Eight years later
Colin is beaming in the seat next to me, holding the glistening golden statue in his lap.
“I’m so bloody proud of you, Shakespeare,” I mumble, pressing my lips to the side of his head.
There are tears in his eyes as he glances up at me. “How was my speech? Too cheesy? I didn’t forget anyone, did I?”
“No, you didn’t forget anyone. You were perfect.”
You’re always perfect.
“It’s about damn time,” he whispers to himself.
We’ve been here two times before, but tonight was finally his night, and I couldn’t be prouder. I could relive that moment in my mind over and over again. The sound of his name being called. The look of surprise on his face. The way he turned to me first, pulling me in for a kiss while everyone cheered.
And then the way he found me in the crowd from the podium with tears in his eyes as he softly whispered into the microphone, “To the love of my life for giving me a voice and encouraging me to use it.”
I’ll definitely be sketching that scene so it lives on forever.
We come home to a quiet house and walk into our bedroom hand in hand. I watch as he places his new award on the dresser, admiring it with a blush on his cheeks.
I can’t remember the last time I saw him so happy. On our wedding day. When Will was born. And now this. It’s a collection of memories that make up a perfect life, and I can’t bear to think about how I almost missed this.
Coming up behind him, I kiss his cheek and let my lips trail down to his neck. Sliding my fingers under the collar of his crisp white shirt, I spot the silver chain of a very different collar.
I hum with delight when I touch it. He lets his head fall to the side as I pepper his neck with kisses and slowly unbutton his shirt.
Reaching behind, he slides his hands up my kilt, and his fingers graze my cock.
“I think my boy deserves a reward tonight,” I mumble into his ear.
“I’ve been so good,” he replies, slipping easily into the role that he plays in the bedroom. Although he wears the collar nearly all the time, we’ve both established that this dynamic only exists here.
In our normal everyday lives, Colin is not my submissive or my boy. He is my equal. My husband. My partner in life.
“And what does my good boy want as his reward?” I ask as I slide his shirt from his shoulders, revealing his bare chest and silver collar.
“I want my sexy Scottish husband to fuck me in that kilt.”
With an assertive grip on his collar, I growl into his ear. “I think I can oblige.”
I love watching the way he melts under my dominance. He’s wearing an expression of pure bliss as I take control, dragging him toward me.
Holding his hips, I grind my shaft against him, feeling a jolt of arousal course down my spine and directly to my cock. Even after all these years, this man still turns me on so much I canbarely keep my hands off of him. I can still find ways to corrupt him and keep things interesting.
Colin and I don’t even make it to the bed. Moments later, he’s frantically tugging off his belt while I’m ripping off my shirt until the kilt is the only piece of fabric left on my body.
Reaching into the drawer, I fish out the lube as he bends over and white-knuckles the dresser.
This is a well-rehearsed dance we’ve done a million times before. And one I will never tire of.
For a while, I tease him, prepping his hole as I stroke his cock just to bring him to the brink and make him whimper and plead for his release. His trousers are pooled at his feet, so the reflection in the mirror shows only his bare chest and the silver chain around his neck.
“Fuck me, Dec,” he whines as he thrusts his hips back toward me.
“My needy boy,” I reply, bringing my cock to his hole. After drizzling more lube on my shaft, I slide easily inside of him.
He lets out a grunt as he looks up into the mirror, his eyes landing first on my face and then on my kilt.
