Unwrapped Read online

  “Pretty.” The lights reflected on Leah’s face, green and blue and red. She was smiling at the scenes in front of them.

  “You’re prettier,” he said into her ear.

  She looked at him. “Oh, am I?”

  This time, he slipped his hand into her lap and pressed gently. He grinned. “Uh huh.”

  He thought she’d shake her head or simply push his hand away, but to his delight, his wife just shifted on the seat, opening her thighs a little wider. There wasn’t much he could do through the denim of her jeans, but…well…he sure could try.

  “Oh. Elves,” Leah murmured, her gaze on the first display they’d finally pulled up in front of. She rocked her hips just enough against his hand that he knew she wasn’t paying one damned bit of attention to the elves. “Look at the elves, Brandon.”

  He did, not because he was worried the driver could see what was going on beneath the layers of quilts, but because Leah had told him to. Because it was sexy this way, something forbidden, something he was doing that normally she wouldn’t allow but he knew she really, really liked.

  The next display was of a house with Santa’s sleigh on top and a fat Santa in front, waving in a steady metronome. The music had changed to a chorus of what sounded like castrati singing “O Tannenbaum.” Leah wrinkled her nose but didn’t look away from the lights and music. Didn’t look at him. She drew in a breath as he watched her.

  With his fingers inside her, his mouth on her pussy, Brandon could usually tell what was working for her. But here, with the barriers of clothing between them, unable to sink into her heat or even able to tell if he was pressing her clit or some random spot, all he had to go on was the subtle shift of her expression.

  Making his wife come was always a challenge, not because she had a hard time achieving orgasm but because, in purely feminine fashion, there was way more to getting her off than hitting the right spots. He could go down on her for an hour, and if she was worried about paying the mortgage, she might never come. If he switched up the pace too much, if the phone rang, if something on the television sounded too loud, she could lose her concentration. It seemed to him that a haphazard pressure against her clit through her jeans, jostling by the sleigh hitting bumps in the snowy path—hell, the entirely unsexy sound of adolescent boys with their nuts cut off singing about a Christmas tree—all of that should probably have made it really difficult for him to make her come.

  But something told him she was getting close, anyway.

  His dick was pressing almost painfully against his zipper, but he didn’t care. He’d get his later or suffer the ache of blue balls, it didn’t matter. For the moment, all Brandon really cared about was seeing if he could pull this off. Get her off. Make her lose a tiny bit of the control she so prided herself on keeping.

  She wasn’t stopping him, but she wasn’t helping. Hadn’t unzipped her jeans to let him slip his fingers inside. Unspoken, she’d made rules he had to follow. Brandon bit the inside of his cheek against his grin. He could do that. No problem.

  The people on the hay wagon ahead of them were cheering at something but had stalled again. The sleigh wasn’t moving. The driver stared ahead, maybe sullen or bored, maybe just discreet. All around them the music went on and on while Santa waved in a steady tick-tock.

  Tick, tock. Press, release. Over and over, Brandon pushed his knuckles against her.

  Her lips parted. Just slightly. She didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him.

  It was enough to tell him he was on the right path.

  Leah let out a tiny cry when the sleigh started up again, and it sounded like it could’ve been because she was startled by the sudden jerk. But Brandon knew better. He didn’t change the pressure, though, or the pace. They passed by the Santa and on to the next display, but he kept up the same steady tick-tock of his knuckles against her.

  The ride was, as the driver had predicted, closer to an hour than forty-five minutes. By the end of it, Leah’s eyelashes had begun to flutter in a familiar way and, when she forced herself to focus, her eyes had a certain glaze in them that Brandon loved. She stumbled getting out of the sleigh, and he caught her, but he was pretty sure this time it had nothing to do with her sore ankle.

  “Get me home,” she muttered into his ear as he helped her stand upright. “As fast as possible.”

  Twenty minutes later he was up to his balls inside her, both of them not even undressed. They hadn’t even made it more than a few feet past the front door. Pants around his ankles, her jeans undone and shoved to her thighs, he lifted her, hands under her ass, and used the wall behind her to steady himself as he fucked deep inside her. It always worked better in the movies, but for right now, this moment, these three minutes, it was fucking magic.

  “I’m going to call you Fuckmachine from now on,” she said to him on a gasp that became a giggle as he started to slip out of her when they’d both come within seconds of each other. “Oh…oops.”

  He put her down gently, holding her carefully because neither of them was too steady on their feet. “Fuckmachine, huh? It’s better than Bingo.” Or Band Boy, which was what Leah’s friend Kate liked to call him.

  Leah pushed up on her good set of toes to kiss his mouth. “Yes. Fuckmachine. ‘Dear Fuckmachine, please pick up the dry cleaning on the way home.’ It has a ring, doesn’t it?”

  “If I’m Fuckmachine, what do I call you?” This was a game with them. She’d told him long ago she would never make him call her Mistress or anything like that. Usually he stuck with honey, baby, sometimes a sweetie if he was feeling particularly smooshy.

  “Hmm.” She kissed him again and then pulled her panties and jeans up before limping toward the kitchen. “Right now, how about Gimpy.”

  “Fuckmachine and Gimpy. Sounds like a really bad porno movie.”

  He heard her laughter from the kitchen, then the sound of the mini-fridge opening, the crack of a cola tab. He found her pouring them both glasses of soda. She tossed a bag of chips on the table, too.

  “Aren’t most porno movies bad in some way or another?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Brandon said self-righteously. “I don’t watch them.”

  “Ha. Only the free ones on Youporn. I have your number, Fuckmachine, and your internet browsing history. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.” She handed him his glass and stole another kiss. “Unless you want me to put the parental blocks on the internet or something.”

  She paused, looking into his face, her lips brushing his again. “Hmm…would that be considered a disciplinary action?”

  “Maybe if I don’t scrub the floor good enough, you can cut off my porn privileges,” he offered with wide eyes, putting on the innocent face he knew she loved.

  Leah tweaked his nose and kissed him again, then hugged him hard and unexpectedly tight. “God, I love you.”

  He hugged her back, pulling her onto his lap for a cuddle. “I love you too.”

  She buried her face into his neck, her breath warm on him. He thought she might say something else, but Leah stayed quiet. And for just then, Brandon was content to sit there and hold her without saying anything either.

  * * *

  Two days before Christmas, four into their vacation, and they’d eaten at every restaurant within walking distance of the condo complex and taken every tour offered that didn’t require a lot of walking. Snow had been falling steadily since the night before and, though Leah was pretty sure Vail had more than its share of snow, the people here were acting like it was some sort of magic.

  It was pretty, she thought with a glance out the window. But nothing special. Nothing here felt that special, not the lights, the music or the Dickensian carolers on the street corner. Her husband, on the other hand, still felt and looked and smelled and tasted special. This vacation had been fantastic for their sex life, which, to be fair, was pretty spectacular anyway but had fallen into a regular once or twice a week rut over the past few months.

  “This game is ridiculous. What, Pa