed, that was what heightened his enjoyment. She didn’t have to tell him that she wanted her nipple bitten and his hand putting pressure on either side of her throat. There was a road map already drawn; one that he could follow blindly. The steady, low pants filtering from her open mouth told him how close she was. The way her thrusts became fitful. How her lashes fanned upwards. Every detail spurred him on; made his strokes harder, his breathing harsher.
They hadn’t left the bungalow in days aside from the occasional walk on the beach or a late swim. Other than that, there was really nothing that could coax them from their haven. Tonight was their last chance to enjoy all the luxuries in their reach. Tomorrow they would be forced to face the world again. But what had been lost was restored—which meant their steps would be a little surer. That they’d found their way back to this, the satisfaction of a simple touch, humbled him.
He reared up, lifting his hands so that his fingers interlocked with hers and her punch-drunk smile caused his lips to curve into their own. It was also the moment that he had one, crucial thought. Something he’d meditated on for the last year but wanted more than anything else right now at this very moment.
“Io voglio che tu abbia il mio bambino.”
Nyssa blinked, recognition filtering through some of the lust in her gaze. She gave a breathless laugh. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that this week.”
“We weren’t,” he stated simply. “But I’m breaking my own rule.” Sansone untangled one of his hands to slide it beneath her thigh and lift it towards her chest. “Because I don’t care how we do it, what it takes, I want you to have my baby.”
She hissed at the change of angles and her shoulders lifted from the mattress. “Baby…”
“Yes,” he grunted. “My baby.”
She shuddered. “I-I want that so badly.”
“I know you do. Can feel it every time you come all over me. You try to drain me.”
Nyssa nodded, gasping.
“I want you to do it again and again and again.” He withdrew and shushed her when she whined, turning her over onto her belly. His hands took hold of her waist and he spread her legs before reentering her. The thrust was deep and left him moaning into her shoulder while she fisted the bedding. “Until you can’t anymore.”
Her response was muffled and he paid it no mind, choosing instead to pop his hips against hers. Nyssa’s head snapped back with a low keen and she moved earnestly, her pussy suckling him in a greedy clasp that made him bite the inside of his cheek.
“Fuck, Sansone…”
“I intend to,” he replied. “As many times as you’ll allow it.” His eyes narrowed on the dip in her back, the sheen of sweat culling there. Her tattoo glittered under the light of their bedside lamp and he found the scripted words to be more than true. With the curl of her smile, she brought him to his knees. A place he would gladly stay to see her content.
Sansone’s digits danced through the lips of her pussy and slipped in the cream gathered there as he strummed her stiff clit. Her back bowed deeper and her inner muscles cinched down harder, forcing him to work through the waving tissue. Her sex gave him his way and behaved under the hammering of his cock. He felt the orgasm coming before she had the opportunity to heave out his name and rode her into a longer one. The sight of her spine snaking, shoulders shaking and the low-lidded glare she lanced him with over her shoulder while her voice warbled through her climax was more than enough for him. He pinned her to the mattress and buried himself as deeply as he could, instinct seeing to his need to plant his seed as far as it would go.
When he finally stopped trembling, he rolled them to their sides and huffed, “Gotta send that oversized bastard a fruit basket now.”
Nyssa’s hand groped his hip. “Gonna ignore the fact that this is the most awkward moment ever to mention your sibling and suggest that you fill that basket with the finest the local farmer’s market has to fucking offer and nothing less. You give him exoticism in which the likes he has never seen. You kiss his goddamn ring when you cross paths again and tell him that the Blackwell-Sultana household will always open its doors to his benevolent presence.”
And strangely, he couldn’t find one reason to argue with that suggestion.
***
“Nous sommes tellement triste de vous voir partir.”
