Epilogue

EPILOGUE

DOVE

H e does, and then he laughs. “My jingle-dildo. I thought I threw that fucker away.”

Derek is a jealous, jealous man. That’s one of the first things I understood about him. Once he decided I was his, that was it. He doesn’t like me talking to other guys, and if one has the misfortune to flirt with me in front of my husband, he has a lot of petty traffic violations in his future.

But the most insane part of his jealousy is how he doesn’t stop at being envious of people . He’s actually jealous of the inanimate dildo that he had made of his own dick, all because I fucked it before I fucked him.

“You did. But I took it out of the trash when you weren’t looking.”

“Dove—”

I jut my chin out at him. “This was my gift, babe. You gave it to me. Now I’m going to give it to you.”

For a second, I don’t think he understands. Then it clicks, and the arousal on his face deepens before he shakes his head, almost as though he doesn’t want to get his hopes up that I mean what he thinks I mean.

“Give it to me?” he asks. “As a memento or…”

To answer his question, I hook my finger under one of the leather straps that I fitted around the base of the dildo. I purposely kept the bells on because he went to such trouble to glue them on the silicone in the first place—plus I still think it’s hysterical he decorated the Christmas-themed sexy toy with small silver bells before christening it the jingle-dildo—but the straps… those are new, and especially made with my husband’s predilections in mind.

He knows it, too.

Derek visibly shudders. I watch the sculpted muscles in his chest quiver as he grips his cock, squeezing it in anticipation.

I’ve never done anything like this before. He’s mentioned it, and as soon as I showed him any kind of hesitation about pegging my husband, he dropped the subject. That bothered me. In bed, there isn’t anything Derek won’t do for—and to—me. I know how much he loves anything to do with my ass, and I’ve let him fuck me in mine countless times since we got together.

When it comes to his, he never gets off harder than when I shove one of my fingers inside of him as he fucks me. I know he likes it. I know he’s been fascinated with the idea, and that he’s never done it before, either. He never had a partner he trusted enough to be that vulnerable with.

Now he has me, and this Christmas? If Derek wants to be fucked by his wife, I’m going to fuck him.

I toss the bottle of lube we use for when Derek wants anal onto the bed next to me. I never thought I’d be using it on him, but the more I mused over how to make our first Christmas Eve together as a married couple special, the more I convinced myself that using the jingle-dildo on my cop was fucking perfect.

I won’t use it on me again. Not when I saw how jealous it made Derek. But to use it on him ?

As I worked on the project, I actually got really into the idea—and now I can’t wait.

I’ve practiced putting the strap on in the shower, the one place that Derek insists is camera-free. It had a bit of a learning curve, but as I do up the fasteners while he trembles slightly in front of me, the silicone jutting out from the juncture between my legs as my very own red erection, I feel as confident as ever.

“Get on the bed,” I order. And then, just like he did last Christmas to me, I tell him, “On your hands and knees.”

Our eyes meet. I drop my hand to the tip of the dildo, jerking it enough to make the bells ring out softly.

His lips quirk upward. “Yes, ma’am,” he says before he releases his own dick, fisting the covers as he pulls his bulk up on the bed. Arching his back, he crawls on his hands and needs until he’s in the middle of the bed.

“Stay there,” I tell him. “Don’t you dare fucking move.”

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he says. “You finally got sick of my shit, took my service weapon and blew my brains out. That it?”

What? I’d opened the bottle of lube, but I pause when Derek says that. “Um. No?”

“You sure? Because if I’m not dead and this isn’t Heaven, then I must be dreaming. Do me a favor, precious? Don’t wake me up until you’ve made me come.”

I giggle, scooting behind him as I turn the bottle of lube over, spilling it down the crack of his ass. “You’re not dead, baby. Not dreaming, either. This is just my turn to give you a merry fucking Christmas.”

Emphasis, as ever, on the fucking .

Derek jolts when the cool liquid hits his skin, though he leans back against my hand as I make sure to oil him up as much as I can. “Shit. That feels so weird.”

