Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Post orgasm-bliss was a wonderful thing. It could make you breezy about a lot of stuff. Such as your husband delivering suckling bites to the side of your neck that would for sure leave marks. The kind of marks your makeup concealer stood no chance against.

It wasn’t rare these days for me to find on waking that we’d edged toward each other during sleep. Sometimes we lay on our sides, our fronts touching. Sometimes one of us would be doing a little spooning. Sometimes I’d be snuggled against his side, my head using his chest as a pillow.

Not once in the past two weeks had we drawn attention to it or awkwardly pulled away when we’d woken. Nor had we ever mentioned it afterwards. As if we had a silent agreement to just let it be.

This morning, I’d woken to feel his front plastered against my back, his cock pressed against me, and his hand playing with my pussy. This wasn’t all that rare either. Before long, he’d thrust inside me. Though Dax generally liked to take his time during sex—even if only to make me crazy—that was never the case first thing in the morning. He fucked hard and fast, making no apologies for it.

Oh, no apologies were needed. It was freaking awesome.

Just then, he withdrew his softening cock and flopped onto his back with a languid sigh.

I rolled over to face him, my breathing still a little out of whack. “You could totally give a crash course on the art of fucking. Just sayin.’”

His lips curved as his shoulders shook. Only lightly panting, he spoke, “No one ever has or does compliment me quite like you do.” His tone conveyed that he found the whole thing part-weird, part-amusing. I could live with that.

“I’m just saying what other women from your past were thinking.” The skanks. Okay, so—with the exception of those who talked to the press—they weren’t skanks, but no one would ever make my possessive hormones think differently.

“No, Addison, I’m pretty certain you’re the only one who’s ever had these thoughts.”

“Whatever. I don’t mind being different.”

His phone alarm began beeping, and he reached over to switch it off. I didn’t activate my own alarm anymore—there seemed no point when I would have set it for the exact same time as his.

Before he could vacate the bed to start getting ready for work, I said, “I wanted to run something by you.”

He paused in his attempt to sit up, instead settling on his elbows. “Go on.”

I really couldn’t put into words exactly how warm and fuzzy it made me feel when he stopped whatever he was doing to give me his full attention this way. “So, you know how you said you wouldn’t mind if I put up a Christmas tree?”

It looked like his eyelid was about to twitch, but it didn’t. “Yes.”

I hadn’t been sure whether or not he’d put up a protest, since he would know from my behavior at Halloween that I wasn’t shy about hanging up all kinds of decorations. But, though he’d cast me a sigh, he’d told me it would be “fine.” And when I’d asked if he was sure, he’d grunted his agreement.

I sat upright. “Well, I know you’re probably going to say no, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Ask what?”

I fought back the urge to nervously chew on my bottom lip. “If you wanted to come with me while I go choose a tree,” I replied.

He frowned. “It’s only the first day of December.”

“Which is when I routinely pick and then decorate one.”

“Every year?”

“Every year.” It was a tradition I’d picked up from my mom, who I hadn’t seen since Thanksgiving. As pre-agreed, Dax and I had first gone to his parents’ home for dinner and then later had eaten dessert with my family.

Both meals had gone smoothly. My mom had been as warm and welcoming toward Dax as his parents now always were to me. The same couldn’t be said for my dad or Ollie when it came to Dax, but they hadn’t glared at him even once. I considered that progress.

I had the feeling my dad had behaved himself in the hope that Dax and I would then have Christmas dinner at my parents’ home this year. But I hadn’t taken them up on their offer, because I didn’t trust that neither Dane nor Ollie would make shitty comments once the alcohol started flowing—particularly my brother, who tended to be brutally honest at such times.

Dax’s parents had issued the same invitation to us, but we’d politely turned it down. There would have been a huge fuss if we’d agreed to eat at his parents’ table when we’d spent most of Thanksgiving day with them. We’d placated everyone by promising we’d still pay them a visit on Christmas.

