10. Alexei

ALEXEI

I t is a busy two hours.

But, by the end of it, I believe I have a plan to date my own wife.

While snowed in.

During the lead up to a time of year that I’ve done my very, very best to forget completely.

When I come back to the kitchen, Maggie (the name still feels strange in my mind) has sheets of cookie dough rolled out. She’s using a knife to cut shapes out of the dough.

There’s a spot of flour on her hip, and I want to run my hands over it…

So I do.

Maggie releases the most delightful little squeak. I grin, looking down at her.

“You scared me!”

“You never have to be scared when you’re around me,” I whisper into her hair.

She flushes that pretty shade of red, and I move to the side.

“Maggie,” I murmur, noticing her smile at the name. “What is this?”

“Well apparently cookie cutters aren’t a thing in this kitchen so.. I’m making do.”

“Cookie cutters?”

She nods. “Yeah. You’re supposed to make the dough into shapes. Then we’ll put icing on them.”

I study the scene in front me, then plant a kiss on her cheek. “Hold on,” I murmur.

Quickly, I dash from the room, returning moments later with some thick pieces of wire.

“What shape do you wish for?”

Maggie arches an eyebrow. “Oh, usually it’s like… stars, circles, mittens. Candy canes. Bells.”

“Bells?” I tilt my head.

“You know. The bells of Christmas?”

I shake my head. “Bells it is.”

Using my hands, and occasionally things in the kitchen, I bend the lengths of wire into approximations of the shapes she requires.

“These are pretty good,” Maggie says, picking one up.

“Even if you can’t press them into the dough, you could trace around them,” I say.

She smiles. “That’s downright impressive, Alexei.”

Her praise makes me feel warmer than any fire.

We settle in to work together. The oven behind us hums, and the silence feels…

Companionable.

Is this what it is to have a wife? Companionship?

I’m not sure if it’s the season, or if it’s merely the room, but I feel…

Content.

Maggie walks me through the process of placing the cookies in the oven. By the time they’re done, a new tray is ready to bake, and so on until all of the dough has been baked into the small shapes.

Maggie produces sweet white frosting, and we proceed to decorate.

I look at where she’s trying to paint a face on a star. “A face?”

“Yes. My mom always put faces on them. Said it made them look happier for the season.”

“I don’t see how a face will do that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, it doesn’t matter. When I was a kid I just wanted to lick the frosting off anyway, so I think she probably said that just to make sure I had something to do so I didn’t eat all of the frosting.”

Lick the frosting…

An idea forms in my mind. I take my spoon, pull some of the sticky liquid…

And dollop it on her face.

Maggie’s jaw drops. “Alexei! What…”

Quickly, I swoop in, and lick the frosting off of her.

Her face goes that delightful, perfect shades of crimson.

My cock is throbbing now. I lean in and press a kiss on her lips.

“Perhaps I can tempt you to lick the frosting after all?”

Her pupils go wide with lust.

A hungry growl forms in my throat. Quickly, I sweep my hand across the large butcher block in the kitchen that we use for the preparation of food, knocking cookies everywhere as I go.

“Alexei…” she pauses.

I freeze. “They are beautiful. I will make one hundred more of them. But if I do not taste you right now, I will lose my mind,” I growl at her.

Maggie’s eyes widen, and when I lean down to pull her up and place her on the counter, she doesn’t protest.

“Clothes,” I grunt, tugging at her leggings.

She’s halfway to doing as I ask when her eyes take on a devious gleam.

“What if I want to taste you?” she whispers.

Fuck.

Fuck.

She takes advantage of the way my body has completely frozen by sliding off of the counter and taking one of the bowls of icing.

Then, she kneels before me.

I’m a monster. I really am. Because the sight of her on her knees, her face level with my aching cock?

It’s making me go insane.

“Alexei?” she asks.

Her beautiful brown eyes blink up at me, and it takes my brain a solid minute before I respond.

“You want to suck my cock, Maggie?” I say.

My voice is so hoarse with need, I barely recognize it.

She nods, her brown curls bouncing, and I have no choice but to continue.

“Take it out,” I grunt.

She gently sets the pot of icing down, and then opens my belt. Her hands shake as they pull down my zipper, and I want to reassure her that…

What?

That she’s perfect? that no matter what, she’s already given me the best gift that I could have had?

“You’re so fucking pretty, Maggie,” I grunt. If she needs me to talk her through this, then I will certainly do so.

Her cheeks flush, but her hands stop shaking.

“So fucking pretty on your knees for me.”

“I’ve never done this before,” she whispers.

I swear, the words coming out in Russian because I don’t know how to express these desires in English.

“What do I….”

“Take me in your hand,” I grunt.

Her delicate fingers, still a little papery from the flour, curl around my cock.

My eyes roll back in my head and I sway.

“Alexei? Is that…”

“It’s perfect,” I moan. “Fuck, Maggie. Your hands feel so good. I could come from this alone.”

“Oh,” she murmurs.

“But if you put me between your lips…”

One of her hands disappears from my length, dipping into the pot of icing. The sensation of the cool icing dripping onto my cock, the fact that it’s also white, much like another substance leaking from me…

“Fuck,” I grunt.

Maggie looks up at me, smearing the sugar into the pre-cum leaking from the tip of me. “Like this?” she whispers.

Her tongue darts out, pink and wet, and laps at the sugar covering me.

The words pouring from me, in English and Russian, don’t make sense. She runs her tongue over me, lapping up the mixture of my fluids and the sticky sugar.

“Maggie,” I moan. “That’s so good. You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Good,” she whispers.

Good.

I growl. I want her to be good. I want this to be good. The teasing is killing me; however, it’s time to move this along. “Be a good girl, and suck me.”

Maggie obeys.

Her quick compliance is so fucking sexy. I watch her cheeks hollow as she takes me into her mouth, the strain clear on her face.

“You’re doing so well, Maggie,” I croon, one of my hands coming to pet her hair. “You take me so well. Go slow, darling. Take what you can.”

Some kind of determination glints in her eyes, and she takes me deeper.

Fuck.

“I’m going to move, Maggie,” I whisper. The urge to pump myself into her throat is too strong. “If it’s too much, just lean back, okay?”

Her eyes look up at me, and the image of Maggie, her lips spread wide around my cock, a smear of white icing on her cheek, will be burned into my mind forever.

Slowly, gently, I pump my hips into her. I move back and forth, the motion slow and deliberate. I’m careful to not give her more than she can handle, but she surprises me by taking more and more with each thrust.

Finally, the orgasm builds at the edges of my spine. I grunt, pulling out.

Maggie’s eyes widen. “Did I do it wrong?”

“No,” I grit as I hold myself. “I’m going to come, and I don’t…”

“I want to,” she whispers.

I blink.

With delicacy, Maggie feeds me back into her mouth. I’m in awe. “Are you sure, Maggie?”

She nods.

Fuck.

I’m not going to last.

It takes only a few thrusts, and I can’t hold back.

“Maggie,” I pant. “I’m going to…”

She pulls me closer, and when I come, it is down her beautiful throat.

Maggie drinks me down, and when I finally pull from her sweet lips, I know that I’m never going to forget this.

More than that, I have a new mission.

I will win over my wife.

Because I will want this every day.

For the rest of my life.