Two Purple Gloves (A Pear Street Christmas #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“So, you get off to dogs?”

LISA

I can’t remember the last time Harry and I showered together, but that’s what we’re apparently doing. He places me down gently on the vanity and turns the shower on, holding his hand under the spray for a moment to check the temperature. I watch with desirable interest—despite the recent orgasm and having watched Harry undress for the last fifteen years—as he unbuttons his shirt and pulls it from his shoulders.

He may not be quite as sculpted as he had been at twenty, but Harry is still a smoke show at thirty-five. His pecs are large and the divots of his six-pack still deep, he has that sharp V at his hips that points your attention to his large—and still semi-hard—cock. All golden skin, like he’s been working shirtless out in the summer sun, but he works in an office and it’s the middle of a dreary British winter. The dusting of hair over his chest and down the centre of his torso to meet the happy trail below his belly button is the same hue as the styled mop of flaxen hair on his head. The hair lower is darker and trimmed neatly because my man likes to look good for me. Even for his muscular frame, Harry’s legs are thick from years of playing rugby, those powerful legs send him flying down the pitch at top speed and make my thighs rub together in appreciation.

“Are you perving on me, Mrs Forest?” My eyes snap from where they had drifted to the seafoam green eyes that hold my world. I nod in response, with an innocent smile and he chuckles, coming to nestle between my legs. “Good, keep doing that. ”

Harry kisses me with gentle lips and a strong tongue and I let my fingers roam over all that lovely skin I’d just been ogling. When he grips my dress and starts pulling it up, I tense. For all the want, need, and love between us, I’m still acutely aware of the changes in my body and as much that he’s tried to convince me otherwise, I’m sure he’ll notice them when he gets a closer look.

“Lisa,” he says gently, pausing in undressing me. “Tell me.”

Tell me what’s worrying you. That’s what he’s saying, that’s what he wants but every time I practice the words in my head, they sound pathetic, vain. I know the protests he’ll make. I know he’ll deny it but I can’t stop the worry. Instead of pushing me from my silence, he pulls me from the vanity and spins me until I’m facing the large mirror.

“Trust me?” he asks me from behind and I nod.

Pulling at my dress again, he pulls it free, I lift my arms to help him but refuse to look at myself in the mirror even thought I know that’s what he wants. He doesn’t demand it of me though, instead he makes quick work of unclasping my black bra and pushing it from my shoulders and down my arms.

Now we’re both naked in the mirror, his chest pressed to my back as his hands skim up my arms, his lips moving so softly over my neck, nuzzling my long blonde hair out of his way as he goes. Without words, Harry tells me how beautiful I am. One hand splays out on my stomach, the softness beneath his palm doesn’t seem to bother him at all as his fingers gently flex, stroking over the skin there. The other cups my breast, his large hand easily covering the soft mound, feeling its weight and squeezing, the bud of my nipple trapped between his knuckles, a small bite of pain that has me clenching my thighs. Harry’s teeth graze my shoulder, his lips kissing the sting away.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Look how beautiful you are, how well you fit in my arms, in my hands. ”

My heart is pounding heavily against my chest, and I do as he says, pulling my focus from his hands touching me to where he’s touching. My breasts may be a couple inches lower than they were fifteen years ago, but they still look good, full and round. The flesh bulges between his fingers each time he squeezes, it’s satisfying to watch and the heat from his palm drips down my body to between my legs like warm honey. My stomach jiggles slightly when he moves but the way he grips at me makes me love that there’s more there to take hold of.

He strokes downward to the small strip of hair over my pubic bone and further until he’s cupping my pussy, a single digit bending to swipe along my slit. I hum a moan of pleasure, having him touch me so intimately, but then he takes his hand away and I give him a pout in the mirror. Bringing his hand to my mouth, he swipes that finger over my lips, now slick from our combined orgasms. My tongue darts out automatically to catch the flavour but Harry grips my chin, turning my head and taking my mouth in a hard and demanding kiss.