“Does this mean you’re not working today?” he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“No, I’m still going in. But I’ll only be staying until lunchtime. Then I’ll be heading to a tree farm.” I could tell by his unenthusiastic expression that he was going to veto accompanying me. It was no shocker—he had nothing against this particular holiday, he just didn’t feel compelled to throw himself into any celebratory activities.

I got it. I respected it. And I wouldn’t want him to be part of things he’d find no actual enjoyment in. That wasn’t what the holidays were about anyway. But, with how much I’d come to enjoy us doing things together, my stomach sank in disappointment all the same.

Having no intention of letting it show, I gave a casual shrug. “It’s fine if you’d rather sit this one out. I know you’re super busy, and I know the thought of Christmas doesn’t exactly get you excited. I just wanted to make the offer, since this is your home and I figured it was possible you might want some input. But if you do want input without having to make the trip, I can text you pictures of trees I like and you can then tell me which you prefer,” I offered.

He watched me steadily for a long moment. “Do you usually do this alone?”

“No, I generally rope someone into coming with me. Usually one of my sisters or Ollie unless—” I stopped speaking and twisted my mouth.

“Unless you have a boyfriend at the time,” he guessed, the warm languidness in his eyes beginning to cool.

“Uh-huh. But I often tended to be single during the month of December.”

“Why?”

“No reason. It wasn’t a purposeful thing. It just regularly turned out that way.” For the first time in years, I wouldn’t be alone for the holidays. I’d wake up Christmas Day to someone sleeping beside me.

Though my relationship with Grayden had been serious, we hadn’t been together Christmas morning. He’d rightfully spent the night before in his own home with his daughters—he and Felicity used to spend alternate Christmas Eves with them.

Dax exhaled a long sigh. “I’ll go with you.”

I blinked, taken aback. “You will?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

I felt my lips part. “Now I feel bad.”

His brow pinched. “You feel bad?”

“It’s just that I can quite clearly see that you don’t want to go, and I don’t like that I’m pulling you into something you’d prefer to not do. Why are you agreeing to come?”

He pushed off his elbows. “Just because I don’t have many personal traditions doesn’t mean I don’t understand how important they are to people. If this is something you do every year, it’s clearly important to you—I respect that. And I might as well get on board, since it has now become my tradition by virtue of us being married.”

I cleared my throat and plucked at the coverlet. “Oh. Well. Than—”

“Don’t,” he threw out, narrowing his eyes.

Feeling my brow crease in confusion, I cocked my head. “Why don’t you like me to thank you?” It always seemed to annoy him.

“You thank me for things that it’s only natural I do, given you’re my wife.”

Really, though, he didn’t need to do such “natural” stuff. We still weren’t a couple in the truest sense of the word. He was free of many expectations wives generally had for their husbands. And yet … he was going to accompany me, because he took things that were important to me seriously.

I swallowed hard, touched. He might not care deeply for me, but he cared what mattered to me. That meant a lot.

The moat that existed between us had narrowed over the past couple of weeks. I felt it. Heard it in his words. Saw it in his actions.

“I’m a person who likes to express her gratitude,” I said.

“Well, don’t.”

I sighed. “But I don’t want you to think I take you or the things you do for granted.”

His face softened. “I already know you don’t, because I know you. So, you can keep any thanks to yourself in future.”

That wasn’t likely to happen, and he’d just have to suck it up.

He flicked back the covers. “Closet. I want to choose what you wear today.”

I felt my forehead crease. “You only usually ask to do that on days we spend apart.”

One brow crawled up. “Is that a no?”

I shook my head. “I’m just making an observation. Are you ever going to tell me why it ‘pleases’ you that I consent to this?”

“Probably not.”

“Because you’d prefer not to, or because you like that not knowing vexes me as much as it does?”

Humor danced in his eyes. “A little of the first, a lot of the latter.”

I barely held back a huff. Ass. “Maybe I should start not telling you things, like … I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”

His mouth quirked. “I’m sure you will. But it should make you feel better that you’ll be leading me around a Christmas tree farm this afternoon.” A pained expression took over his face.

