Merry Christmas to all! I can’t tell you how wonderful 2014 has been getting to know you all and interacting with you about life in general and of course, books!
Now, as a special treat for all those who were unable to get a copy of A Drawn Christmas because it wasn’t available on your platform, I have it for you here today! And to those of you who did buy a copy of the 12 Days of Christmas Anthology, I can’t thank you enough – your donation is going towards helping further cancer research at the American Cancer Society.
A Drawn Christmas
“Is that the last of it?” I ask, my hands on my hips as I survey the massive pile of presents under the tree for Henrietta and my four children, each of whom are currently tucked up in bed with smiles on their faces, excited for the sun to rise and announce the arrival of Christmas morning.
“Yep. That’s it. Santa Claus has done his job for this year,” Henrietta replies, kneeling beside me and arranging all the presents in order. She has this thing about each child getting exactly the same amount at the same time, so there aren’t any fights.
“There’s a lot here,” I comment, feeling pretty sure our lounge room is going to look like a toy store tomorrow morning.
The lights blink on the artificial tree. It’s covered in a mishmash of baubles and various homemade decorations that we’ve collected over the years. Beside it, the fan whirs from side to side in the hot room, blowing air across my bare chest. In Australia’s summer heat, I’m only wearing a pair of black shorts in an attempt to keep cool.
“Well, if you can’t spoil your kids at Christmas, when can you?” she replies, pushing up to her feet and sliding her arms around my waist. She rests her head against my chest, right where the tattoo of her name resides.
I drop a kiss on the top of her head and inhale the scent of her auburn hair. After almost seven years together, it’s still intoxicating to me. I remember thinking the scent was the shampoo she uses, but over the years, she’s changed brands and she still smells the same. Intoxicating. Mine.
“I’d like to spoil my wife for Christmas too,” I murmur, sliding my arms around her waist and slipping my fingers beneath her thin cotton tank top. Gently, I skim my touch over her skin, causing her to let out a gentle hum as she tilts her head upward, smiling at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of hers as she waits for me to take her with a kiss.
“In the bedroom, I hope,” she replies, as addicted to me as I am to her.
“In the shower, on the floor, in our bed, against the wall,” I grin, grazing my lips over hers.
“Well, pleasure is my favourite gift,” she smiles, pulling at my bottom lip with her teeth before slowly letting go.
“Then we better get started, it’s after midnight now. We have until the birds sing to make the most of our time. Merry Christmas, my beautiful wife.” I brush my lips along hers as my hands slide down her body to cup her arse and pull her against me.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispers in return, her voice laced with that need that always seems to exist between us.
I take her mouth in mine, my tongue gliding along hers as she lets out a light whimper as her hands slide up the skin of my back, her fingers pressing into my skin as our bodies align.
Feeling the heat of our arousal, and the heat of the room pressing around us, I slide my hands down lower and grip her thighs, lifting her off the ground and carrying her to our bedroom, kissing her the entire way.
This feeling between us, it never gets old, and it has never faded. I love kissing her. I love being with her. Every moment is as good as it was in the beginning. As I walk her into our ensuite bathroom and lower her to the ground, I drink in her beautiful face, my fingers travelling up her body lightly, as I drag her thin top off her body, revealing her beautiful naked chest.
Dropping her top on the floor, my eyes drink in her body. It’s perfect to me, even more so as every change and every line in her skin has been a result of her carrying and caring for our children.
Bringing my eyes back to hers, I reach out and turn our shower on, holding my hand beneath the cool water as I look down at her, taking in her silent beauty as she rests her hands against my chest, moving them gradually downward.
I grin at her when her fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts and pushes them down, kneeling as she lowers them and releases my throbbing cock.
She looks up at me with that cheeky grin she gets when she’s about to rock my world. “I hope you weren’t planning on getting an early night, my love,” she murmurs, before taking my cock in her hand and bringing it to her lips.
I let out a low moan as the warmth of her mouth surrounds my shaft, one hand reaching up to hold the frame of the open shower door, and the other sliding into her thick hair, holding onto her head as moves back and forth, licking and sucking, swirling around my tip, devouring my cock with a fervent hunger.
The sensation causes me to me to groan. “Holy fuck, you’re amazing,” I say, as she expertly brings me closer and closer to climax.
But I’m not ready. I don’t want to come in her mouth. I want to come inside her.
