4. – Miya
The first thing I saw when I woke up early the next morning—the rising sun bled into the room through the huge bay window—was the pink diamond ring on my finger shimmering in the sun.
I sat up and studied it. A surge of love went through me so quickly, I nearly combusted right there. Exploded in a fit of pink rose petals and rained down on Jaxon’s sleeping body. I loved it. That ring was a trophy at the end of a long, grueling and beautiful war. I lifted my hand in the sunlight, and my breath caught at the shards of light emanating from the pink diamond.
The second thing I noticed, was the band of discoloring on that same wrist from being bound and licked senselessly the night before.
I smiled, dazzlingly, down at my ring, at the bruise. That was my life. Just enough of both to make me happy. It was all I ever wanted from him.
I leaned over and kissed his sleeping cheek. I lay on my side and studied him, the inky strands of his hair. The curve of his top lip covered with a small sexy layer of stubble. His hard jaw led down to his long strong throat. His naked chest was chiseled, and his abs were defined and hard. I licked my lips at the sight of the V’s digging hard into his lower abdomen. His cock was flaccid, but beautiful. I leaned over and kissed his penis, watching his face anxiously.
I took the head of his cock into my mouth and sucked gently on his smooth taut flesh, watching his length come alive. He groaned above me and shifted, flinging his arm above his head.
“No,” he begged quietly, sounding childish. “Please,” he whimpered.
I pulled back sharply and studied his face. Was my sucking his cock giving him nightmares? Horrified, I sat back and covered my face in my hands, watching his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth open.
He flinched in his nightmare like he’d been hit. Or shut up. He didn’t say another word and the furrow between his brows weighed down.
Our happiness did not come without setbacks.
I didn’t know what to do. Wake him, or let the nightmare fade? If I woke him, it wouldn’t end. If I let him sleep, he’d wake up on the other side. It was such a hard choice to wade through. I gave him a nudge with my elbow and he rolled over onto his other side, mumbling something that sounded like, “Stop,” under his breath.
In the end, I knew my monster would rather deal with it in his way, the way I did when my abuse slithered through my thoughts. I kissed his shoulder and then got up, sighing on my way into the living room.
Our dinner mess and deck rendezvous had been cleared up. I found our bags in the hall and dragged them both into the bedroom. I showered, taking my time exfoliating and moisturizing my skin. My legs still felt hollow from the pain and pleasure he pulled from me last night. He’d been amazing. Keeping me on the edge of both emotions without pushing me too far.
It gave me so much hope. We could do this.
The grocery service we’d ordered the night before had been put away. I imagined Jaxon walking through the house alone as I slept, putting things away and cleaning up our mess. Did he not want things to be messy anymore? Or was he cleaning it up, so we could make it messier?
There was a sense of expectation in that latter possibility.
I made myself a single-serve cup of coffee, and then set to making breakfast. I’d grown over the years as a cook. After a while, the food at the bar had started to make me nauseas, and budget shopping and cooking at become a sort of sport for me. I loved spending hours making dessert, perfecting my French macaroon recipe. Every time I ate one, I thought of Jaxon. Of that perfect morning and that horrible night.
I soaked the piece of brioche bread in my cinnamon egg mixture, and then put them in a pan to fry with sweet cream butter. I heard something down the hall just as I was sliding the first batch onto a plate.
Jaxon stumbled into the kitchen, wearing his tight black briefs, and nothing else. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were dark and intense. The moment they met mine, they unhinged, and softened.
“I thought you left,” he announced, studying me.
“I didn’t.” I held up a plate. “French toast?”
“You showered,” he accused, stepping into the kitchen.
“Brushed my teeth, too.” I fluttered my lashes. “Is that not allowed?”
His eyes released their tension. “Of course.” He shook his head. “I had a nightmare. And then you weren’t there. But,” he continued, raising his hands in surrender, “that’s not your problem.” He inhaled deeply. “Smells amazing, Miya. Is there bacon?” he asked hopefully.
“Uh…” I recovered from his barrage of questions and statements as best I could, wondering if I should mention the blowjob this morning. “I can make some. Go shower. It’ll all be done when you get back.”
He nodded, and then leaned down to press a deep kiss on my lips. His hands gripped my waist and his tongue swept the inside of my mouth, leaving me panting as he walked away, his tight ass making me want to sink my teeth into his flesh.
Grinning, I continued cooking. I set the table in the dining room, which overlooked the coast and the ocean beautifully. I was just sitting as he came in, dressed head to toe in black. Black jeans, black button down, top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled up. He smelled like whiskey and oak and my panties were already damp. His damp hair was finger-swept back. The damn man looked better than breakfast.
“Good?” I asked, as he dove in.
He nodded, mouth full. “Really good.”
I sipped my coffee. “Are you going to mention the ring on my finger or not?”
“Not,” he answered, cramming bacon into his mouth. “You said yes. Figured it made sense.”
“Oh?” I toyed with him. “You mean you didn’t plan all of this? The mansion, the ring, and the sex? It all just fell into place?”
“I’m a very capable man, Miya.”
I aimed a soft smile his way. “Oh, I know, Jaxon. All too capable.”
His eyes twinkled.
“Well, I love it.” I looked down at my engagement ring. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad. It reminded me of you immediately. Beautiful, eye-catching, and unique.”
