“Patience, wife. You had me at your mercy this evening, driving me mad wanting you. Now I get to take my time with you. I get to enjoy your desperation as much as you enjoyed mine.” He cups my pussy with his entire hand and holds it steady. No friction. No relief.
“Harry,” I try to complain but it’s muffled beneath his palm.
“Shh,” he hushes me, stroking a single finger along the length of my slit.
It feels so good, the first time my husband has touched me like this in months. Feeling frantic as my most neglected parts finally feel signs of life. He dips inside my entrance, a single digit not enough to sate the growing emptiness but teasing me with what I really want. When the second finger joins the first, scissoring and stretching me out as if preparing me to take him for the first time in months. I whimper, tilting my hips to fuck myself on him and I melt against him further, wanting, needing his cock.
“I’m not fucking you tonight,” he rumbles into my ear, both reading my mind and taking me back to the night we first met.
I huff my frustration from between his knuckles and he plunges a third finger into my pussy. Curling those digits, he starts to stroke over the most sensitive spot, the place only Harry knows, even when I’m on my own I just stick to clit stimulation because I long since gave up trying to hit it. I grunt and rock myself against him, building the perfect rhythm to summon the orgasm I’ve been craving for—what seems like—forever.
“You going to come for me, wife?” I nod eagerly. “You going to soak my hand? Make a mess of me, hm?”
Oh god.
“Such a perfect little wife for me. Come Lisa, come for your husband.”
The gravel in his voice. His hardness pressed to my arse. The press of his palm to my clit. It all sends me over the edge, convulsing and whimpering. My pleasure crests and flows through me, warming my limbs and allowing my heartbeat to be felt everywhere.
“So perfect,” he repeats, breathy but strained. Still hard against my buttocks, I reach behind me to relieve some of his tension, but he stops me. “All for you, wife.”
“Harry,” I moan, as he releases me, the feel of his hand still a phantom over my mouth.
“We should get some sleep, it’s late.” He gives me a hard, quick kiss on my cheek and leaves the bed. I listen as he washes his hands and then climbs back into bed. “It’s gone midnight. Merry Christmas, Angel.”
“Merry Christmas, Frosty.”
My eyes are heavy and I feel myself falling into blissful sleep just as Mary’s cries fill the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I’m going to pop his eyeballs,Game of Thronesstyle.”
HARRY
“It’s Christmas!!”So. Fucking. Loud.“Dad, wake up! Mum, come on, get up, get up, get up!”
“Daddy?” Oscar’s voice is so much gentler than Lucas and it makes me pry my eye open to look at him. Lisa is already sat up next to me, Mary in her lap. “Daddy, are you awake?”
“Yeah, bud. I’m awake,” I croak, pulling myself up to my elbows.
“Morning, Frosty.”
“Morning, Angel.”
“Dad, comeon.” Lucas tries pulling on my arm to get me out of the bed. “Auntie Rhi and Luke are already up, the twins have started opening their presents.”
“Alright, alright.” I groan as I haul myself to sit on the edge of the bed. My muscles aching like the perfectly young and fit thirty-five-year-old I am. “I’m up. Let me clean my teeth and put some clothes on…and get a coffee, then we are straight to the Christmas stockings."
I’m quick in the bathroom because I can hear the boys hounding Lisa even though I told them I was coming. I pull clothes on, wishing I could just wear sweats all day and veg out on the couch eating enough mince pies to extend my gut, but we entertain now so shirt and trousers it is.
I take Mary from Lisa’s arms and make a quick pitstop in her room that the boys are currently sleeping in to change hernappy and put her in the ridiculously cute Christmas dress Lisa bought for her. I never wanted my daughter to be dressed up in frills and bows. If she grows up wanting that stuff, fine, but when she’s a baby, I liked subtler outfits. Until she actually came along, that is. I now find myself buying the frilliest, pinkest, unicorn embellished clothes I see. She loves it and I can deny her nothing. The little red velvet dress with cream bows and tights with Christmas puddings on look fucking adorable on her.
Downstairs, Rhiannon and Luke are both nursing hot drinks while the twins are ripping paper from brightly coloured boxes of toys. “I made a large pot of coffee, should be enough for you,” Luke calls to me.
“You’re a legend,” I call back going to the kitchen and onehandedly pouring two mugs of black gold. “Lucas,” I call and my oldest comes skidding in. “Can you bring that second cup into the lounge for Mum, please. Very carefully, it’s hot.”
He picks up the mug and walks very precisely, one foot in front of the other, placing it gently down on the side table before resuming his mad running. The boys each pull their sacks—not stockings because they are hella spoilt—to a place on the sofa and start ripping into paper.