Drawing his long hard shaft as deep inside my mouth as I can, I taste his arousal. It’s a sign that he’s close to climaxing. My core clenches at the thought of him erupting so soon. I become greedy, sucking just a little harder as I reach up and massage the underside of his shaft with my hand, stroking him with my thumb, licking him with my tongue. He’s so close, I can feel the throb.
“Henrietta,” he moans, both of his hands now gripping my hair as he pulls me upward. I whimper, missing his cock in my mouth already. But, my body comes alive as he devours my mouth with a soul-searing kiss before he growls, “I need to be inside you.” His voice is like an erotic hum that rolls through my body, igniting my desire even further.
Working together, we push my pants and underwear down, leaving it on the floor as we step together into the cool running water of the shower. It hits our heated skin, feeling like heaven as he lifts me up and with one swift movement and drives himself into me.
My arms wrap around his neck, my fingers curling through his dark hair, as his hazel eyes lock with mine and his hips thrust. His shaft glides against my walls, filling me with his size, driving me wild as his pelvis hits against my clit.
We watch each other, the ecstasy in our gaze adding to our arousal as we drive toward a combined orgasm. Erupting, my body quakes as I grip around him, letting out a low moan as he takes my mouth in his and spills himself inside me.
“God, I love you so fucking much, Henrietta,” he moans, lifting me off the wall and holding me under the jet of water so it hits my back and cools me.
“I know,” I whisper. “And I love you too. Always.”
Lowering me to the floor, he cleans between my legs before shutting off the water and lifting me up again, cradling me in his arms.
The heat in our room is stifling. So, without drying off, he lays me on the bed and switches on the fan. The air flow flutters over my skin, causing the cool beads of water to chill, giving me goose bumps as he holds himself above me.
“Things are about to get a hell of a lot hotter in here,” he says, dipping his head to take my nipple in his mouth. A hard suck and a nibble before he does the same to the other one, then kisses his way down my stomach.
“Are you ready to come again?” he asks, sliding his hands down my thighs, then pressing at my knees, pushing my legs apart so he can look at my core.
“Always for you.”
Grinning, he positions himself between my thighs and tastes me. His tongue is gentle in its exploration and he moans softly. It’s as if this is the first time he’s done this as opposed to being a time in the thousands.
Damien has been my lover since I was eighteen. And despite a three year gap in what many would call our ‘toxic’ relationship, we have loved each other fiercely, consumed by our need from the moment we met.
It would seem ridiculous to most, and I can understand that they don’t get it. They don’t get what it is that’s between us. It’s crazy, it’s beautiful and it’s scary, all at the same time.
But we love each other intensely, and after getting married a little over six years ago, we’ve never once regretted fighting for each other.
Two fingers slip inside my entrance, teasing me with their gentle probing as his tongue swirls around my still sensitive clit. “Oh yes,” I gasp.
“You like that?” he whispers, even though he knows exactly what I like. We enjoy the back and forth, talking through our pleasure, connecting completely with each other.
“I do. I want more.”
He slides his fingers inside me, twisting them around as he slowly pulses back and forth. “More?” he asks.
He inserts another finger, filling me further, massaging my depths. I moan, tilting my hips and rocking along with his motion, enjoying the sensation of my walls stretching around him. “More?”
“More,” I urge, gasping as his fingers delve inside me, the slick sound of my arousal coating him as he stretches me.
“Mmmmmm,” he murmurs, looking down as he watches his fingers slide in and out of me. “So wet for me. And your taste,” he dips his head and slides his tongue around the edge of my entrance as his fingers continue to move. “Is sublime.”
Then, sliding his tongue upwards, he sucks back on my bundle of nerves. Hard. And his teeth graze over my most sensitive spot.
With his fingers curled inside, pressing against my G spot and his mouth cupped around my clit, he moans, the vibration sending me over the edge, spiralling out of control.
I grab his hair, my hips bucking up beneath him, my thighs closing around his ears as I stifle my yell, keeping it at a low moan.
With strong hands, he grips my hips and flips me onto my stomach, parting my legs. And with one skillful motion, he drives his thick cock into my ready and dripping core.
The angle and the pressure cause me to cry out in ecstasy, sending me spiralling towards yet another orgasm.
“God, you’re so fucking tight like this,” he groans. His voice strains as he drives his cock forward, hitting my insides, while creating a pressure that tips me over the edge yet again. He shudders within me, coming hard as he moans my name.
Dropping his head, he kisses me between my shoulder blades then on the back of my neck. I turn my head and he presses a kiss to the side of my mouth, withdrawing from me as I turn beneath him. He then replaces his cock inside me as soon as we’re face to face again. My arms slide around his neck and our mouths meet, our tongues sharing our tastes.
