Sommer Marsden
“How do you like it?” Sam asked, sidling up behind me, pressing me to the sink.
I sighed and tried to temper my voice. “The sink leaks.”
Ice and snow and a bit of rain just for flavor tapped the old leaded windows. Somewhere outside a shutter banged against the house. That would sound super all night long as the winds raged!
“We’ll fix it.”
“The house is drafty,” I added. I wasn’t super thrilled about our very sudden transfer. But being one job down – mine – and single job dependent – his – we hadn’t had much choice. But a girl could still bitch, right?
“We have a fireplace,” Sam said. His lips found my shoulder and, though my body warmed a little and my nipples pebbled a lot, I was still holding the grudge of a woman who didn’t get her way and was totally out of her comfort zone.
“We have a fireplace that also leaks cold air,” I said.
He reached behind me and turned off the faucet. The water continued to drip with an annoying plip-plop-plip. “It’s the nature of a fireplace. A tiny bit of air is to be expected.”
“Do you hear that shutter?” I snapped. Bang-bang-bang! It was mocking me, I was sure.
“Meg, do you feel this?”
He put my hand on his cock. Hard and firm inside the faded jeans he wore that had a tiny rip at one belt loop. I always stuck my finger through that hole and stroked his warm skin. He always let me and then usually – if life allowed – he fucked me. It was such an unexpected move in the middle of my ire that I started laughing.
“Cheater.”
“You know it. Come on, Meg. Come see our living room.”
“I’ve seen it,” I growled as he tugged me. “The floor is uneven. Literally. I mean, we go downhill when we start through to the—” But I broke off there, swallowing my bitching.
He’d built a little picnic in the middle of the floor. The fireplace that leaked so much cold air was now roaring with an orange and yellow blaze. Candles decorated every flat surface and he’d hung my favorite stained-glass sconce holder, even embedding a hook in the ceiling for it to hang. The red glass threw ruby and orange tongues of color over the pale eggshell walls.
“OK, so now I feel like a heel,” I breathed.
“Don’t.”
“But I do. It’s just—”
“I know.” He pressed his big warm fingers to my lips and smiled. I kissed the tips of his fingers and put my head against his shoulder.
“I have no friends here. I’m only working online for that editing place, so I feel like the crazy shut-in lady.”
“We’ll fix that.”
“It can snow here until May. May, Sam,” I wheezed.
He chuckled. “You love snow.”
“Not until May!”
“We’ll find things to do. Promise.” His arms encircled me, big warm palms found my ass. He squeezed and nuzzled that sweet spot on my neck that made me shiver and made my nipples spike.
“I suppose we will need a hobby.”
“There’s wine,” he said but his fingers had found my breasts through my sweater – my big giant heavy sweater – and he was stroking me.
“Screw the wine.”
“Screw screwing the wine,” he said against my ear lobe so my pussy flexed and my stomach tickled with excitement. “Screw your husband.”
“We do need to practice our indoor activities,” I said.
There was a moment then when he looked worried and he caught my face up in his hands. “You’re not angry with me are you, Meg?”
“For saving our family and hope of expanding it with your job? No.” Guilt crowded my bones and I sighed. “I’m sorry.” Now there were tears in my eyes. How had I gone from angry to horny to guilty?
Sam kissed them away before they could break free and roll down my cheeks. “Hey now, none of that. If you are good with me then we are all good, Meg. Now how about we get back to the nekkid picnic,” he said. His hand trapped mine to that hard hump of his cock and I squeezed. “Yeah, right like that,” he said.
“You’re such a slut,” I teased.
“Only for you, my love. Now strip.”
“You’re kidding right?”
“Not at all. I think our happy home needs a big injection of fun and sex and lust and you shaking your naked ass. Right before—”
“Right before what?” I squeaked.
“Right before I spread your legs and take you right here in the middle of the floor in front of our brand-new, dangerous, still-needs-to-be-cleaned, God-I-hope-I-made-that-fire-right fireplace.”
“Gee, reassuring,” I said, but my pussy thumped with arousal and my heart seemed too big for my chest I loved him so damn much.
Sam hit the button on a small CD player and music started thumping through the tiny room. It bounced off the stone fireplace with its empty mantle and the blind TV screen that had yet to be set up with cable. It flew off the exposed beams of the ceiling and circled around me, making me feel sexy and scared and lusty all at the same time.
“Go on, girl! Take it off!” he yelled and then wolf-whistled.
The wind howled as that shutter banged but for this moment in time it was just Sam and I and the christening of our new house. “Fine, but undo those jeans. Let me see the goods.”
He grinned at me, working the button and yanking the zipper. His cock sprang free and I was suddenly warm enough to consider taking off my clothes.
I started with the gigantic purple sweater. It’s hard to take a sweater off and be sexy, but I tried. First one arm and then the other before shimmying the bulk of it slowly up my torso to reveal a white thermal shirt with flashes of bare belly as the thermal rode up. I got it over my head and twirled it – as heavy as it was – before chucking it in his general direction. It barely missed the roaring fire and I heard him laugh.
The thermal was easier. One arm and then the other as I moved my hips in a figure eight, my jeans riding lower and lower on my hips since I hadn’t worn a belt. “There she is,” he said and I heard the hitch in his voice.
I found the neck and yanked the thermal over my head, leaving me in a black lace bra above the waist. My skin erupted in goosebumps and I shivered, but I tugged a bra cup down to show him a rosy nipple. I was cold as hell but hot as sin. He sat up and tried to touch my jean leg.
“No touching the dancers,” I growled and he put his hands up like he was under arrest, which made me snicker.
I popped my button and started to shimmy to the driving beat of the music that thumped the old-fashioned windowpanes like a tribal drum. When I got them down around the middle of my hips, Sam rose up on his knees and yanked them down.
