Page 66 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
I carry my beautiful wife out of the shower, both of us soaked, dripping, breathless. She clings to me as I lay her on the bed, water still glistening on her skin like diamonds.
This time, I slow everything down.
No more urgency.
No more chasing release.
It’s just her. Us.
She hiccups again—soft, shy, involuntary—and it’s so fucking cute I almost lose my balance. My focus.
I think I love her already.
“You deserve everything special, Maddy Mills,” I murmur, brushing a kiss to her shoulder.
Her face shifts for a split second—like my words hit a place she wasn’t ready to open. But she hides it quickly. Pretends I didn’t see it.
“Somehow I don’t feel like I deserve this,” she whispers, voice barely audible.
I don’t let the words linger. I bend down and kiss them straight from her lips—slow and deep—taking her breath, her doubts.
“Don’t talk about my wife that way, beautifulAmericana,” I say against her mouth.
She doesn’t argue. Not really. Because even though she fights the nickname, I can feel her softening to it. Getting used to the way it sounds coming from my lips.
I kiss every inch of her like I’m writing her name in devotion with my mouth. She exhales, fingers tracing my jaw, eyes locked on mine as I slide back into her, slow and deep, fitting us together like a secret finally spoken out loud.
This isn’t just sex.
This is a vow.
Claimed in sweat and moans and bare skin pressed together like truth.
“Never leave me,” I choke out, and I don’t give a damn that it sounds desperate.
Her eyes go wide. “What?”
I thrust into her—deeper this time, dragging a whimper from her throat as I push past the edge of what I can tell she’s used to, where comfort meets stretch and surrender.
“You’re mine,” I whisper, then take her mouth again, kissing her like I own it.
She breaks my hold, breathing hard, and I pout—then punish her with another deep thrust that steals the air right out of her lungs.
“Ah! Shit!”
“Your lips are mine, too,” I growl. “Give those back.” I trace my tongue across her mouth. Possessive.
“So possessive, he is,” she teases, her voice shaky but defiant.
“So talkative, she is,” I fire back, smirking. “Maybe I should’ve let you stuff this dick in your mouth like you wanted.”
She sticks out her tongue, mocking me, tempting me. And that’s it. That settles it.
I fucking love my wife.
“I’ve got an exceptionally deep throat,” she confesses, eyes dark, daring.
“And an incredibly tight pussy,” I groan, thrusting again, loving the way she clenches around me like she’s trying to keep me forever.