When we break apart, he cups my jaw, looking down at me in that way that Harry does, seeing everything. “I love you, Lisa Forest. Every single inch of you. I did fifteen years ago, and I do now, probably even more so.” He pauses, swallowing like the emotions are threatening to erupt and he needs to physically push them down. “Please tell me you know that. Please understand that to me you are perfect, in every way.”

I blink back tears, feeling the love for this man like a fluffy blanket on a cold winter’s evening. “I understand,” I croak, and he releases me, spinning me to face him and kisses me again.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let me get you clean before I dirty you up again.”

Mothers are ever resourceful and always prepared, which is why I thought enough to grab the snacks I had secretly stashed in my wardrobe before we left the house. Harry and I sit on the ridiculously comfy bed in the hotel robes munching on party food, damp from a very long and hot shower—and not just the water. I swig on a bottle of sports drink, you know, for the electrolytes and dig in for another cheese straw.

“I can’t remember the last time we did this,” Harry says, looking around at the small banquet laid out on the bed around us.

I frown down at the food. “I don’t think we’ve ever got a hotel room to escape our kids and bone.”

He laughs. “I mean just being together without the kids, eating junk, and talking without a book or TV between us. It’s nice.”

My lips tip up in an indulgent smile. “It is.”

“Speaking of books…” I blush at the salacious smirk he gives me. “What are you reading right now?”

Honestly, the heat in my cheeks could toast marshmallows. “Oh, um...”

“Lisa,” he says in a warning tone, but his amusement shines through. “Tell me.”

“How many of my books have you read?” I ask him instead.

He thinks for a moment. “Probably about seven, why?”

“Any, um, paranormal ones?”

He frowns. “Like ghosts?”

I shrug. “More like werewolves.”

He looks at me like I’ve said something stupid. “Werewolves aren’t real.”

“Oh, but ghosts are?”

“Hey.” He points an accusing finger at me. “You know that B&B in the lake district we stayed in that one time was haunted.”

I roll my eyes with love. “You’re ridiculous.”

He blinks at me. “So, you get off to dogs?”

I give him the unimpressed glare that statement deserves. “No. Perfect human forms that shift into beasts. ”

“I see,” he says sceptically. “And what exactly is it about these beasts that turn you on, wife ?”

“They’re fast and strong—”

“I’m fast and strong,” he grumbles.

“They’re domineering and protective and…growly.”

“Growly?”

“Yeah.” I bite down on my lip.

“Damn, alright.” He nods looking at where my teeth dig into my flesh with keen interest.

“What can I say, I like an alpha.” I smirk.

“I’m an alpha,” he says almost as an automatic response. I raise a brow at him, and he has the sense to look at little embarrassed. “Don’t tell Jake I said that.”

“Can’t promise anything.”

“Fair.” He gets up and clears the food from the bed, placing it down on the small table in the corner of the room before coming back to the bed, climbing over me until I’m forced to lay back, sinking into the soft duvet. “You want to know what I like?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Angels in purple gloves.” His eyes widen in excitement, and I laugh.

“You want me to put it on? Now?”

“Yes.” He dips and kisses me quick before rolling over to let me up. “Get to it, wife.”

Ten minutes later, I open the bathroom door but hide behind it, slowly stretching my arm out to reveal the long, silky glove pulled up to my elbow. Then, I stretch my leg to the side until Harry sees the silver, sparkly stiletto I’ve put on for this little show. I can hear his sharp intake of breath as he realises how short this negligee is. It’s a white, sheer babydoll dress with white fuzzy trim around the bust that’s tickling the swell of my breasts where they’re pushed up beyond recognition. I turn slightly, pushing my butt out so he can see the dress riding up to reveal the white lace beneath.

“Stop teasing me, wife,” he moans.