“Hey, I said no—”
“Yeah, yeah, no touching the dancers. How about touching the wife?” he asked and pushed his face to the front of my gray silk panties. His breath was hot and wet through the slippery fabric.
“I guess that’s OK,’ I said, most of my voice gone now. I stepped out of the jeans when prompted and he made for my orange socks.
“Oh . . . the floor is freezing,” I said.
“Fine, fine,” he chuckled, pushing his fingers under the leg holes of my panties. “You can leave your socks on. But not these.”
I shimmied to step out of my panties and when he knocked my legs a bit wider and pressed his face to my pussy, I braced myself with my hands on his broad shoulders. He still wore his grey and white flannel shirt and his cock poked free of his jeans. I tried to sink down to my knees but he held me still.
“Let me,” Sam said.
I let him. He licked the seam of my pussy and teased my clit with the hot tip of his tongue. His fingers bit into my flanks and he slipped the length of his tongue into my wet slit.
“Oh for Lord’s sake, let me, let me come down there and—”
“After you come,” he said. His tongue took up a steady rhythm over the swollen bit of flesh. His fingers delved deep inside of me and curled. His face pressed firmly to the V of my sex and I gripped him tight to keep from falling.
“I don’t know if—” I was so weak standing there that way.
“You will,” he said and curled his fingers harder while thrusting deep. He sucked my clit and bit it with a sharp nip of white teeth and I proved him right by coming.
“Fuck!”
“Yep. Now. Come on down.” He laid back and tugged me to him so that I straddled his straining cock.
“I can’t help but noting that you are fully clothed but for your naughty bit,” I said.
“Hey, I was nice, I said you could leave your socks on. And this . . .” He tugged the cups of my bra so that my nipples came free of the lace.
“That is a technicality and you just removed half of it.”
He pulled me closer so that I hovered over him, his cock pressed to the split of me but not in me, his mouth finding my nipples and sucking them hard so I felt a sympathetic tug of energy in my throat like I was going to laugh or cry.
“Sorry. I’m a cheater.”
The music had stopped and all we heard was the ripping wind outside and the sound of fire and two people breathing.
“Fuck me, cheater,” I whispered in his ear and he pushed his hand between us to angle his cock just so. When I felt the silken tip of him pressed to me, I sank down on him. Slowly – inch by blessed inch – I dropped down onto him and then sat up, the both of us awash in warm firelight.
Sam locked his hands with mine – intertwining fingers so that we were counter-pressure. I could push down as he pushed and we moved together.
His hands gripped my hips as he thrust up under me and I said, “Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” like a chant. I ground my hips in figure eights until the walls of my cunt were impossibly tight, impossibly swollen with need, and when he drove up and held me flush to him, I came, my body falling forward to cover his. Breasts mashed to his warm shirt.
I rode out my orgasm and pulled free, kissing down his belly concealed in worn flannel until I found his slick hard cock and took it in my mouth. I sucked the juices of our coupling from him as he tangled his hands in my long hair and tugged. When he pulled my hair that way it turned me on and I felt a resounding tug in my cunt. My fingers found my clit and gave it a hard rub.
“Turn on your back.”
“But I want to—”
“We have all night. This is my private dance, darling,” he growled. “Now get on your back, flaming orange socks in the air.”
My heart was pounding from the bite in his voice. I loved when Sam got growly. I promptly gave him one more lick so that his dick bobbed a bit and rolled to my back.
“Legs in the air.”
I put them up, emergency orange socks waving above me near the living room window like we were trying to flag down a passing plane. I could feel chilly air coming through the old glass and I was happy for fucking and for warm feet.
Sam pushed his big hands to the backs of my thighs, forcing my legs higher toward my shoulders, wider so I was spread for him. He watched – transfixed – as his cock sank into me. He did it slowly. With an agonizing laziness that made me want to scream. Until he was in, and then just pressing.
“Move. Dear God, please move,” I said.
His eyes – big and blue and serious – tore from where we were joined for an instant and studied me. Then he started to thrust – slow and even and measured. So perfect that it stole my breath.
“Like this?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.
“Yes, just like that,” I breathed.
His fingers gripped me tight and he managed his lazy rhythm for a moment more before speed and need took over and he was slamming into me, his body forcing my legs almost to my shoulders. At the very last moment, he pressed a big finger in my bottom, then pushed that digit into me, sending a bite and sparkle of pain through me just as I was about out of my mind.
“I love you, Meg,” he grunted and thrust hard.
The pressure and pain and pleasure all tangled up and I came, crying out against the pop and hiss of the raging fire and the banging shingle as Sam emptied into me.
He crushed me like that, folded up on myself, and kissed me lazily. My blazing orange socks pointing somewhere over my shoulders until I wheezed, “Crushing me.”
“Sorry.” He rolled off with a peck on the nose.
Someone was knocking and I sat up, curling the blanket he’d spread out on the floor around my breasts. “Who in the world—”
“Be right back.” He tucked himself in and zipped up. “Stay right there,” he whispered.
I was almost warm and holding a glass of wine when he came back with a huge grin on his face.
“Well? Who was it? The big bad wolf? Little Red? The Abominable Snowman? Bigfoot?”
“Our neighbor next door. Chuck Allen. Wanted to introduce himself and tell us that his window looks right at ours. Wanted to say we might want to get a curtain . . .”
I was finding it hard to swallow.
“Oh and one more thing,” he said
I drained my wine and refilled. “Oh really? You mean there’s more?”
“He said he loves your socks. Wants to know where he can get a pair for his wife.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Welcome to our new home, Meg.”
All I could do was laugh. And warm my socks in front of the fire.