I squirmed under his heavy, emotional gaze. He meant everything he said. It was like kissing right over my heart. “Will you wear a ring?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. Will I?”
“Yes,” I decided. “I’ll pick it out for you.”
He shot me an uncharacteristically shy smile and bobbed his head, gazing into his coffee cup. “Sure, my sweet angel.”
Was it sweet, or even angelic of me, to want him on top of this table? “What’s on the itinerary for the day?” We couldn’t spend our entire time here naked.
His eyes lowered, and he licked his lips. “I was thinking how difficult it would be to get syrup off of our skin. Are you opposed to taking another shower?”
Or could we spend our time here naked?
I rose.
He rose.
I set my mug down.
He set his fork down.
I reached for my shirt.
He reached for his zipper.
I undid my bra.
He pulled his shirt over his head.
I pulled my yoga pants down my legs, glad I hadn’t worn panties.
He stepped out of his jeans.
I sat on the edge of the table and opened my legs wide for him. I wanted his cock, and nothing else. By the glittering in his dark primal gaze, I could see he wanted my pussy, too. No pain right then. Only love.
He palmed his cock and guided it to my opening, coating the crown in the wetness already dampening my sex.
I laid down. French toast pressed into my back.
He pressed his palms on either side of my head, leaning over me; French toast melted between his fingers.
The scent of maple syrup, coffee, and his whiskey and oak cologne swirled around me. I was drunk off of it in seconds, taking extra breaths just to have more. He eased his length into me slowly, giving me sweet inch by sweet inch. He felt agonizingly good after the rough poundings I’d taken yesterday. His cock teased all my sore muscles and sweet spots. I grabbed his shoulders and brought him down on top of me. He buried his face in my neck, and I wrapped my arms around him as we made slow, perfect love.
“I can’t wait to be your wife,” I moaned into his ear.
He groaned, deep and long, like the sound of that turned him on beyond belief.
“Miya Damon.” I kissed his ear.
His hips picked up speed.
“Jaxon and Miya. The way it always should have been.”
He growled in my ear.
“Let’s come together, Jaxon. Come inside me. I want to feel your hot load filling me.”
He unhinged, ramming into me, slamming into that tender aching spot inside of me that was made for him. In seconds, we were both coming, screaming the others name, taking and filling, wanting and receiving—we fell down a dark delicious hole.
We spent all day having sex. We showered after that, barely making it to the bed before he was buried inside me once more. I took him. All of him. Making up for lost time. He ate my pussy in the living room that afternoon, teasing my clit for hours with my arms tied and over my head with my panties. I gave him oral on the deck, taking my time sucking his massive girth into the back of my throat. I savored every drop of his semen. It was sweet, salty perfection, and I knew we both earned it. Before we collapsed in bed, we ate cold French toast for dinner, and then he bent me over the back of the sofa and speared my tight backside with his cock. He stretched my ass nice and good and then emptied his seed into the tight ring of muscle.
We passed out in bed in a sweaty, love-drunk heap.
In the morning, I was sore. So sore. So sated. So drunk, I never wanted to come down. He looked drunk, too. There were hickeys all over his chest and stomach muscles. I’d spent hours licking and sucking on his hard body. There was a hickey over my nipples and my pussy and ass ached when I moved.
“Bath?” he asked, pressing an apologetic kiss to my swollen chapped lips.
I nodded, grimacing as I got out of bed. “I have to pee.”
“Don’t move,” he ordered, coming around to my side of the bed. He dropped his arm and scooped me up in his arms, carrying me to the bathroom. I was too spent to argue. He set me down on the toilet and I let go in relief, peeing unabashed in front of him. He liked it anyway. Like kissing his bruises. He got a hunk of toilet paper off the roll and then dipped his hands between my thighs, wiping my mound delicately until it was dry and cleaned. He pressed a kiss to my belly, and then pointed at me. “Stay.”
I did, giving him a glare at his order until I decided I wasn’t in the mood to argue at all this morning. He filled a bath. “Use your body wash,” I suggested. “And spray your cologne in the water. I want to smell like you.”
He smiled at the water but did what I asked, spraying the bubbles with his cologne. The room filled with the scent of whiskey soaked-oak and clove.
He helped me into the tub and then left, retuning a moment later with a cigar, a cutter, and a single silver lighter. He sank into the water behind me. I closed my eyes, listening to him work. The scent of pungent smoke added to the dark allure I was swimming inside of. I rested my back against his chest.
I turned my head to the side and opened my mouth in expectation. He gave me a humored look and then inhaled, filling his mouth with smoke. He leaned down and blew his smoke into my mouth. When I closed my lips, he kissed them. “Exhale when you’re ready.”
I did, letting the smoke out slowly. We kissed, long and deep, between puffs of his cigar, and strokes of our tongue.
After we got out of the shower and dressed warm, we both cleaned up the day before. Definitely making room for more mess. We ate toast with butter and drank coffee silently on the deck, soaking in the beautiful winter-laden coast.
It was so easy to get caught up in our love. We didn’t come up for air for weeks. We spent the days and nights naked, eating, or sleeping. I’d never come so hard in my life as I did in those first weeks back with him. He’d never been so tender. We were the perfect ratio of soft and hard.
I thought I knew love. Had it all figured out. Could finally fit it in my life in the most perfect way.
And then the baby came.
And love wasn’t just something I figured out anymore.
It was the emotion that healed me.