This time, the build-up is slow as we lose ourselves in the ecstasy that we share in our own private cocoon of love. A place where only we exist. My legs wrap around him and he moves inside me, his pace languid as we kiss and make slow, sensual love that lasts for a glorious amount of time.
And when we finally shudder together, our bodies now tired and sated, we whisper about our love and our dying devotion. We are each other’s world and not one of us exists without the other.
After cleaning us up, Damien returns to the bed, lying next to me in all his tattooed and naked glory. His eyes meet mine as the fan breezes over our warm bodies, twisting its head from side to side to move the humid air around the small space of our room.
“I think that next year, we should ask Santa for some air conditioning,” I suggest with a smile, placing my hand on his stomach then skimming my fingers upward over the contours of his muscled physique. My giant of a man. So beautiful to me.
“Then I won’t have an excuse to get you all hot and sweaty so I can shower you off,” he grins, his eyes travelling down the length of my body as I lay beside him, unabashedly naked.
“I actually have something else for you for Christmas. Well, besides a non-stop sex marathon,” I smile, tracing my fingertips over the Viper tattoo that coils around his right bicep and shoulder.
It used to be the only tattoo on his arm when we were first married. But as his career as a tattoo artist took off, he added to his body art. Now, his entire right arm is covered in various animals and symbols that represent his struggle with his bipolar disorder, as well as his journey to me, and the love of our small family.
Balancing Damien’s medication is still something we have to be careful of. And I need to keep a close eye on him for any manic symptoms. But over the years, with careful consideration we’ve been episode free. And we hope to keep things that way. Neither Damien nor I, want things to go back the way they were at the beginning when we lost control.
Rolling over, I reach under the bed and pull out a box then lift it onto the bed and place between us on the mattress.
“Merry Christmas, Damien,” I grin, excited to have found something I’m sure he’ll love.
“Do I open it now?” he asks, his eyes shining brightly as his hands move slowly, reverently, over the festive paper.
Damien is a man who is always so focused on providing for, and doing for our family that he has trouble receiving gifts. That’s why I try so hard to find things he’ll love. I understand how much he cherishes every loving gesture between us.
“Please. I really think you’ll like this one.”
Meeting my eyes, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
“I love everything you ever give me, just because it’s from you,” he murmurs.
Then I watch the ripple of his stomach muscles as he sits up and faces me.
Lying beside me, her head propped up by her elbow and hand, Henrietta watches me expectantly as she waits for me to open her gift.
Slipping my fingers under the paper, I pause, looking at her with a smile. My gazes drifts over her body, taking in her naked length. She’s like an Amazon queen, tall, strong and proud. She’s been the glue in my life since I met her, and I cherish every moment we have together.
Looking at her, my cock stirs, and I drag my eyes away from her body and focus on unwrapping the gift.
“You really didn’t have to do this. You know that spending time with you is the only gift I’ll ever need.”
“Just open the damn present,” she laughs. “We go through this every year. Just open it. I saw it, and I thought of you.”
Every year, we promise not to get each other a gift because essentially, being together after all we went through, is enough of a gift for the both of us.
There aren’t many women who would stand by a man with a criminal record and a mental disorder. But, Henrietta could always see my heart, and as confusing as our draw to each other was in the beginning, she was the only reason I got better. The reason why I finally dragged myself out of the pit of darkness I was in and accepted help. She’s been like an angel of light, guiding me in my darkest moments. Knowing her gave my dead soul life. That’s the only gift I will ever need in this world.
“Open it!” she urges.
I smile and pop the tape, carefully pulling off the paper to reveal a white cardboard box, the size of an old-style photo album.
Glancing at her, I can’t help but enjoy the eagerness in her eyes, as she watches me lift the lid to reveal a leather bound sketchbook. On the cover is a metal snake, embedded in the leather and shaped in an infinity symbol, with the snake’s mouth holding its tail.
I run my fingers over it, inhaling the scent of new leather as I study the intricacies of the snake’s design.
“I was at the markets and I saw this. The snake, of course, reminded me of your tattoo and your strength of mind. And the infinity symbol, well, that’s for us, because we’re forever,” she explains.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper. “Thank you.” Leaning forward, I press a grateful kiss against her lips before pulling away and smiling.
“Actually, my gift to you is artistic in nature also.”
“Really? I’m intrigued,” she smiles.
