And I’m letting her see that I struggle with giving my husband even an inch after what he’s done. I’m not being defensive about that, I’m just being in my true essence.
Grace Preston, tired bitch.
“Now, if I were to ask you again…”
We repeat the exercise a few times, Luke moving closer to me by fractions of an inch each time, me not moving at all, feeling more and more settled and at peace with my decision to just hold on to the thread.
And then, on the fifth time, when she asks if I’m willing to make a micromove, I surprise all of us by saying yes.
Both of us move our chairs together a little tiny bit.
Then the therapist gets out a ruler, measures the distance between our chairs, and tells us we’re out of time.
“That was weird, right?” Luke asks me as he holds the passenger side door open for me.
“Yeah.”
“But a little good, too?”
I push up on my toes and kiss his jaw. “Yep.”
30
Luke
That night, we sit down and I finally take Grace’s BDSM personality type quiz. Neither of us are surprised to find out that I’m as much a Daddy or caregiver as she is a Little or Middle.
And for the first time, we talk about safewords. We’re going to start with just using stop and ouch, because Grace doesn’t think she’ll ever want to say stop and not mean it.
I’m fascinated by the layers there.
“So this class that you took,” I ask her as she gets ready for bed. “This was at the kink club that Alex goes to sometimes?”
“Yep.”
“And he knows about it?”
“The class? Or me taking it.”
“That part.”
“No, I don’t think he does.”
I rub my jaw. “I think I prefer it that way, if I’m allowed to have a preference.”
She looks at me sideways. “You’re allowed. One of the things I learned about caregiver kink is that it’s often quite private.”
“I can imagine.”
“Speaking of that club…” She presses her lips together, then picks up her hairbrush. “Your brother might go there with Hazel.”
I can feel storm clouds gathering in my head, and I’m not sure why exactly. It’s a possessive thing, for sure. “Did you see him there?”
“Oh, no. He’s a Preston, he would have combusted on the spot. But I found the card at his apartment, and that was bad enough.” She hands me the hairbrush. “Would you brush my hair, Daddy?”
The storm clouds immediately recede. “Of course.”
I watch her in the mirror as I centre myself, then I turn my attention to her hair. There are a few glints of silver at the crown. In a week, she’ll have them covered up again with dye. She’s fastidious about that, and only that, and I realize it’s something we’ve never talked about.
I’m not about to tell her that I love her grey hair. Not yet. But I do, and I’ll find a way to bring it up when she’s not mad at me.
“Well go on,” she whispers. “Brush my hair.”
“Is there a…” I wrap my fingers around a section of hair, holding it so the brush doesn’t tug her scalp. It goes through the strands like a knife through butter, so I relax and release the locks, and do it again.
She makes a pleased sound as the bristles make contact with her scalp. “That feels good.”
“For me, too.” I carefully pick another section of hair. “So if I wanted to learn more about how to do this, without running into my brother or my best friend…”
I get a smile in the mirror for that. “We can figure it out together. And there’s a lot of good reading online.”
“Is there? Bedtime story reading?”
“That, too.” Her lips quirk. “Also more scientific stuff, if you wanted to assign me a book report or something like that.”
“I like that idea.”
She straightens her spine, her eyes flashing, and now it’s all Grace. “Hey, speaking of Alex. I know he’s been handling some of your work for a while now. Have you thought about going back to the office?”
“I’ve been thinking more and more about maybe not. We could sell the condo. Move out of the city. Explore subsistence living and non-stop orgasms.”
“Lumberjack life?”
“You want me to chop wood for you without a shirt on?”
“Yes.” She gazes at me with such soft longing it makes me desperate.
Again.
I crowd her against me, holding her tight with my arms, and press my mouth against her neck.
Her breath hitches as I graze her skin with my teeth. “Ah…” She gasps as I bite harder, an urgent whine that sends blood pumping to my dick. Fuck, that’s so filthy.
“Remember your words,” I growl.
Then I pick her up and carry her to our bed.
“I know…” she promises.
“Stop, or ouch.”
“I didn’t say any of them,” she whispers.
No, but I’m never going to stop reminding she has outs if she wants them. That I’ll only hurt her as much as she wants, only give her the pain she desperately craves.
“Good. Daddy likes how you put up with his hunger for your skin.”
“Oh…” She writhes in the tight vice of my arms. “No, please…”
“Please mark you? Please sink my teeth into your flesh so you’ll remember this when we can’t be alone?”
She whimpers again. I haul her on top of me, my hands hard against her forearms. She’s light as a feather as I manhandle her, pliant and perfect.
“Is that what you want, you little slut?” I hold her above me, arms pinned against her side, and use my mouth to rip her negligee down her torso, baring her breasts. “God, Grace. Your breasts are perfect.”
She cries out for real as I latch on to one nipple. Her flesh is hot and swollen in my mouth, and I forget I’m supposed to be biting her because all I want to do is suck and lick and consume her in the softest way.
As her legs fold up on either side of me, her bare slit brushes against my belly, slick and soft, and I groan at the contact.
I shove my boxers down, low on my hips, bringing my cock out to play. She gasps when it makes contact with the sweet, lush curve of her bottom, and I grind us together.
Then I flip us over and loom big above her.
She’s soft beneath me, her arms stretched wide like she’s floating on water. I touch her reverently, carefully, just my fingertips to start. Then my whole hand, wanting more contact with her skin. Lust churns inside me, but there’s another clawing feeling competing to direct what I do next.
Adoration.
There is a laundry list of feelings I didn’t allow myself to properly feel for my wife in the past, and lust has been top of that list most often. Showing Grace how much I want her has been my mission for weeks.
Tonight is different. And I’m honestly surprised at how this feeling dominates the lust. Yes, I want to fuck her. Yes, I want to be buried inside her. Yes, I want her scent imprinted on me, again. Yes, yes, always yes.
But that’s about me.