Weight settles over me.

“Libby.” He moans against my forehead.

I come back to myself sobbing, and it’s almost joyful.

His hands drive into my hair. He rolls us on the forest floor, holding me close.

I run my fingers through his tattered shirt and my eyes stream. “Matty.”

He strokes my hair, while I soak him with tears. “Baby, it’s getting cold.”

I sniff. There’s no “getting” about it—it’s freaking freezing. But I resent missing a second of this.

Crying—I’m not one for it, but it’s essential medicine.

My incredible husband, with his violent antidotes. I rub my face on him. He loves me so deeply, that he hurts me just right.

Exactly how I need.

He kept every deep dark fantasy I wrote him when we were apart. When I was desperate and aching for my soldier.

When the only thing I could think of to keep the connection alive across such distance, and time, was the brutal honesty of my desires.

“Wait,” he growls, and rises.

I shake my head and sigh. Bossy boy. He fastens his pants and jogs to a bush. He says my stories kept him alive.

Now he rewards me by bringing them to life.

He returns with a bag of our things. We change back into the clothes we left in.

“How do I look?” I draw my lower lip between my teeth then let it pop out and watch his gaze fly to my mouth. “Like debauchery?”

“You look like sunshine.” He chuckles and runs a hand through his rich dark hair before plucking a twig from mine. “My filthy, innocent hussy, everyone will assume you were off chasing bunnies.”

I place my hand over the one at my temple, and breathe in.

His smile slips. “Only I receive your wickedness.”

My chest gets tight. I close my eyes for a moment, and turn my cheek into his hand. “Only you do.”

There isn’t a time in my life I can remember not knowing him. There’s not a time I recall not loving him. He staked his claim in preschool. We’ve been inseparable even through the most excruciating separations.

My breasts tingle. “Uh, oh. We’d better get back, it’s feed time.”

His gaze shuffles to my chest, and he sighs. My breastfeeding status is the only thing that saved me from being the one getting my chest bitten and savaged, in this role-play.

What a pity.

We’ll have to try again in six months or so.

He takes my hand, and leads me to the track and we jog back to the vacation cabin. We take our coats off at the door.

The soft meow of a cry wafts down the stairs.

“Just in time.” My dad glances down from the cabin balcony. “She’s getting feisty, like her Mommy.”

I laugh, and shake my head. It’s a blessing our families could make it away with us for the holidays. They were so protective of Ollie and I in the first year when Matty was away, and now he is home, they miss being there for us.

And boy, are Mathew and I grateful for these stolen moments of privacy.

I rush up the stairs.

“Daddy!”

I step to the side, as Ollie charges past me to his Dad. I take our daughter, and glance over my shoulder to see Mathew scoop up the sturdy toddler, and sigh.

Then kiss the top of Stephanie’s head and take her to be fed.

 

I hear the sound of his inhalation before his footsteps. Mathew lounges at the bedroom door. He looks at me the same way he always does when he sees me breastfeeding. With a heartwarming mixture of tenderness and possessiveness. His face full of the pride at seeing his child feed from me, and the jealousy of his gaze moving to a part of me he always considered his.

“She’s all done.” I lower Steph, who’s already nodding off, and give her back a rub. She releases a belch.

“I’ll take her.” Mathew rushes closer.

I hold her out, and smile. Will that ever end? The way he rushes toward us with a shred of desperation, as though there’s always a part of him that believes he’ll have to leave us again.

I kind of hope it never changes. Because I’ll never stop feeling that exact same way. I never won’t appreciate the treasure of every moment we have.

He takes her from my hands and sniffs her gently, before taking her to the children’s room. I change into my nightgown, and take the silver envelope hidden in my travel bag, and lounge on the bed.

He returns and shuts the door. His steps falter. I suppress the satisfaction of my smile. His gaze ripples over me. Oh, my husband enjoys me in pale pink as much as dirt streaked and rolling on the ground.

He removes his shirt and climbs on to the bed.

My heart shudders at his stalking movement, but I swallow and hand him the envelope. He pauses, and takes the envelope, unfolding the secret inside.

His chest expands. His jaw sets.

Desire flares in the battered place between my legs.

Holy shit.

I’m in for it now.

“Really…” He says, and glances up. It’s not a question. He looks at me and his jaw ticks. “Think I’ll be saving this for Valentine’s Day.”

He sets the letter down.

Oh, god. The beast. He’ll keep me waiting that long?

He lunges for me. I’ll be paying for what the wait will cost him, in advance.

My pussy pulses, and I shuffle back in bed.

He grabs my wrists and slams them into the headboard, covering me in one swift move.

I bite my teeth to keep in the sound, but my chest heaves.

He rubs his bristles against the side of my face. “Thank you.”

I gasp at the gentleness of the whisper, and warmth explodes in me. There hasn’t been a need to write him one of these fantasies in the year since he’s been back, but part of me couldn’t let that ritual die. “You’re welcome.”

He presses his mouth to mine.

I kiss him with everything I have in me.

He wrenches up my nightgown, and fills me with a perfect sting.

I moan, and grind, coming to satisfaction so swiftly on his cock, the contraction sends my breath clear from my chest. He ploughs into me, and I melt into him.

Gentle or rough, delicate or mean, this man right here is my every fantasy, and my every holiday wish come true.