She giggles and blushes lightly before disappearing into the small bathroom down the equally short hall. I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for her. When she returns, I pull her between my spread legs. “Now then, Candy Cane. You ready to be licked?”
“Licked?” she repeats with a slight squeak. I grin at her and then swipe my tongue over her lace-covered shoulder. “Licked,” I confirm.
She shudders in my hands, and I take that as a sign to proceed. I cataloged every inch of visible skin while we stood infront of the judge. Candy canes were invented to be licked, after all. But after a minute I’m too impatient, so I hurriedly find all the zippers and buttons until she’s standing in front of me the way God made her. Absolutely perfect.
8
My breath catches and lodges somewhere in the middle of my chest when Howler fastens his mouth on my skin over the lace. It feels wicked and erotic and like something I’m not supposed to crave.
I whimper when he undresses me. He pauses briefly to kiss my collarbone. “Candy Cane?”
Shaking my head mutely, I tug at his shirtsleeve. I want him naked too. It seems unfair that for all that time he went around without a shirt I wasn’t allowed to touch, and now that I am, he goes and covers up.
Howler ignores my prompt. Instead, he fastens his mouth over one breast and then the other. Licking, tasting, teasing. I clutch at his shoulders and then his ears since he doesn’t have any hair to tug. I wonder if that’s why? Is he naturally bald or does he choose it as a defensive measure?
The questions flee my brain when he abruptly stands and picks me up, dropping me gently in the middle of the bed. He smirks down at me as his hand goes to his belt buckle. I smirk back and lick my lips. That has him throwing his head back and laughing, leaving me wondering if I’m doing it all wrong.
“Never thought I’d get married, Ariel. Never thought I’d fuck a woman as fine as you. It’s going to ruin me for anyone else, so you’d better expect to stick around,” he growls as he sheds his pants.
I nod, my eyes taking inventory of all his tattoos. Some of them seem pretty random, but knowing Howler, they’re anything but. “You’d better never even think of fucking anyone else,” I sass back, shivering slightly in anticipation. His cock is long and hard, jutting straight at me.
Howler’s true sweet smile appears. “It’s a deal. You stick around and I’ll make sure you see the stars every night.”
And with that, he drops on top of me, pressing me into the mattress. I squeal in surprise and then purr. Skin to skin, he’s warm and hard. I arch into him craving more contact. He kisses me slowly.
“You’d better be wet enough, Candy Cane. I don’t think I can wait any longer.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead swiping a firm finger through my folds. He holds it up in front of his face for inspection, making me writhe with embarrassment. “Perfect,” he announces before sliding the finger into his mouth.
I gape at him, but he just laughs — after removing his finger from his mouth, of course. “Such a good girl, aren’t you, Ariel?” Again he doesn’t wait for an answer. My legs are adjusted to his liking, and then his cock is poised at my entrance, hard and insistent. “Just relax, baby. You’ll get used to taking my cock with enough practice.” And he pushes in. I’ve been waiting and wondering about this moment for so long I start spasming immediately.
Howler grunts and continues his invasion. But it feels more like he’s coming home to me. Home to where he belongs. I wrap my arms and legs around him as far as they’ll go and hang on tight.
When I feel like I’m stretched to the breaking point, he stops. I clench down. He growls.
The next thing I know, he’s pulled out and flipped me over. Pulling me up on my hands and knees, he leans down to mutter in my ear, “Stop trying to lead, Candy Cane.” He lands a light slap on my left butt cheek and then he’s back. His cock surging into my slick channel, reaching further and faster, making me brace my arms to keep from skidding across the sheets.
I moan with longing and need and satisfaction. Howler partially withdraws and drives back in. My toes curl and my head hangs low. My clit begins throbbing to an unknown beat. Hard and insistent. “Howler!” I keen. His arm reaches under me, but instead of hauling me up, his thumb drags across my clit, unleashing the waiting orgasm and sending me into a puddle of satisfied goo. I barely notice him cumming at the same time. Except that a minute later he withdraws and flips me over again. He lies down beside me and pulls me into his arms. I sigh with satisfaction and close my eyes.
But Howler isn’t ready to let me sleep. He starts cataloging my virtues, and I don’t mean my ability with spreadsheets. “Your pussy is so sweet and tight, baby. You’re going to have to beat me off with a stick because I swear if I’m in the same room with you I’m going to want to be inside that pussy. You’re soft as velvet and grip me like the sweetest ride.”
I pull his head down for a kiss before he literally compares me to a bike. A girl has limits.
Ariel hasn’t complained, but on our third night together, when the music in the bar starts making the floorboards vibrate, I know I need to find us a new place to live. My salary is decent but not great, and while I don’t spend it on much, I have donated a big chunk to the club’s rescue efforts. Kitten formula doesn’t come cheap, and I didn’t have any more pressing needs for the money. Figured I never would, honestly.
My phone beeps by the bed, so I roll over to look at it. Ariel’s arms follow to tug me back. I smile down at her and squeeze one ass cheek. “Relax, Candy Cane. I’m not going anywhere. Make that not far,” I correct when I read the message. “Garfield wants to see me downstairs. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Who’s Garfield?” she mumbles.
“Club President, baby. Keep that pussy warm for me. I’ll want a welcome-home hug from her when I come back.”
Ariel giggles but is too sleepy to argue. I slip on some jeans and a t-shirt and head downstairs, careful to lock the door behind me.
It takes me a minute to recognize the bastard. Garfield shaved. For the first time since I met him twenty years ago, and he looks like a fucking movie star. I open my mouth to start asking questions, but he holds up an authoritative hand. “Don’t. That’s an official order. Not one word about my facial hair or lack thereof,” he growls.
“Sure thing, boss.” No point in riling him up further. So I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to start talking. While I do, I contemplate the possibility that the rumors are true. Somesay Garfield’s momma was a witch. An old, powerful witch who founded the coven still operating in Wallace Ridge today. And that once upon a time she had an affair with a famous singer, whom I can’t name here. I never believed a word of it until now.
“I can fucking hear you thinking, asshole,” Garfield grumbles, but with more good humor than a minute ago. “Heard things are serious between you and that young thing that waltzed in here a few weeks ago.”
I nod. “Married her three days ago.”
