I lift my bride-to-be in my arms. “Sit here,” I demand.
She nods, used to my moods and knowing just what I need. I head upstairs and grab several things from my drawers. When I come back, she’s sitting, waiting, and doesn’t that make my dick want to punch through my pants.
“Do you trust me?”
Her answer is quick and always the same with a nod of her head in the affirmative. I draw her to her feet and take reverent care to strip her of all her clothing. The sight of her pink cheeks only stiffens my cock further. Her embarrassment when I get this way only makes me want to tattoo the word mine across her chest.
“I want to do something. Something we’ve never done before,” I say.
Her silent acquiescence continues to stir the heat between us. I’ve brought a myriad of items I can use with my lack of having the right tools for this little endeavor. I settle on a pair of brand new cashmere socks. I think they would cause the least discomfort. Goosebumps rise on her skin when I hold them up to her. I walk around her admiring the view of her curves before settling behind her. She remains still, ready for whatever game I want to play. I gently draw her hands behind her. Then I use one long sock to bind her hands together. It’s not tight enough that she couldn’t get loose if she wanted to. That’s not what this is all about. When I stand before her again, she’s taken by surprise when I begin to blindfold her with the other long sock.
After I admire my handiwork, I guide her back down onto the sofa. I place her to sit as comfortably as she can with her arms bound behind her. This isn’t a bondage thing so much as I want to take away her ability to touch me or control the situation. Her loss of those should heighten her pleasure.
“Am I the only one that’s going to be naked?” she asks quietly.
“For now,” I groan.
If she only knew how bad I wanted to be buried to the hilt in her, she might be afraid. The need I have for her is all consuming.
I head in the kitchen for the one other thing I need. With glass in hand, I head back to the living room and strip off my shirt. Before this is over, I want to be skin to skin with her. I want to remember every curve. And I don’t want to take too long to be free of my clothes.
Planting myself between her legs, I take an ice cube from the tumbler I brought. Placing it in my mouth, I lean in. I press the tip of the frozen cube gently against one of her nipples. And after a second it draws tight.
“See, it’s still responsive,” I say, as if I needed another experiment.
She sucks in a breath as goosebumps erupt on her skin. It isn’t as if we haven’t tested her nipples a million times before, every chance I get. But still, I say the words. With my hand, I cup and massage her perfect tits. No, they aren’t the ones she was blessed with originally. But they’re even better. And not because they feel better, because they don’t. Don’t get me wrong, they are so much more real than I expected. The reason they are better is because they won’t be the cause of her death.
And even if one day she’s diagnosed with cancer, we will fight it together. And God forbid it steals her life from me. Thankfully the chances of that are small. But if it happens, I will rejoice in our time together. I will celebrate her life, not mourn her death. Like I know she would mine, if fate takes me from her first.
I continue to squeeze and tease her breast as I head lower with the ice to settle between her legs. I plan to spend an eternity here. Or whatever time we have. I’ve learned my lesson on that score.
I force all other thoughts away as I push what’s left of the ice inside her. Her back arches off the chair as I suck her clit into my mouth. I stroke my tongue over it and suck it again for however long it takes until she shatters around me screaming out her pleasure. Because even though I will have a bad case of blue balls for the next several weeks, this night is all about her.
One Month Later