Leaning forward, I kiss her again. “Good. I’m building the suspense,” I say, as I get off the bed and open the top drawer of our dresser where I keep my drawing supplies. Then, finding what I need, I turn around.
“But first, I need to christen this new gift.”
Raising her brow she shifts her blue eyes to my hands that are now holding graphite pencils. “Stay exactly where you are,” I tell her, taking a seat at the end of the bed and opening the thick sketchbook. “I want the very first sketch to be of your beautiful sated body.”
“Sated?” she teases, holding her pose as I begin my sketch. “We’ve been married almost seven years, and there hasn’t been a moment when I didn’t want to. I will never be sated with you–pleasured, happy, loved. Those are all things I am, but I will never ever have had enough of you to consider my desire sated. You, Damien Rhodes, are my drug of choice, and I will be addicted to you for all of eternity.”
Pausing my sketch, I still my pencil and I glance up at her, meeting her eyes with mine. “I hope so, Henrietta. I hope that we’re still doing exactly this when we’re ninety and wrinkled but still desperately in love.”
She laughs, her breasts bouncing lightly with her joy as she imagines us doing just that. “Oh, I sincerely hope so, Damien.”
“There,” he says, rubbing his finger over the page one last time before he places his pencil between his teeth. Then he turns the book for me to see the sketch he’s now finished.
Pulling my lip between my teeth, I look at the drawing and grin, rolling onto my knees and scooting down the bed to take a closer look.
I sit behind him, sliding my arm across his broad back as I thread my fingers into his dark hair and peer over his shoulder to admire his work.
As always, it’s picture perfect. In it, I’m lying on my side, a coy smile on my face not unlike the Mona Lisa’s, as I watch him concentrate on capturing my curves.
“You know, I always critique everything I draw harshly. But each time I draw you, I see nothing but perfection.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, pressing a kiss in the curve of his neck. “I love seeing myself through your eyes.”
“This isn’t what you see in the mirror?” he asks, narrowing his eye a little. We’ve been through something like this before.
“It is, and it isn’t. I think I’m beautiful through your eyes. But I still critique myself like any other woman out there does. You don’t see the same imperfections I do.”
Setting the book and pencil aside, he turns to me, his hand sliding up to cup the side of my face as he studies my features.
“We all have imperfections, Henrietta. What I see when I look at you is the beauty of your face, your body and your soul. And that’s what comes out in my drawings of you.”
“See,” I smile. “I like the way you see me. It’s special. You’re special.”
I slide my leg over his waist, and my hands travel across his broad chest and up his neck, blazing the trail for my fingertips to brush over the rough stubble on his cheeks. Slowly, I move over to feel the softness of his full lips, and I study this beautiful man beneath me, thanking my lucky stars that he’s in my life.
I think back, remembering the day I met him, an accidental knock on a door that put me in this path and cemented our destinies.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks.
“Oh, I was just thinking about how I met you, and then that first night I spent with you after I’d drank too much and caught you street fighting. You were a bad boy, Mr Rhodes,” I whisper, rolling my lips slightly against his already firm cock.
“A bad boy who had eyes only for you.”
“You were something special then. I knew it straight away. I still feel that loss of those three years. I regret leaving you the way I did.”
He tightens his arms around my waist and slides his fingers through the ends of my long red hair, twirling it about his fingers as he shifts his hips upward.
“No regrets, Henrietta. We were young, and what we had was too intense for us to understand. If I hadn’t made the mistakes I did, I wouldn’t have gone to prison and I wouldn’t have gotten the help I needed. In the end, the time apart made sure we knew what we wanted and could handle what was to come. All that matters is now. And right now,” he says, his hand sliding down to grip my hips, “I want to be inside you, enjoying your body as I bring you pleasure.”
Lifting me up slightly, he shifts his hips, his cock standing proudly between us as he lowers me down, impaling me with his shaft, causing me to gasp as he fills me entirely.
“Ohhhh,” I moan, my body shuddering with a gentle pleasure as I begin to move up and down his rod. “I like the way you think,” I whisper, bringing my mouth to his, sucking his lips, licking his tongue, his teeth, the roof of his mouth. I love the way he tastes and the feeling I get when we’re completely entwined.
If the world were to ever end, I’d want to be in his arms, with him inside me, kissing me, when we went out.
“I like the way you feel,” he murmurs, tilting his hips up to push deeper inside. I gasp.
“I love the way you feel inside me,” I whisper in return, kissing him, pushing through my thighs and experiencing every inch of his impressive cock as I draw it inside me.