“Please don’t cry. I’m not good with sobbers.”

He spared me a hard glance before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Closet.”

“I heard you the first

∞∞∞

Later that day, I tipped my head to the side as I drank in the sight of the red cedar we’d placed in the corner of the living room. “I think that’s a good spot.”

Beside me, Dax grunted in agreement. “The one I had last year was set up near the window. It looked out of place.”

I frowned, surprised. “You had a tree last year?”

Another grunt—this one of confirmation. “Mimi hauled one here on Christmas Eve to surprise me,” he explained, frustration lining his forehead. “I only allowed her to set it up because her aunt had just died and she wasn’t in a good place.”

I would bet that Mimi had counted on him making such allowances for her. She was no stranger to manipulating him. “Did she ask to stay over?”

“Yes. But that wasn’t something I was going to consent to, no matter her situation. It certainly didn’t help her case that she made yet another … sexual overture that was subtle enough she could play off as a joke. So I told her to leave.”

Annoyance arrowed through me on hearing about her “overture.” I wondered if she’d thought he might make a more vulnerable “target” during the holidays; that she’d have more chance of successfully seducing him while he’d surely be feeling lonely. “I’m guessing she didn’t take that well.”

“She smashed a few baubles on her way out.”

My mouth flattening, I shook my head. “The woman is unreal.” Neither of us had heard from her again since the day she appeared at my office, and she hadn’t attempted to communicate through intermediaries a second time. In fact, it seemed that she truly had left Redwater and was now in the wind.

“Well, shall we get started?” he asked, unenthusiastically gesturing at the box of tree ornaments I’d asked him to pull out of storage.

I gave him a winning smile. “Works for me.” When I earlier asked him if he’d help me decorate the tree, I’d thought he’d respond with a hard no. Instead—wearing the most tortured expression—he’d agreed, the words sounding torn from his soul. I’d offered him an out, but he’d waved it off.

As he ripped open the box, I pulled up a music playlist on my phone. I’d no sooner pressed “play” than he straightened and shot me a flat stare.

“No,” he said.

Much as I’d guessed this would be his reaction, I pushed, “Why not?”

“I’ve agreed to help you with the tree, but I draw the line at listening to holiday music the entire time.”

Cutting off the song, I sniffed. “Fine, Scrooge.”

“I’d rather be Scrooge than a Christmas elf like you.”

A surprised chuckle bubbled up. “My mom is worse than I am, believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe it.”

I snickered. “I’m serious. She turns into a cookie-making monster. Growing up, we had trees in several rooms. She played Christmas tunes throughout most of December. And from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth, we would watch a holiday movie every night as part of the countdown. Didn’t your family have any traditions?”

“Some. Most were outdoor activities—a parade, a theater show, a market, a food festival, a short skiing trip. Things like that. We did them every December without fail.”

“And they scarred you?” I asked with mock sympathy. “Made it impossible for you to find enjoyment in the holidays as an adult?”

Exasperation flickered across his face. “I don’t dislike Christmas. I simply don’t feel the need to make it the focus of an entire month.”

“Gotcha.” Hiding my amusement, I patted his arm. “Well, don’t worry, I won’t drag you into my plans to attend a Christmas festival or hit an ice rink. Mostly because I want to go with someone who’ll enjoy it—it’s otherwise not as fun.”

He took a long look at the boxed-up decorations. “You have a lot of stuff in here.”

“I’ve collected it all over the years.” I pointed to the nearby shopping bag that I’d retrieved from my reading den a few minutes ago. “Those there are new. I always buy at least three newies each year.”

He selected a glittery red bauble. “The larger ones go on the bottom, the smaller ones go on the top. Yes?”

I grinned. “Clever boy.”

As we hung up ornaments and baubles, I deliberated on what exactly to buy him for Christmas. Whenever I considered it, I came up blank. What did you get for a guy who had pretty much everything he wanted?

Seeing that he was looking at me funny, I leaned my head back slightly. “What?”

“Why are you decorating the back of the tree? No one is going to see it.”

