He hugs me close, groaning against my neck. “You won’t regret it, babe. And you can tell me to stop any time.”
Letting go, he helps the kids spread the picnic as I do my best to gather myself once more. It’s hard. The spread is beautiful, not a simple last minute picnic but a planned and well-thought out affair with spreads and bread rolls and salads and cakes.
I’m touched and happy and aroused and… I don’t know what I want most—to hug all three of them, to fall on the food and stuff myself silly, to cry happy tears, or… yeah, drag Matt off to his bedroom and have him put back the blindfold, make love to me that way.
The thought sends a powerful thrill through me.
Only that will have to wait.
But hey, it’s noon. Surely the kids will need a nap after eating their weight in food, right?
One can only hope.
It’s all delicious. Matt admitted he didn’t prepare any of it, because he sucks at cooking, but that he asked the help of my mom and sister, and even his own mom sent him a cake for this.
Important picnic, much?
The kids roll on the grass, and maybe they shouldn’t, but I can’t find it in me to care whether their clothes get stains.
They’re laughing and rolling like little puppies, carefree and unafraid, and that’s all that matters. Matt tickles their bared bellies, and they shriek with laughter, then tackle him, too, and they fall over the picnic basket, half-smashing it.
He roars and grabs at them, then kisses their curly hair and snickers.
The sky has cleared. The clouds are gone. I love these kids, and I love their daddy. Love him so frigging much it makes me all teary-eyed even as I smile.
“Hey,” he calls out, turning to me, as if sensing something. “Come here.”
I draw back, but he grabs me and hauls me down on the blanket and tickles me until I beg for mercy.
His eyes darken. “You can beg me again later,” he whispers, and leaves me gasping for breath, sniggering and aroused—more than before, the pressure mounting deep inside me—to turn back to the kids, not to have them feel left out.
God, these kids are adorable, but I want their dad between my legs, torturing me with his mouth and his cock. I want his mouth and his hands everywhere, his weight pressing me down into the mattress and—
“Okay, buddies, back into the house now! You’ll get sunburned. Ice cream, and then quiet time. Let’s gather up everything.”
I send a silent prayer of thanks to any deity listening, and to Matt Hansen. He grins at me and winks, and my face heats up.
Yeah, looks like I’m not the only one impatiently needing some alone time. We’ve barely had any in these past two weeks, with me recovering from the attack, both physically and psychologically, and a therapist seeing the kids to make sure they were dealing okay with what happened to them, too.
They were clingy, not leaving us alone for a moment. And I get that. It’s normal.
But today they help pack everything back into the basket, fold the blanket all docile and unresisting, and return with us to the house. They yawn as we enter, then run into the kitchen and try to reach the ice cream, which has me and Matt running after them before they climb on chairs and hurt themselves.
Ice cream achieved, we sit at the table and eat. Even the sugar rush isn’t enough to wake up the kids enough. It is a warm summer Sunday and they’ve been up since the crack of dawn, so the moment we lead them up to their rooms and nudge them into bed, they roll over and go to sleep.
Quiet settles over the house like a fluffy cloud. I turn toward Matt who’s leaning on the doorjamb, muscular arms folded over his chest, smiling faintly, a dimple showing in his cheek.
I look into those dark eyes that ensnared me from the first moment with their shadow of pain, and they’re only filled with heat and desire.
“So…” I whisper. “You still got that blindfold?”
He ties up my eyes carefully, his big hands resting on my shoulders after he’s tied off the knot in the cloth behind my head.
His hands slide down my bare arms, his body pressing into my back. He nudges me forward, lifts my hands and places them flat on the wall.
Then he lifts my hair and kisses the back of my neck, bites lightly into the juncture between neck and shoulder, and my whole body lights up.
“Tay…” he whispers my pet name on my skin, painting it with his breath, tracing patterns with his tongue, Shaking me loose and putting me back together, making me ache with arousal. “Feel me.”
He’s right here. I feel him, even if I don’t see him. His hard chest, his hard cock, his powerful legs and muscular arms, his scent winding around me like ivy.
“God, I want you,” he rasps. “I’m so fucking hard for you. Dammit, Tay.”
His voice, deep and low, sinking into me, fucking me. He’s voice-fucking me. I swallow a laugh, and then shudder when he slips a hand down my leg, lifting my dress, inching up to the front of my panties.
His hard cock is rubbing against my back, his breath stuttering on my neck, and his hand unerringly slips between my legs, his fingers parting me, sinking into me.
“Trust me?” he asks, and I nod frantically. “Tell me if you want the blindfold off.”
I nod again, jerking when his fingers thrust inside me.
Truth be told, I love having his body pressing me into the wall. My eyes are closed anyway, the sensations running through my body leaving no room for thought or fear.
It’s just him, touching me, his mouth ghosting over me, his strength shoring me up, his desire anchoring me to the here and now.
No dark storerooms and kidnappers here, despite the dark. There’s only him and me, together, locked in this dance, his voice in my ear, his hand between my legs.
His callused fingers inside me, stroking in and out. Driving me crazy with want.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Hm. Love it when you beg like that,” he says with that deep growl in his voice. “What do you want?”
“I…” I’m not good at talking dirty. At saying what I need. “Please…”
His fingers still inside me and I groan, frustrated. “Tell me, babe. Want me to make you come?”
“Make me come,” I breathe.
“With my fingers? My tongue?” His cock pulses against the small of my back, thick and hard like steel. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”
I swallow hard. “Fuck me, Matt. I want your cock inside me.”
“Jesus fuck,” he whispers reverently, and slips his fingers out of me, making me whimper. “Come here.” He pulls off me, guides me to the bed, but doesn’t help me on it. He has me kneel on the edge, then lifts my dress and spreads my legs. “Goddammit, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
I shiver, nervous and excited, my bare ass in the air, my wet pussy throbbing. In front of me is darkness, and I’m cold.