Being over six foot myself, I had never imagined that I’d find a man who could make me feel protected the way that Damien does. I’m tall, I’m strong and I’ve trained in Aikido since I was a child. I’ve always felt that I would be the one to take care of me. That I’d be independent and not need a man for anything. Then I met Damien and realised how wrong I was.
I need him. He’s so large that he dwarfs me with his size and he’s far more trained in Aikido than I’ll ever be. He was high level when I met him, and while he hasn’t gone back to competing, he has returned to training and has begun to help my father, teaching at my family’s gym. It helps to keep him fit and strong while he keeps his gorgeous body maintained and in peak condition.
A man like Damien, commands respects wherever he goes. Not only is his physique imposing, but he also has this air about him that causes those around him to feel a need to follow his lead. He’s a natural protector and where his family is concerned, he is the lion, strong, brave and fierce. His entire focus is governed by his need to protect and provide for his pride – myself and our four children.
He is a natural father, firm and capable with the children. Patient in his guidance. He cares for us as a father and husband should. I’ve never known a man so unselfish and devoted.
When the children are in bed, it’s time for his focus to shift to me. As much as we love losing ourselves in each other’s bodies, there are many nights where we simply just enjoy each other’s company, whether it be reading, creating, watching, talking – we do all the regular things couples do. But there isn’t a day or a moment when I don’t feel completely loved and worshipped by him. And I know he feels the same way.
I move my hands to his face, pulling back a little as I take him deep inside me and grind myself at the base of his cock. Squeezing my internal muscles, I grip him tightly as his impressive appendage delves deep, pressing against my erogenous zones as I study the beauty in his face and connect to his soul through my heart and his light eyes.
I whisper to him, private things, about love and what his body does to me. He responds by grinning then gripping my thighs, pulling back and flipping us so that he’s on top. He holds my thighs in the crook of his arms and drives into me, his speed increasing as I let out a groan, my mind reeling from the pleasure.
“And what does this do to you?” he asks, his skillful hips pumping into me, slapping our bodies together. I’m ready to explode.
“It makes me… Oh God, Damien, it’s making me come!” My eyes close and my mouth opens as I focus on the tight coil of feeling, unfurling inside of me.
“My eyes, Henrietta,” he reminds me. “I need to see you come.”
“Oh!” I moan, opening my eyes and locking them with his. As my face freezes in ecstasy, my body floods with endorphins. I come even harder than before.
At the same time, I see his face change and his cock pulse inside me as he shoots his hot come into my depths, pushing forward one last time and holding us together firmly. We’re connected, our eyes locked, caught together in a moment of pure bliss.
Lowering my legs so they wrap around his waist, he lightly traces his fingertips over my thighs. It sends a shiver through me that causes my already hard nipples to peak and tingle.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous. I will never grow tired of watching you come,” he murmurs, leaning over me, his cock still hard inside my body.
“I hope not. We’ve got a long life ahead of us, buddy,” I smile, wrapping my hands around the bulging muscles in his upper arms. He watches me adoringly and begins to move slowly inside me again, the last waves of our orgasms still present in our bodies, our bliss continuing.
If I had to count the number of times I’ve made love to my wife, I’d struggle to come up with a number. Over the years we’ve easily made it to the thousands and each time has been amazing and unparalleled by any other.
Before Henrietta, I had never made love. I’d been with numerous women, though we’d always fucked. There was never this deep soul connection that I have with the woman I’m moving inside right now.
When I first met Henrietta, my soul came to life, and I knew I wouldn’t be complete without her. Just knowing her meant that I couldn’t look at another woman. It felt wrong. My body and my mind was only interested in my Amazon woman with her flaming red hair.
I’m still inside her, the last of our shudders dying down as she grips me hard with her amazing cunt. I press my lips to hers.
“It is so fucking hot tonight,” I comment, both of our bodies coated in a sheen of sweat from the oppressive heat.
Looking up at me, she smiles, running her fingernails up and down my back, scraping at my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re so fucking hot tonight,” she comments as she grips me internally one last time.
I grin back at her, leaning down to kiss her again, luxuriating in her mouth, and her soft tongue as it glides against mine.
“Take me for another shower and we can cool down. Maybe we can even get a couple of hours sleep before the kids wake us up for presents,” she suggests.
“All right,” I say, pulling her up to carry her to the bathroom. “And after sleep, I get to give you your gift.”
“I can’t wait,” she whispers, laying her head against my chest. The action swells my heart with love for her as she allows me to reverently care for her body and dress her for bed.