“I’m not going to lumber this beauty with a bald spot. That would just be mean.”

He squinted. “In other words, you just love decorating trees so much that you’re going to cover every last inch of it,” he correctly guessed.

“Don’t judge.” We went back to hanging up the other ornaments and baubles, until finally there was only one thing left. I held up the tree topper. “Will you do the honors?”

He took it from me, eyeing it strangely. “This is a red panda.”

“Wearing a Santa hat, I know. Cute, huh?”

“Since when do people stick these on the top of their trees?”

“Most people likely don’t. But I do. Stars and angels are boring. Red pandas, however? Not at all boring. So … ” I waved a hand at the tree, smiling when he fixed on the topper with an aggravated sigh. “Thank you.”

A muscle in his cheek flexed. “I told you not to—”

“Whatever.” I took a few steps back to properly admire our handiwork. “It looks good.”

He gave what appeared to be a reluctant nod. “Better than I expected.”

“Should I be offended by that? I feel like I should be.”

Grunting, he tipped his chin at the three other boxes he’d hauled down for me. “What’s in those?”

I felt my mouth curve. “Just a few finishing touches,” I replied vaguely.

He mostly stood back and observed as I set up candles, gnomes, nutcrackers, musical ornaments, and the fireplace garland. His scowl did ease when he realized I’d bought him a Christmas stocking—a Grinch-themed one, as I thought it fitting. He then helped me with not only hanging up the door wreath but the outdoor lights.

Once we were done, I gave him another smile. “You had fun. Admit it.”

“Fun,” he repeated in a toneless voice. “Right.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you’re sobbing inside because you loathed every minute of it—whatever. Speaking of misery … I’ll be having my office Christmas party in a few weeks. Are you going to be my plus-one without complaint, or am I going to have to mope and sulk until you agree?”

“No moping or sulking will be necessary. I’ll be having my own Christmas party at some point. I’ll expect you to accompany me.”

“I’ll be there.” I set my hands on my hips. “Now, I need to put these empty boxes back into the storage cupboard. After that, I have plans to watch a movie while sipping hot chocolate. It’s one of my traditions.”

He sighed. “You really do go all-out to celebrate the first day of December, don’t you?”

“Yup. Care to join me? I’m thinking of throwing on Die Hard, but I’m open to suggestions.” I was also well-aware that he was going to walk away, shaking his head, eager for some alone-time. I’d commandeered the majority of his day, after all.

“I have a few emails to send,” he said, collecting the empty boxes, waving away my attempt to help. “Start the movie without me. I’ll join you when I’m done.”

Thrown, I double-blinked. “O-okay.”

He walked away, taking the boxes with him.

Once I’d made a mug of hot chocolate, I settled in the living room and started to watch Die Hard on a streaming service. I’d been expecting him to show up near the end of the movie, but it had only been playing for fifteen minutes when he entered the room.

He sank onto the sofa beside me and draped his arm over the back of it, sitting so close our thighs touched. He didn’t hesitate to do that these days when we watched TV together. Not that we cuddled or—aside from the time when we’d watched The Conjuring 2—he urged me to lean into him or anything. He just had no issues boldly invading my personal space, as if he saw it as his right.

I flicked a glance at the mug I held. “Want a taste?”

“Yes.” He slowly swooped down and then lowered his mouth to mine. He licked and sipped and savored, waking up my body, making every last cell zing.

My belly fluttering, I tried deepening the kiss.

He pulled back and shook his head. “You wanted to watch a movie.”

“Yes. Did. Past tense.”I cupped his dick through his jeans. “Now I want this.”

He let out a low grunt, heat flaring in his eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

He removed my hand and set it on my thigh. “You’ll just have to wait.”

I gave a playful pout. “It’s mine. I should be able to have it whenever I want it.”

Something rippled across his face, his eyes now burning with an indecent lust that hit me in my core. “Yes, it’s yours,” he readily agreed. “But you had your way last night, didn’t you?”