Stepping out completely, I link my fingers together in front of me, dip my head, and look up at him behind my lashes. “Is this okay?” I ask sweetly.

Harry stares for so long I worry he’s had some kind of medical episode. “Holy shit,” he breathes.

I tut, shaking my head disapprovingly. “Blasphemy.”

“I’m pretty sure that outfit is blasphemy,” he says in a daze.

I step into the room and come to stand between his knees. “Can I touch you?” I ask, bringing us both right back to our first night together.

Harry smiles up at me and takes my hand in his, pulling at the finger of my gloves until they come away with one gentle tug, then he does the same with the other. “Touch me.”

I dip beneath the opening in his robe to scrape my nails gently down his chest from his collarbone to his abdomen, dipping to kiss him as I go. He hooks his hands behind my knees and jerks them back so I fall to straddle him on the bed.

“You gonna ride me, baby?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Reaching between us, I untie his robe and pull the fabric away until the hot, hard length of him springs up between us. I stroke him once, twice, three times, swiping my thumb over the fat head and spreading the dribble of pre-cum that had gathered down his length. More than ready, I pull my underwear to the side and position him at my entrance, but he stops me.

“Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” I blink at him.

He rolls us until I land on my back, my head cradled in the pillows. “When we got here, it was all I could do to fuck you, but we’re doing it right, this time. I’m making you come more than once, and when you’re nice and wet for me, when you think you can’t take any more, that’s when I’m going to stretch this perfect pussy over my cock.”

Before I can say anything to that, he crashes his mouth to mine and immediately rips my underwear from my ‘perfect’ pussy. The sound of the lace tearing loud in our quiet little hotel room. He strokes me gently, staying to the outer areas and teasing me with barely-there touches. I spread my legs wide, hoping he’ll find the wetness at my entrance and push his way inside. He doesn’t.

“Harry, please.”

His smile is downright feral. “Mmmm,” he rumbles low in my ear and my whole body shivers. “That’s right, Angel.” His voice is low and coarse, I can feel it vibrating from his chest where it presses to mine. “Beg,” he grits out. Oh God, he’s growling .

“Harry!” My poor needy pussy is clamping around nothing. Everything south of my belly button is contracting and tugging. “Harry, I think I’m going to come.”

“Is that what I do to you, wife?” His lips skim my ear lobe with his words, that deep timbre of his voice sending zaps of electricity straight to my clit. “Now, I told you to beg .”

“Please!” I cry and he plunges two fingers inside me, his thumb pressing to my clit and I come with nothing more. “Oh God! Harry, Harry,” I chant his name in prayer.

He starts pumping his fingers, crooking them to hit that magic spot as one orgasm gives way only for the next one to crest in its place. “So, fucking beautiful.” He kisses my neck, down to my chest where my breasts are barely covered by the white mesh of my lingerie. “Are you particularly attached to this outfit?”

“Huh?” I say, too whacked out on endorphins to comprehend his words.

Apparently, that doesn’t matter to him, accepting my response as permission, he rips the soft fabric straight down the middle so my breasts spill free and I’m left naked and spaced out in his arms. Kissing soft, sucking kisses on my breasts, ribs, and stomach, he makes his way down to wedge his shoulders under my thighs. With no further warning, his mouth is on me, sucking at my swollen, sensitive nub and breaching my entrance with his tongue.

“Harry, I can’t,” I whine, too sensitive, too spent.

“You can, and you will,” he rumbles against me, the vibration running through my body and making me shiver.

“It’s too much.”

“Nothing’s too much,” he argues. “Not between you and me.”

Inexplicably, I come again. Not an explosive, body shattering orgasm but a gentle fall from the stratosphere. I whimper and pant through the pleasure and tug at Harry’s hair, urging him off me because I know I can’t take any more now. He climbs back up my body and kisses me long, the taste of my orgasms coating both of our tongues by the time he pulls away and rolls us so I’m on top.

“Now, ride me.”