25. Part two

Long before I knew anything about my wife except for her false identity, I knew that she was the perfect woman for me.

In so many ways she's like many I've known. She loves chocolate, and is sweet on cake. She'll sit on my couch with a box of tissues and purposely watch a sad movie. Her cat is her best friend, and isn't even bothered when I tease her that he is.

But in other ways, she's unique. Savannah doesn't want flowers and candy from her husband, though. She wants to spar with him, to practice her punches while he wears the padded gloves, and spend time lunging with a blade in her hand so that, if she should ever choose to take a life with a blade, she knows precisely how to.

So long as it's not my throat she's aiming for, that is.

We tried lessons down at the shooting range. Bianca was a saint, despite Savannah's obvious and instant dislike of her, but it became obvious early on that the gun wasn't her weapon. She yipped whenever it went off, could hardly hit the target, and said the weapons Bianca selected for her were too bulky in her hand.

So I brought her Glock, and she hated shooting with that so much, she handed it back to me when the lesson was done.

No trying to convince me to give it back to her for good. No making a sly comment about how she could blow me away with the weapon. Just a wrinkled nose and a sigh as she shook her head and said, "Well, that was a waste of two hundred bucks."

And that was about when I first had the spark of an idea to win her over…

Like preparing the tattoos, it took some time. Then I didn't want to start up our self-defense lessons until they were healed, not because I cared about the pain, but because I didn't want to cause Savannah any.

They are now. And, this morning, I picked up my latest gift for my wife. I keep it in the pocket of my exercise shorts during our warm up, but before we start our lesson, I pull the leather case out and dangle it in front of Savannah.

With a curious tilt to her head, her ponytail settling over her shoulder, she snatches it from my grip. "What's this?"

"It's a holster."

She rolls her eyes at me. "I know that, babe."

Babe? "Did you just call me ‘babe'?"

"Sure did."

"I've got ten years on you, wife."

"So? Does that mean you can't be my ‘babe'?"

I lift her free hand, pressing a kiss to the top of it. "So long as I am yours, you may call me anything you want, ragna mia."

She sticks her tongue out at me.

I laugh. "Unless you're willing to use it, keep that pretty tongue in your mouth where it belongs."

"Why?" she says, daring me. "You gonna spank me again?"

My cock twitches. No matter how often we find the time to train in my gym, between the scent of her sweat and her musk in the air, plus the sports bra that molds to her tits so perfectly, I'm constantly aroused down here. It's fair to say that I'm constantly aroused whenever I'm near my wife, but something about her trusting me to take full control over her body, knowing I could never bring myself to hurt her… there's a reason why she teases me that I think of our sparring sessions as foreplay.

It's because it is.

But spanking? I've never had a partner that I wanted to take over my knee and spank before—until the first time she rode me after a training session. Since then, I haven't had the reason to bring me hand down on her ass again… but, oh, do I want to now.

Later, I tell myself. When I see how she reacts to my gift…

Without realizing how suddenly desperate I am for her, Savannah runs her thumb over the initials embossed on the leather. "S.L.?"

"Savannah Libelulla," I tell her. "It's yours. So is what's inside of the holster."

Her cheeks flush. As though she doesn't know what to say, she busies herself with unsnapping the full holster so that she can see the hilt poking out from the top. Grabbing it, she checks to see if the blade's attached—as if it wouldn't be—then looks up at me again.

"You got me my own knife?"

"No. I'm giving you my knife."

Savannah sucks in a breath. Her hand twitches, and I press the bottom half of the holster against her palm so she doesn't drop it.

"Damien—"

"Don't try to tell me you don't want it. I won't hear it. You need protection. If the incident with Ricky proved anything, it's that not even having me near… or my bodyguard watching you… is enough to keep you safe. You don't want your gun back. But you seem very comfortable with a blade."

She gulps. "And you're not afraid that I'm going to stab you again?"

I fold her fingers over the holster. "No. I'm not."

Savannah stares down at the knife in her hand. She's quiet for so long that I wonder if I fucked up—but then her head snaps back to mine, her hand tossing the half-open holster to the floor. The stiletto falls out of the sheath a little more.

We both pretend not to notice.

Savannah starts to jog in place. "So… are we going to spar now?"

This isn't the reaction I was hoping for. Savannah taking me giving her my knife as some grand gesture of my affection for her and being so overwhelmed with gratitude that she strips and fucks me with the mirrors surrounding us… I'd been leaning toward that one.

But this is Savannah. Ragna mia.

And she's perfect.

I roll my neck on its stump. "I'm ready when you are, my dear."

"Okay. But first… let's make a bet."

Oh? "A wager? Gambling is usually the Sinners' domain, but alright. I'm game. What are your terms?"

