Christopher doesn’t waste any time removing my clothes fully but instead pushes my nightgown up over my breasts. I’m not wearing any panties, so there is nothing getting in the way of his sex and mine. He nudges my thighs wider, making room for him as he lowers his mouth to my neck and nibbles a trail of lust.
With one hard push, he enters inside, spreading me wide with his thickness. I inhale deeply as my pussy adjusts to his size. He pauses for a moment as he’s rooted deep within.
I welcome the connection even more than the feeling. I need him in me. I need to feel us as one when I feel he’s slipping away. I groan when he pulls out of me, but then I cry out when he thrusts back in. The slickness of my desire makes it easy for him to push and pull at a speed that brings me to climax faster than I had ever been able to before. It’s easier this time. I’m not worried about pleasing him and being a good wife in the schoolhouse as the smell of ghosts and secrets surrounds us.
Right now, it’s just about having the man I love deep inside me and never wanting him out. We’re safe here. We’re one. No one can hurt me, or him, or us.
The feeling of fear is replaced with a feeling of passion and sensuality. I move my body with his as his moans intensify. His nibbles turn into a bite, and then another. But I like the pain. I like the sting as it reminds me of where I am. It grounds me and puts me beneath the weight of Christopher.
“Harder,” I whisper.
A growl emerges from deep inside him, and he hikes my leg up on his hip and drives himself into me farther. He’s so deep it feels as if he’s nearly bruising my body where only he can touch. The discomfort is almost punishing but also primal in my need for more. I want the discipline of his cock to remind my body and soul that he will never leave me. He will never release his duties of husband and protector. I need his dick to beat the reminder inside me. Over and over. Harder and harder, I need it. I need it!
This is my Christopher. My husband.
He’s having sex with me. He’s claiming me.
Me.
Not Marissa.
Not anyone else.
Me.
His wife.
Christopher thrusts even deeper and harder now as if he can feel my hunger for the biting erotic pain. He palms my breast now as he drives forward, with a deep moan following. I feel a second wave of electricity building inside as he pinches my nipple. His eyes connect with mine, and I like that I can see them darken and nearly blur. He’s present but also far away. I can feel his own climax is nearing, and as I jerk my hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, his deep roar blends with my own moans of completion.
The weight of his body is on top of me now, and his rapid breathing is slowing as it matches cadence with mine.
“I don’t ever want you to doubt me,” he whispers against my hair. “I’m committed to you. I’m committed to us.”
I cling to his ass with my fingers, holding him inside me. I don’t want his dick to leave my pussy. I like it there. I want it to remain always, but I also know we can’t hide in this bed forever.
“What happens today?” I ask, truly having no idea what life is like now that we are free from the ghost town.
Rolling over, Christopher stares up at the ceiling for several moments. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I have to somehow figure out how to get my life back. My job, a place for us to live. I also need to figure out a statement to give the media. They won’t go away until I deal with it.” He turns his head and looks at me. “What do you want to happen?”
I don’t know the answer.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I try to picture tomorrow, and it’s blank. I can’t see what’s ahead of us.”
“I get that,” he says, looking sad for a brief moment. “But we’ll figure it out.”
“How do I get your mother to like me?” I ask. I might be naive in a lot of ways. I know that. But I’m not so naive to know that his mother doesn’t like me one bit, and I want to change that.
He sighs loudly. “Give her time. This is a lot for her to process too. This isn’t how she wanted it for me. My mother would have thrown a huge wedding that would have been the party of the year. There would have been engagement parties, rehearsal dinners, and basically anything that would mean her planning a special event. She loves that kind of stuff.”
“Was she going to do that for you and Marissa?” I ask, leaning up on my elbow so I can look at Christopher better.
“Marissa and I were not discussing marriage or anywhere near that level. We were dating, having a good time, but very casual.” He pauses. “For me at least. I’m sure she would have liked to be more serious, but I was far from marriage material. My life wasn’t conducive to being a husband.”
“But you’re a husband now.”
He closes his eyes briefly and then looks at me with a seriousness I’m not familiar with seeing on him. “I am now, which means I have to figure out a life where it’s conducive.”
“I wish you would have told me about her,” I admit. I wanted to tell him this last night, but he cut our night short, which I didn’t blame him for.
“Would it have made a difference?” he asks softly.
Feeling a twinge of shame, I shake my head. “I suppose not.” Papa Rich had planned for us to be married no matter what. And if Christopher refused, Papa Rich would have killed him. I know this. Christopher knows this.
“My mother is not an easy woman,” he says as he sits up and reaches for his underwear. “Deep down, she means well. I know she loves me. But she’s not easy.” He looks at me and nods at my disheveled nightgown. “I’m surprised she gave you that. She also gave you a dress to wear to breakfast. As soon as we can figure out what’s in store for us today, we’ll get you some clothes, shoes, undergarments, et cetera, for you of your own.” He leans down on the bed with his hands and gives me a kiss. “I’m new at all this stuff. So, I’m going to need you to tell me what you want or don’t want. I need your input, okay?”
I nod and smile, happy I recognize Christopher again. “Okay.”
“We better get downstairs. I’m sure they’re waiting for us with a million questions.”
“I’ll make us breakfast,” I offer. “I don’t know what’s in the pantry, but I’m pretty good at making do. Is there anything your mother doesn’t like to eat?”
Christopher chuckles. “Cooking is not a good idea. Not if you want to keep your hands. Ms. Evans will hack them off if you dare.”
“She makes the meals?” I’ve never eaten anything that I haven’t made myself. I’ve always done all the cooking.
“She cooks and cleans for my mother. She has for years. She’s like family around here.”
“Can I help?” I don’t like the idea of having some other woman do all the work. I had read about servants in books, but is Ms. Evans a servant? Shouldn’t we all pitch in to help?
“For right now, I think you need to just focus on getting settled in to this new way of life. You and I are going to be busy figuring everything out. Let Ms. Evans worry about the basics.”
I must have a look on my face revealing just how uncomfortable I am with the idea of not earning my keep.