“You’ll get used to it.” I mean, I did. I slather the slick substance on my fingers, getting the dildo itself slippery. “Trust me. You want to be nice and oiled up to take Derek Coleman’s cock.”

He’s bracing himself on bent elbows and knees as I position the blunt head of the sex toy against his puckered asshole. “This really gives new meaning to when you tell me to go fuck myself,” he teases. “But even if it’s weird, it’s a good kind of weird. I like it.”

I knew he would.

Caressing his ass with one hand, I use the other to keep the dildo in place as I ask, “You ready for me?”

“My precious Dove, I was born ready for you.”

We’ll see about that.

I practiced with the strap-on. Still, it’s one thing to move my hips, getting down the rhythm of what it’s like to be penetrating someone instead of being penetrated. It’s something else entirely to figure out how to push the dildo inside of my husband when I don’t have any sensation in my fake cock.

I don’t—but he obviously does.

He groans as I breech his asshole, pushing with enough force to lodge the entire head of the dildo just inside of his ass. The jingle bells nearly drown out his heavy breathing, but once I still after I give him the first inch, all I can hear is Derek exhaling roughly.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Never been fucking better. You?”

I answer him by giving him a little more before slapping his ass quickly, then rubbing the red mark left behind from my palm. “I’m so proud of you, Derek. Look at you. You’re taking me so good, baby.”

“I fucking love you, Dove,” he grits out. “You know that, don’t you?”

Oh. I definitely do.

“Even when I’m about two inches deep in your ass with a dildo that jingles every time you breathe?”

“Give me another inch, hit my fucking prostate, and I don’t care if you swivel your hips and play ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ with the bells as you fuck me, precious. If you can take my cock, I can take it, too.”

I slap his ass again. He grunts out a long, “Fuuuck,” as I push another two inches inside of him.

“This is my cock, Derek. If I have the strap on, it’s mine . Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t,” he says, sounding almost feverish. He’s panting slightly, and I can’t tell if it’s because of how stuffed full of silicone he is, or because he’s so incredibly turned on by the idea of his wife fucking his ass as his Christmas present that he’s trying to keep from nutting too early. “Everything I am. My cock. My life. My heart. My fucking soul , Dove… it’s yours. It always has been.”

And it always will be.

With another push of my hips, the lube slicking the way, I seat as much of the dildo inside of my husband as possible, pegging him completely.

He arches his back further, his roar muffled as he grits his teeth together.

“How’s that feel?” I ask. “You okay?”

“Fuck me,” he begs. “I want to know how it feels for you to fuck me in the ass.”

“Is that your Christmas wish, baby?”

He grunts.

I palm his his right cheek, taking my time in pulling a couple of inches out, dragging the dildo so Derek can experience the ridges and the veins.

The sound of the jingling bells basically stops as I go slowly, only to shake wildly as I thrust back in.

“I said, ‘is that your Christmas wish,’ Derek?” Again. I’m slowly building a rhythm now that’s accompanied by the bells as I do exactly what my husband asked and fuck him. “Because I’m not done playing Santa yet.”

It was my turn. And though Derek’s been sneaking me gifts since the middle of December—and he’s been putting his Santa suit to good use in a whole new way since I’ve discovered I have a bit of a Santa kink… as long as that Santa is my husband—I’ve been doing the same for him, even if he insists that I don’t have to do it.

I don’t have to. I want to.

Why wouldn’t I when, in answer to my question, he pants out, “All I wanted for Christmas this year is the same thing I wanted last year: you .”

My heart swells as I pick up my pace, the bells constantly ringing as I keep on moving my hips, gripping onto Derek’s for purchase. “You have me, baby.”

“And you have my ring on your finger to prove it,” he says, his voice dropping low into something like a growl. “But I need all of you. And, fuck it, I need you now .”

He’s quick. Before I even realize what he’s about to do, he’s jerked forward, removing the dildo from his ass so quickly, I know he had to be feeling it—and not in a good way. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, though, as he swivels on his knees so that we’re face-to-face.