I had indeed. He’d lay back and let me do the exploring and teasing for a change—which I’d done a lot of. “But—”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of stepping on your traditions,” he said, all mock consideration. “That wouldn’t be right.”

This motherfucker.

He cupped my jaw with a no-nonsense grip and turned my face back to the TV. “Watch.”

It was one word. Just one. But there was such sexual power in it, such sheer assertiveness, that it all but seized my compliance … even as it demanded nothing.

I knew why he insisted we wait until the movie was over. In a strange sort of way, this was foreplay. A barefaced tease. He was well-aware I’d be sitting here wanting, craving, needing.

I barely registered the scenes playing out on the TV. Couldn’t focus for shit. My thoughts were centered on him, on what would soon come, on the expectation of his touch.

Tension sparked. Grew. Coiled. Stretched out like a rubber band.

A feverish anticipation began to skip along my prickling skin. My pulse skittered each time he moved … but he kept his hands to himself. Didn’t touch me even once.

I would have complained if I thought it would get me anywhere. But I could sense he was in one of those moods where he was intent on getting his way. In truth, I couldn’t say I hated it, because the wait was infuriating in the most decadent way.

Once the movie was over, I thought he’d turn to me and claim my mouth again; maybe tell me to strip or bend over. Nope. He started doing the things that he normally did before we went to bed—putting dirty dishware in the kitchen, switching all the electronics off, and locking the house up tight.

Not about to hang around waiting for direction, I headed upstairs. At this point, sexual restlessness had flooded my brain and body. A restlessness so raw and edgy it was almost painful.

Once I’d placed my shoes on a shelf in the closet, I made my way to the en suite bathroom so I could shed my clothes and dump them in the hamper there. My reflection caught my attention, and I silently groaned. Mascara goop.

Who didn’t love mascara goop?

I gently removed it from the corner of my eye and then washed my finger. I’d just finished drying it with a small towel when he came breezing into the room. In the mirror’s reflection, his gaze caught mine. Darkened. Glittered. Stripped me bare in every sense.

My heart excitedly pounding in my chest, I didn’t move. I simply watched him slowly move closer and closer. The moment stretched out, making my stomach all light and fluttery.

Dax came up behind me, keeping his hands by his sides. He settled his nose behind my ear and inhaled deeply. “Face me.”

I did so, my chest lightly brushing his. Possession shone in the mismatched orbs that watched me so damn intensely. As always, being the focal point of such unwavering attention short-circuited my brain. My pulse kicked up, going faster and faster until it was racing.

“I want you to be still for me. Very, very still,” he specified, his voice liquid enticement, sheer dominance threaded through every note, luring me to follow and please, promising carnal pleasures.

I allowed myself to be swept under, submerging into that mental state where I felt only calm, safe, protected, and so supremely turned-on I ached with it.

He sensed my ceding of control, and a predatory satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Pride was there, too. And ownership.

“Always so good at pleasing me,” he murmured, his eyes following the path of his finger as he dragged it down the side of my neck in a whisper-soft movement. “Last night, you got to play. Tonight, it’s my turn.” His arresting gaze sank into mine, a warning there. “And I’m not in the mood to play nice.”

That didn’t sound like anything I’d find myself complaining about at any point.

“I want you naked,” he said, his captivating pitch so deep, so steady, so molten. When I went to reach for the bottom of my tee, he gave a slow shake of the head and added, “I’ll be the one who strips you.” He lightly tapped my lower lip with his finger. “Fuck dolls can’t undress themselves.”

My mouth went ahead and dried right up.

He removed my clothing one piece at a time. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t drag his heels either. He was all business—distant, clinical, determined.

Once I was bare, he took his time letting his gaze roam over me. Pure male avarice settled into every line of his face. “Absolute perfection.”

He dipped his head and took my mouth with a sensual expertise that seemed as easy for him as breathing. The kiss was a lure. A seduction. A claiming. It had chemicals doing a full-on jig in my system and racing through my veins like wildfire.

I moaned into his mouth. He swallowed the sound with a gratified hum. And then the kiss roughened, deepened, became laced with a gluttonous need.