Most people would find our ritual strange, but our relationship works because I take pleasure in catering to her needs and caring for her. Of course she still does many things for herself, but I see her surrender to my loving help as her ultimate trust. She knows I need this. She knows I need to be here for her. She knows I need to care for her.
After slipping a thin cotton nightgown over her head, I carry her to our bed then dress myself in a pair of boxers. They’re black, because it’s really the only colour I wear. Whereas Henrietta’s nightgown is white. She is my perfect opposite.
I slide in the bed beside her between the cotton sheets, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her tightly against me despite the heat. I inhale her fresh clean scent, soothing and erotic all at the same time, and press my lips to her pale skin.
“Good night, beautiful. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Damien,” she returns, her voice soft and relaxed–ready for sleep.
“Santa Claus was here! Santa was here!” The children chorus as they burst into our room and jump on our bed.
“What? Today? But it isn’t even Christmas!” Damien jokes.
“It is daddy!” our three-year-old, Keith, yells, a huge smile on his face as he jumps up and down, his dark curls bouncing about his head like springs as he does. He looks so like his father with hazel eyes and full lips just like Damien. The other children have a good mix of both of us. Evie, our oldest at nine, has my blue eyes and her father’s dark hair with my pale complexion. She will be a true beauty one day. I can already see it in her.
Rose, our second child who is five, has red hair like me, my complexion to go with it, as well as her father’s eyes and his full mouth. Then there’s Craig, who is already a heartbreaker at four. His hair is dark like his father’s but straight like mine. He has his own eyes, a rare genetic mix that has seen him get blue eyes with flecks of hazel. It’s as if someone took Damien’s and my eye colours, put them in a jar and shook them together really hard. The resulting mixture is what was then poured out to create our son’s eyes.
“No,” Damien says, drawing out the word as he clicks our children in his arms. “Christmas isn’t for two more weeks. You’re all mistaken.”
“Daddy, stop!” Evie laughs. “We already saw all the presents and I know what the date is. We’ve been counting down since December first.”
“You, my dear girl, are far too smart for me. It’s genetics. You’re smart, just like your mother.” He releases the children and slides out of bed. “All right, show me this mystical mountain of presents.”
“You come too, mummy!” Craig says, pulling at my arm. I roll my tired body out of bed and go with them, grabbing my phone on the way to take photographs.
“Say ‘Merry Christmas’, kids” I say, holding out my phone to snap a shot of their happy faces as they surround the Christmas tree.
“Merry Christmas!” they yell as I tap the screen and capture their youthful joy.
From behind me, Damien slides his hands around my waist and hugs me to his chest. “Merry Christmas, Mrs Rhodes,” he whispers, his voice like a soft blanket wrapping around my shoulders in the cool air of the morning.
“I’m surprised they slept in until 7:30,” I say, leaning against him as I take a few other photos of the kids inspecting their presents.
“They’ve been tired from the heat,” he muses, pressing a light kiss to the curve of my neck as he comments that my last photo was a good shot of the kids.
“Well, they’ll be thoroughly exhausted after the beach today. Are we picking up mum and dad or are we meeting them there?” I ask, knowing that Damien had trained with my father at the Aikido gym last night.
“We’re picking them up on the way through. Parking will be hard enough with only one car.”
“Good idea,” I say, turning in his arms to press a kiss to his lips. “Oh, nice hat.” I smile, reaching up to tap on the ball at the end of his hat.
“Tis the season,” he says with a wink, just as Rose rushes over to grab him by the hand.
“Come on! You have to play Santa, daddy!” she squeals, dragging him toward the tree as I take more photos with my phone.
“Okay, okay!” he laughs. “But first, I think mummy should get her present. Then, we can see how much coal and potatoes Santa gave to you little monsters,” he teases.
“We didn’t get coal and potatoes,” Evie argues with a smile. “That’s only for the naughty kids, and we’re very good.”
I have to laugh, knowing that Evie will never be one to have the wool pulled over her eyes.
“You’re so right, Evelyn. You are all perfect little angels,” Damien laughs, roughing up Evie’s curls as he walks toward the Christmas tree. “But I still think mummy should go first, yeah?”
“Yes,” she agrees, looking at me with a loving smile that touches my heart.
“What is it?” Keith asks as Damien slides a large wrapped rectangle out from behind the couch. It’s at least a metre and a half wide and a metre tall.
“Wow, what have you been up to?” I ask, giving him a slightly suspicious look.
