I look at Nel, who’s less enthused but manages a small smile. “At least my arse isn’t hanging out.”
“We’re all very disappointed about that.” Jake sighs and she rolls her eyes at him.
“Yes, I sold twice as many tickets this year,” I say with a straight face. “I think word got round and all the dads who couldn’t make it last year, found time to join us tonight.”
Nel gapes and Jake suddenly doesn’t seem so jovial. “What?” he snaps.
I just wink at Nel and walk away, letting her know I was only teasing…kind of. Harry arrives with the rest of our guests when the doors open to ticket holders. He’s changed into a smart black shirt, but he’s left the first two buttons undone so I can see the dip of his collar bone. And he’s rolled the sleeves to his elbows, showing the tanned skin and light dusting of golden hair on his exceptional forearms. Honestly, forearms, such an underrated body part. Lucas and Oscar are either side of him, holding his hands and chatting animatedly while my mum carries Mary.
I wave them over, hugging my boys as they run to me and give Harry my cheek to kiss to avoid lipstick smudges. Mary, completely on brand, ignores me as she studies Mum’s sparkly necklace.
It takes little time for the hall to fill, people eating, drinking, and being merry. Mulled wine and sugar cookies are plentiful, the carollers are jubilant in their rendition ofDing Dong Merrily on Highcomplete with jingle bells keeping rhythm. The kids are soon distracted with all the other children running around in a Christmas Eve induced excited stupor.
Harry keeps the parents company, being his usual charming self while I mingle and check in with all the volunteers and facilitators. Everyone tells me how well the evening’s going, how beautiful the decorations are, how great I am. I’m feeling good. Which is why I pull Harry away from the crowd with mumbled excuses about needing help with the buffet, but instead of taking him to the kitchen where the food is waiting to be put out, I lead him to the utility cupboard. The room is small and shelving units line three of the walls, it’s neat and tidy and smells of the floral cleaner they use here.
“I’m having déjà vu.” Harry smirks at me.
“Hmm.” I close the door and lean back against it. “Except this time—” I slide the deadbolt at my back to secure the door, “—we’re locked in. No interruptions.”
His brow arches. “I like the sound of that.” When I step toward him, a nervous flutter in my belly, I stroke my silver sparkling dress over my hips, and he smiles softly. “You look beautiful tonight, Angel.”
My head shakes on autopilot. “Harry, you don’t have to do that.”
His frown makes my nerves ramp up. “Do what?”
“Try to butter me up.”
“Hey,” he says, crooking a finger under my chin. “I don’t say things to butter you up, I tell you what I see, how I feel, and why I love you because I want you to know how amazing you are.” I try to look away, but he holds me steady. “And youdolook beautiful, tonight and every night.”
He dips his head and kisses me, it’s sweet, loving. With his kiss, he reiterates his words, he tells me that he loves me, that I’m beautiful, that I’m amazing and I eat it up. Letting those positive encouragements sink into my soul and heal what I’ve been slowly breaking with my own self-criticism for months.
My hands roam, palm flat to his chest and down to the solid curvatures of his abdomen. I keep going until I have a handful of him, his thick length stiffening in my palm. A firm squeeze has him jerking in my touch, his kiss turning rough, greedy, and invasive. All in the best possible way. I work his buckle without taking my lips from his, opening his trousers and pushing them down greedily, with no patience.
“Lis, what are you—”
“I want to make you feel good, Harry. Like you always make me feel good.”
I don’t even let the clicking sound my knees make when I lower to them make me feel old, because I’m about to suck my husband off in a cleaning cupboard with a crowd of people just the other side of the door. It’s like all those rebellious things I didn’t do in my twenties have rolled into one big salacious act to make me wet and wanting.
“Lisa, you don’t have to do this.” Harry’s voice is rough as he looks down at me.
I don’t answer with words, instead taking the tip of him between my lips and sucking gently. His head falls back on a moan and his shoulders slump against the wall. I’m wearing a deep red lipstick that I know will look good against his skin, leaving a smear as I suck him down then pull away from his length. Before I can release him completely, he holds the back of my head and keeps me in place with my lips wrapped delicately around the tip of him. I squirm where I kneel,rubbing my thighs together in the hopes to feel just a fraction of the friction I need on my buzzing clit. This is what I’ve wanted. Needed. Harry taking control, manhandling me to keep me where he wants me. Taking his pleasure without constraint and giving me mine by doing so.
“You’re not to come off my cock until I come, baby. Understand?”
Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff. I nod, looking up at him through my mascara laden lashes.
“Such a good little wife for me.” He punctuates that spicy little statement with a forceful thrust that has his length burying itself in my throat.
I splutter and gag, just a little, but it only makes my thighs wetter and my nipples tingle. I have lists of lists, I’ve spent weeks planning our perfect family Christmas, I run down my plan for each day at night when I can’t sleep, and I’ve followed a minute-by-minute schedule to keep everything running smoothly. But when Harry has his fist in my hair and his cock in my mouth, I don’t have to think about any of that. When he tells me how beautiful I am with saliva dribbling down my chin from him fucking my face, I can only focus on that and not the snowstorm of thoughts that usually occupy my head.
“Fuck, Lis. You make me feel so good.” His grip loosens in my hair, and he bring his fingers down to stroke my face gently, reverently as he continues to buck his hips to my waiting lips. “So pretty.”
With my nose pressed to his pubic bone, I swallow around him, and he grunts. He’s close, the thickening against my tongue and the way his rhythm falters a sure sign, eyes squeezed shut in a last-ditch attempt to make this last longer. Opening his eyes, Harry looks down on me and pulls free.
“Mouth open, tongue out, Angel.”
Of course, I obey waiting patiently as he grips himself almost violently. He doesn’t need to stroke or coax his cum out, with two taps on my extended tongue he shoots off. Salty drops hit the roof of my mouth and drip to the back of mythroat, I don’t swallow, holding everything he gives me in my mouth until he’s finished, panting and relaxed but not quite sated. Hooking his thumb into my mouth, he presses at my tongue until I’m forced to swallow, and he can watch his orgasm wash away down my throat.