He palmed my pussy, his hold nothing short of proprietary. Moaning again, I fisted his shirt, an edgy need buzzing in my blood. I was now so unbelievably wet and—

He broke the kiss with a hard nip to the corner of my mouth. “Turn around.”

I blinked, taken aback. What, no sensual torture this time? Then I remembered his earlier words …

I’m not in the mood to play nice.

Huh. I did as he requested.

“What a well-behaved fuck doll you are,” he praised with something akin to pride, his eyes twin gales of intemperate lust. “Grab onto the counter.”

I grasped it tight, licking my lips. I heard the rustle of clothes, the jingle of a belt buckle, the lowering of a zipper. Something warm and hard slapped my ass.

I swallowed. “I need—”

“You should need.” His jaw hard, he kicked my legs further apart. “You should need me every bit as much as I need you.”

He really didn’t sound all too pleased about the needing me part.

His lips grazed my ear. “I hope for your sake that you’re wet, baby, or this is going to hurt.” He swiped the broad head of his cock along my slit once, twice.

Then he slammed home.

My breath caught as my aching core was stuffed so full it stung. But I was wet, so it wasn’t too much. Which was good for me, because he didn’t give me a single second to adjust.

He bounced me on his cock. Literally. There was no thrusting, no. He didn’t fuck me. He was using my body to get off—simple.

The hands firmly clamped around my hips forcefully yanked me onto his cock, his pace frantic and unrelenting as he treated me like the fuck doll he’d called me. And I reveled in it—moaning, whimpering, drinking in his every grunt and groan.

His thick shaft mercilessly abraded my slick inner walls. The friction was maddening. The fullness was overwhelming. The winding tension was all-consuming.

His hold on my hips becoming tighter, he locked his gaze on mine again. “Look at you, all flushed and owned and blissed-out.”

I gasped as he shifted me slightly. The new angle made his cock slide even deeper each time he roughly hauled me to him. I scraped at the counter with my nails, biting so hard into my lip I was surprised I didn’t taste blood.

The tension inside me began to coil and sharpen as my release came closer and closer. My thigh muscles bunched and quivered. My breaths started coming hard and fast. My moans rose in volume. My grip on the counter became white-knuckled.

A finger rolled my clit. “Come.”

The heat in my belly boiled over and exploded outward, wrenching a hoarse cry out of my throat, making my pussy tighten and ripple.

He didn’t stop bouncing me on his cock. He roughly used me like it was his God-given right, completely unapologetic about it, making it clear that he wasn’t done.

The skin of my hips hurt from his bruising grip, but I didn’t care. Didn’t care when he began handling me even more roughly as he spoke of all the unspeakable things he wanted to do to me.

My breath caught as a wet fingertip whispered over the puckered hole between the cheeks of my ass. I clenched against the intrusion without thought, and he let out a dark chuckle.

“You can’t keep me out, baby. This ass is mine.” As if to prove it, he pushed his finger forward and breached the tight ring of muscle. “It’s always been mine. I claimed it long ago. I never gave it back.”

He started impaling me even harder on his cock, the move also filling my ass with his finger. Holy fucking shit, I was going to come again super soon. The dual assault was wrecking me.

I burned, I shuddered, I spiraled with mindless need. Tension began to gather and simmer low in my belly again—it built fast, poised itself to strike. And then it crept closer …

My inner walls rippled. My breathing went to shit. My grip on the counter tightened.

“That’s it, come for me again,” he rumbled.

Oh, I came all right. A blinding, far-too-intense pleasure roared through me over and over in what felt like an endless loop of euphoria. My head whipped back as a silent scream robbed me of breath and my pussy clamped down on him.

Dax grunted. “Fuck, Addie.” Then he started to fuck me, ramming his hips forward over and over, making his belt buckle jingle. It was brutal and pitiless and violent.

I felt his cock thicken and pulse just before he buried himself unbearably deep. He bit out something crude as he exploded, blasting out whip after whip of come.

Then we both kind of slumped.