"We wrestle. If you pin me first, I'll let you spank me. But I pin you?—"

My upper lip starts to curl on its own accord. "I'm listening."

Her eyes seem to sparkle mischievously. "You'll have to let me win to find out."

"You know better. I can't just let you win."

"Oh. I know. But, believe me, you might want to."

Savannah is probably right, but since I'm suddenly very interested in baring her ass to me and watching her squirm as I bring my hand down on it again whether I'm inside of her or not… I can't see how I lose either way.

She's gotten so much better since we started. It's not as easy for me to overpower her, and she's taken my tips to use her speed and slighter weight against her opponent. There's also no denying that her time in the gym has made her stronger, too.

And, for some reason, she seems to really want to win this match.

Then again, so do I….

Just when I'm about to pin Savannah, the devious minx takes hold of my cock. Already so hard I felt a mixture of pleasure and pain as we tussled, when she grabs me and tugs, it's all I can do not to cream my pants like a goddamn teenage boy.

I don't know how she does it. One second, I'm on top of her, grinding my hips as if I can fuck her fist. The next, she yanks, I moan, and now I'm on my back. I miss her touch as she releases my cock. Before I can lunge for her, though, she's on top of me. Straddling me with a leg on each side, she presses her pussy against my lower belly, allowing my cock to nestle against her ass.

Her workout shorts are so tiny and so thin, it's almost like she's not wearing anything at all. Only she is, and so am I, otherwise one well-timed thrust might have my cock finding a hole of hers to lodge in.

Pussy. Ass. Right now, I'm so desperate to be inside this woman, to claim her again, that I'd take whatever she offered me… and, almost out of my head with lust, I start rocking my hip so that she knows it.

One hand plants on my chest. The other grabs for something. I can't even tell what it is. My sole focus is grabbing at Savannah's shorts, trying to shove them aside before I grab my own to free my cock—and that's when I see a flash of fluorescent light against metal, see her hand move, and curse when my left ear suddenly feels like it's on fucking fire.

It takes me a second to understand what happened. Well, that and seeing Savannah lift my stiletto to her lips, tongue darting out to play carefully with the tip.

Did she… was that blood?

"Wife?" It comes out shaky because, holy shit, I'm about to combust. "Did you just cut me?"

"Yup."

"On purpose?"

She snorts. "Please. I know you barely felt that. You took a blade to the gut and acted like we were discussing the fucking weather."

She's not wrong, but that's only because I was stubborn enough to hide my pain. What she just did now, though… it didn't hurt. Not really. Not after I got over the initial fiery feeling as she nicked my ear. But for her to use my knife to play with me, to lap at my blood the same way Orion laps at his water bowl?

"Tell me, my dear. Did I make a mistake in trusting you with that knife?"

Her weight shifts a little as Savannah lifts up, then scoots back, rubbing her pussy along my erection. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, babe. I just wanted your attention."

"You certainly have it now."

"Good. Because I just want to point out something."

"Go right ahead."

"The first time you had me on my knees, it's because I was trying to get out of fucking you. You know that. I know that. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about your taste a million times since then."

I find it hard to swallow right now. No. Fuck swallowing. I can't breathe. "Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm. And, well, since I have you pinned… I get to do what I want."

And what Savannah wants to do is dip her hand beneath the waistband of my pants, pulling out my cock before she shimmies down my body, finding a spot for her in the cradle of my legs.

I don't get up. Instead, folding my hand behind my head, not even caring that my ear stings from where she cut it, I let my beautiful bride worship me with her mouth.

Her face is buried in my crotch. As if she's trying every trick she has to make me explode in her mouth, she devotes the next few moments to laving my cock with her tongue, playing with my balls, humming against my length as she sucks.

I want to hold out. To continue this unexpected moment as long as I can, but there's a marked difference from the first blow job she gave me and this one. Instead of going through the motions, acting like a fucking fleshlight, Savannah is as into giving this oral as I am being on the receiving end. So I want to hold out, but before I know it, I'm running my fingers through the top of her hair, letting her know that I'm about to release.

She mumbles something around the head of my cock, and the vibration has me spurting right into her mouth.

Only after she swallows every drop of come I have to give her does she meet my gaze.

She looks so proud of herself, I have to assume she just told me to go ahead and give her my jizz. But there's more to it than that, and I have to know.

"Why?" Usually it's Savannah with the questions. But I just don't understand why she would do that without me finding a way to get her to. She said she wanted, too, but… "Why, ragna mia?"

Savannah squeezes my hip before laying her hand over my spider tattoo—and my scar.

"Why? Because I guess I don't hate you after all."

It's not the same as her telling me she loves me, but it's a start.