Page 6 of A Different Kind Of December
I rest my cheek against his hard pec and my hand against his hard dick.
“The kids have to get to school. Are the boys up?”
“Don’t know. But if you don’t take your hand off my morning wood, my dick will be up, and I’ll be taking you back to bed and calling them a taxi.”
I slide my hand back up to his belly, this time under his hoodie so I can rest it against his hot skin, saying, “Ya know what would make my day better?”
“Sitting on my face?”
I nudge him with my shoulder as I shake my head.
“The trees are getting delivered today, and Squires are coming to do the outside lights. Can we keep the kids home and just have a family day?”
He leans away so that he can look down at me. “That’s how you wanna spend today?”
Surprise evident in his voice. He’s lived with my usual manic routine on this anniversary for too long not to be shocked that I want to spend it differently this year.
I’ve been selfish. I know I’ve been selfish, but in all honesty, it’s the one day of the year that I’ve always let my grief entirely consume me. If I don’t take this day, I don’t know that I’ll get through the rest of them.
To the rest of the world, it might look like I have this amazing, beautiful life, but I still feel the hurt caused by the events that happened to me seventeen years ago. I have scars, both physical and mental. I don’t see a counsellor anymore, and I’m not on any kind of medication, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting. I just choose to take one day a year to grieve. When the painful memories threaten to consume me, I count the days until the first of December, when I know I can let that happen.
Yeah, it might make me selfish, but I also think it makes me a better wife, mother, person the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year.
“Yeah,” I tell Cam honestly. “That really is how I’d like to spend the rest of the day. Let’s do the decorations and then go out to eat somewhere nice. All of us, together.”
I’ve rarely seen Cam cry.
That horrible time I found him a drunken mess at his old flat above the wine bar.
When our children were born.
Our wedding day.
He doesn’t cry right now, but his eyes are shining with tears. Mine just roll down my cheeks. Again he runs his tongue over his bottom lip while gazing down at me. He blinks, and a tear catches on his thick dark lashes.
“Then let’s do it, Kitten.”
I give him a wobbly smile. “You boys are not to touch my trees, though.”
He returns my smile with a knicker combusting one of his own and leans forward to rest his forehead on mine. “We wouldn’t dream of it. I think we’re all aware of how anal you are about your decorations.”
“It’s just a small area of my life where I feel like I actually have some kind of control.”
He buries his face into the curve of my neck, his breath deliciously hot against my skin. “You can control me anytime you like, babe.”
“Yeah, I think we both know that that’s a lie. You hated it when I handcuffed you.”
“You wouldn’t do as you were told.”
“That’s kinda the whole point.Iwas supposed to be in charge,youwere supposed to do as I said. That’s what being in control means.”
He bites down on the soft skin behind my ear, and despite the warmth radiating from the patio heater, his body, and being under the blanket, goose bumps assault my skin.
“Yeah, fuck that. I’ve changed my mind. You get your way with most things, but in the bedroom, I’m in charge.”
I shudder. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love that he takes charge in the bedroom. It gives me a chance to just shut out the world, shut down my brain, and do nothing but enjoy what he does to me.
After knowing each other for over thirty years and being married for fourteen, our sex life is still off the charts. Cam is as insatiable as ever, something I don’t think will ever change. He can’t pass me without touching me in some way—usually in a totally inappropriate way, and I hope that never stops.