He grins, and responds as if he’s reading my mind. “It’s kid friendly. I assure you. Open it.”
Picking up my phone, Evie holds it up to take pictures of me as she mimics Damien’s words, “Open it.”
Tearing the paper right down the centre with my finger, I’m treated to my first sight of what I already guessed was a painting. But it’s a painting like no other I have seen Damien do. I’ve only ever seen his abstract and boudoir paintings, but this one looks almost ethereal.
“Wow,” I say, sliding the last of the paper off and taking in the work of art that must have taken months for Damien to complete.
“Do you like it?” his deep voice rumbles eagerly.
I meet his eyes for a moment before I return to the painting. “Like it? Damien, this is magnificent. You really should be in a gallery.” I respond, in awe of his precious talent.
“What is it?” Craig asks, and I turn the painting around to show everyone.
“It’s us!” Rose gasps.
“It is,” I smile, admiring the image that shows me and the children, sitting in a field of wildflowers. The girls and I are making chains of flowers, and the boys are chasing colourful dragonflies around us. It looks so real that I feel like I could reach in and touch it all, smell the flowers and run my fingers through the tall grass. But it also has this beautiful dreamlike quality that speaks of love and perfection.
“I love it,” I breathe, moving to hug and kiss Damien and to thank him for something so wonderful.
“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing me softly as we stay together in the middle of the room.
“Do you think we could have our presents now?” Craig asks, grown tired of waiting.
Pulling back, Damien gives me a wink and moves to lift the first present from under the tree. Then Evie returns my phone to me, before eagerly sitting down. And I once again take photos, watching our children open gift after gift as they squeal happily, getting lost in the fun that is Christmas when you’re a kid.
After giving the kids time to play with their toys, we get in the car with a picnic lunch in the boot, and drive to Henrietta’s parents, Barry and Jan to pick them up. We exchange gifts with them and then load into the van to drive through the city towards Bondi Beach.
Finding a parking spot, we gather the children and our supplies as we head to the beach and stake out somewhere to sit. It’s at that point we run through the safety rules with the children so they don’t get lost on the crowded beach.
Another family sets up not far from us with two small children and another on the way. Craig makes a comment about the massive tattoo of a phoenix on the woman’s back. “Did you make that tattoo, daddy?” he asks at the top of his voice, pointing at her and attracting her attention. She turns and smiles, pushing her thick dark curly hair out of her catlike eyes appearing amused by my son’s loud comment.
I turn my attention back to my son. “No, Buddy. There are lots of tattoo artists around.” I tell him, before redirecting his attention toward where Henrietta and her mother are sitting under our shade umbrellas, reapplying sunscreen to all the children before they are allowed in the water.
All of them are wonderful swimmers. They’ve been having lessons since they were babies, and they spend a lot of time in the pool at the grandparents’ house. But we keep reiterating that they must stay with an adult at all times and stay between the safety flags. There is a very strong rip at Bondi that can pull even the strongest swimmers out to sea.
Henrietta stands up, almost ready to take the children to the water, and I watch her as she reaches down and pulls off her colourful kaftan then begins to reapply her own sunscreen.
My jaw hangs open as I see the swimsuit she is wearing, or, more correctly — not wearing. Then I march over to her.
“What the hell is this?” I hiss in her ear as I pull the strap of her bikini and glance around, noticing more than a few men giving my wife’s body an appreciative glance.
“My swimsuit?” she responds slowly, as if it’s a question because she’s not sure what my problem is.
“No. That is not a swimsuit. It’s three triangles and some string,” I state, my eyes bulging as I look down at her body, at her smooth muscular stomach and the exposed tattoo on her side. She may as well be naked.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like people seeing your artwork? I thought you’d be pleased that I want to show it off.”
I grit my teeth as she proudly turns to the side and curls her body so I can get a better view of the artwork that adorns her left side, starting just below her shoulder and stretching down to her hip. This one I designed myself. Its shows two swallows, flying free from their gilded cage to join with four smaller swallows. It represents our journey to each other and with each child I’ve added a new bird.
“You don’t need to show everything with it. This suit doesn’t exactly leave much to the imagination now does it?”
She places her hands on her hips and gives me that look that all redheads are known for. A look that says she won’t back down. “If you’re allowed to show off your abs, then I’m allowed to show off mine. What would you have me do, Damien? Put my kaftan back on and wrap myself in a towel so no one can see me?” she demands. “What about you? You’re standing there, looking like Christmas dinner to every woman with a set of eyes on this beach. Do you see me complaining about it? Or, do you see me feeling secure in the knowledge that the hottest guy on the beach is mine and mine only?”