Derek’s right hand is on his cock. He’s stroking it, a bead of pre-come forming on the tip, and I know that he’s close to coming. When I came up with the idea of taking his fascination with ass play a little further by pegging him as part of his Christmas gift, I did my research. If I hit the right spot, I could get him to come by penetration alone, and from the look of it, I nearly did.

But my husband has his fixations. I’m the most obvious one, of course, but when it comes to our intimacy, he has one firm, fast rule: if he’s coming, it’s in me. Whether he’s blowing his load in my pussy as he creampies me or he expects me to swallow every last drop after I go down on him, it doesn’t matter. His insistence that he belongs to me extends to his jizz. If he’s masturbating because we can’t be alone, that’s excusable, but if I’m there? He’s giving it to me.

He’s still trying to knock me up. He hasn’t managed to yet, and we’re both of the mindset that if it happens, it happens. It’s not like either of us are dying to have kids or anything. Derek just has this insane idea that, if he breeds me, I’m tied to him for life.

Marriage can technically end. Divorce technically exists. I could technically leave him, though he’s already proven time and time again that he’ll never allow that. But if we have kids? A little human that’s part-Derek, part-Dove… he’s convinced that I would never be able to escape him then.

And no amount of assurance will tell him otherwise. I guess that’s what happens when you fall for a man with abandonment issues from a deadbeat father and a mother that died too young, but that’s okay.

Officer Derek Coleman might be insane, but he’s mine, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.

Of course, when I see how close he is, I understand why he forces me to pull the dildo out of him. Using his free hand, he grabs the strap, twisting it this way and that until he’s managed to tug it off one of my hips.

Seeing the desperation in his dark green eyes, his need to make me his again this Christmas, I show him some mercy and quickly remove the other side of the strap. Letting the used dildo fall to the bed, I make a mental note to sterilize it later for future use seconds before Derek lunges for me.

He kisses me even as he grips his cock and finds the entrance to my pussy with his eyes closed. I’m so hot and wet, he slips, prodding me in my own asshole with the slippery head of his cock. For a heartbeat, I think he’s doing a little tit-for-that, taking my ass tonight after I took his, but he rights himself even as our teeth clash in a kiss so passionate, reckless, and raw, I nearly bite my own tongue.

Once he’s inside of me, he lets go of his shaft. Then, reaching beneath me with both of his hands, he pushes my back until our chests are pressed together. Guiding me to wrap my legs around his waist, Derek lifts me up easily, climbing off of the bed while I cling to him.

When I was younger and much less experienced, I was self-conscious about letting guys try to pick me up. The first time I told Derek I was too heavy and to put me down, the arrogant bastard fucking bench-pressed me, then ordered me to sit on his face to prove that I’ll never be too heavy for him.

Now? After a year of this man loving me, I don’t even bat an eye as he carries me into the living room where our Christmas tree is. What’s even more impressive is how he’s only using one hand to keep me on his dick. My arms are thrown over his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his trim waist, so I’m doing my part to hang on as he buries himself inside of me, but there’s a reason why Derek is only clutching my ass with one hand.

Because in his other? He has my camera.

Where did that come from? I see it as he lowers us both to the floor, setting the camera down beside us. I guess I was too distracted to notice him grabbing it, and when he lets go of it, using his hands to knead my tits instead, I forget all about it again until long after I come—and only then did Derek finally let himself do the same.

At least, I did until I realize that he’s changed our positions right before he creampied me so that my back is to his chest, my legs bent behind him, my pussy stretched around his cock as he keeps it exactly where he likes it: balls-deep inside of me.

With that familiar smirk of his, Derek grabs the camera. It’s already on, and because I’m the photographer and he isn’t, he doesn’t give a shit about the settings or the lighting in the living room. He just snaps the picture, then shifts the camera around so that I can see it.

It’s slightly out of focus and definitely off-centered.

It’s perfect.

“Merry Christmas, precious,” he whispers, kissing the side of my throat.

As I collapse against my cop, I smile at the picture of the two of us on the screen. And I have one thought as he keeps his cock buried deep inside of me.

I can’t fucking wait until next Christmas.