Nyssa listened to the words of their captain absentmindedly, her head resting against Sansone’s chest as they made the trek from their little island and back towards the mainland. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t also sad to see them leave, but life beyond paradise demanded it to be so and she was surprisingly eager to return. Every moment of elation shared here would keep her on a high for weeks to come. All of her fears hadn’t been completely silenced but her husband had done an excellent job of intimidating them into a corner at the back of her mind. As far as she was concerned, his goal had been met. Nyssa had never felt closer to him and she would remind herself at every turn to never lose sight of that connection.
As a matter of fact…
“Where’s the camera, Sultana?” she queried, sitting up.
He looked at her curiously, but dug it out of his bag and handed it off. She took it, placed it on the right setting and motioned him closer.
Pursing his lips, he asked in a distinctly childlike voice, “What’cha doin’?”
She angled his head the way she wanted and answered, “Documenting the exact moment I realized how right you were the day you decided to tell me how lovely of a man you are.”
His eyes glowed with a look that she couldn’t name before he whispered, “I was also right about how much I deserve lovely things.”
And Nyssa knew without another word that he was talking about her. Grinning, she pressed her lips to his cheek and snapped the photo.
Epilogue
Several weeks later…
It hadn’t gotten any easier. The wait. The void of silence filling the room, widening in a chasm of borderline desperation that made every movement feel like a chore. Time ticked by in an unhurried pace, oblivious to its anxiety causing affect. No, it wasn’t any easier at all. However, there was a difference. She didn’t sit alone, staring dumbly at the pattern of their hardwood floors. Instead she leaned comfortably against Sansone, his hand combing through her now loose hair while they murmured about their days.
He made her snort with his account of finding one of their younger clients naked and handcuffed to a garden gnome that no one could rightfully explain the presence of after a party that would go down in history as one of the wildest. In turn she told him about making a first round draft pick for Atlanta blubber after he’d made the wrong comment on her choice in casual clothing earlier today. He then decided that she needed to be donned with his office nickname because he thought himself to be leagues nicer than a woman who could send an almost three hundred pound defensive lineman into silent tears.
Afterwards he told her about tickets he’d gotten to a concert for one of her favorite indie rock bands because of some favors called in to a local talk show host who Samara knew personally. The group had recently done a funny and enlightening interview where they’d announced their next world tour to the studio audience. Although it wasn’t set to start for another month or so, she was excited because the dates that he’d picked were for their shows i
n Monaco. This meant an incredible trip off the Mediterranean coast of France where he’d already gone through the trouble of reserving a small villa. Apparently it was close the marina and he’d also been online shopping for wigs. Insane, wonderful man.
“You’ve got issues, dude,” Nyssa informed him between laughs. “Issues that need the touch of a religious authority figure.”
Sansone peered down at her curiously. “Want to get a catholic school girl uniform and add it to the luggage with the wig?”
She opened her mouth to tout again about him being a strange, strange man and was interrupted.
Jingle! Jingle! Jingle!
The air seemed to suddenly flee the room leaving them numbly sitting there staring wide eyed at the bathroom door. Anxiety roiled through her belly and before she could pet it, his palm was there, rotating in soothing motions.
“Would you like for me to look?” he queried softly against her temple.
Nyssa bit her lip and jerked her head in a nod, unable to verbally tell him, “Yes, for the love of God, yes. Because I’m terrified and can’t do it myself.”
As usual, he understood and ambled to his feet. She watched as he strolled into the bathroom with nothing aside from a cloak of confidence following him. How he did it, she would never know.
Relax and wait, she coached herself. Don’t tense. Don’t. Tense. Breathe.
Heart knocking in her chest, Nyssa waited for the telltale sound of his footsteps as he re-entered the bedroom and lifted her head. His shoulders were lowered, his hand was clenched around the small stick in his grasp and his expression was grim.
Fuck. The answer was no again. Nyssa waited for the crushing blow of disappointment and yet, it never came. It was more of a gentle sweep this time. Unsettling, but not uncomfortable.
She gave him a hopeful smile and a small shrug. “Seems like we’ll have to keep trying, Sultana.”