“You look like a walking wet dream,” I argue.
“And you look like a sex god.”
“I don’t like other men ogling my woman.”
“They may look but only you get to touch. I deal with women drooling over you, so you can deal with the one or two guys who will notice me.” She leans in close to my ear. “Besides, you’re the one who gets to take me home tonight and tear off these little triangles.”
“Don’t give me a hard on at the beach, Henrietta. I’m already sporting a semi over your lack of a swimming costume.”
“Do you think that maybe that was my goal—to give my husband a nice view for the day?”
“Hmmmm,” I growl, slightly. “A little too nice. But I’ll deal with it. Just prepare for me to claim you pretty hard tonight.”
She steps away and grins at me. “I’m counting on it,” she says, as she walks over to where her mum is waiting with the kids, building sand castles in the sun.
After spending the day in the surf and the sun with my parents and our children, we pack up the van and set out on the ninety minute drive back home.
“Bring the kids in. We can all have a light dinner together, and they can cool down in the pool again before you head back home,” my mother suggests when we pull into their driveway.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t have a bloody pool party for Christmas instead of trekking all the way to blasted Bondi,” my father grumbles, as he climbs out of our van then stretches his long limbs, his back cracking audibly as he twists at the waist.
“Aw, come on, dad. Going to the beach on Christmas day is the Aussie thing to do. The kids got to play with other kids and jump in the surf and bury each other in the sand. You don’t get that experience in a backyard pool.” I respond, helping all the children, who are now excited to go swimming, to get out of the van.
“Backyard barbecues and Aussie way of life too, you know,” he responds.
“Quit it, Barry. You had a great time today. He’s grumpy from the car ride. Like a petulant three-year-old child sometimes,” my mother teases, before my dad wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a bear hug to growl out something about showing her how petulant he can be. She ends up laughing and slapping his big chest before he lets her go, his eyes twinkling with mischief as they return their attention to us.
“We can leave you two alone if you like,” Damien comments, with a grin as he carries a fairly tired three-year-old on his side.
“I aanna swim!” Keith whines as he leans against Damien’s shoulder.
“And a swim is what you’ll get, little man,” my dad booms, taking Keith from Damien’s arms and carrying him like he’s an aeroplane around the side of the house to access the pool out back.
The other three children chase them excitedly and Damien follows, yelling about throwing them into the water.
“They don’t run out of energy do they?” mum muses as we follow them around. “The little ones had a tiny nap in the car and now they’re all good to go.”
I laugh. “They’ll crash the moment the sun goes down, I think.”
“At least it will be cool tonight. We’re supposed to get a cool change and a thunderstorm in the next few hours.”
“I can’t wait. It was so stifling last night… Oh god, what are they doing?” I ask, as we round the corner and find my dad and Damien throwing the children up in the air while they squeal with joy and vie to be the one who gets the next turn.
“Peas in a pod those two,” mum comments, her eyes soft and loving as she watches Dad and Damien with the children.
“They sure are,” I smile, taking a moment to watch the only two men I’ve ever fully loved, before following mum into the house where we prepare a basic meal of cold sliced meat and salad for dinner. We carry it outside, and set it out on the outdoor table.
“Feel that?” my mother asks, tilting her head up to the sky as she allows the light breeze to flow over her skin. “It’s coming.”
I pause, feeling the cool wind whisper over my hot skin and I inhale, smelling the cool moisture in the air that signals the heat breaking.
“I can’t wait,” I smile, always loving that moment of cool when the heat feels like it will go on forever. I inhale the air one last time before heading to the pool with mum to help collect the children and the men for dinner.
We all settle in around the large tempered glass table and share our meal. Dad finds a packet of Christmas bonbons and we all take turns cracking them open to see what’s inside before putting on our paper hats and listening while the adults read the silly jokes and the children laugh hysterically.
Slowly, the sun goes down and the air cools further, prompting us all to move inside just as a distant rumble of thunder is heard above us.
We bathe the children and get them in their pyjamas. We keep a set for them at mum and dads for evenings such as this. Then they settle in on the couch with their grandparents while watching Elf on TV.
“Why don’t you two spend some quiet time alone? The kids are happy. We’ll finish watching the movie and they can have a Christmas sleepover in your old room, Etta.”
“Yeah!” The kids agree, Evie and Rose pumping their fists into the air.
“Well, when you put it like that how can we say no,” Damien smiles, walking over to the couch and pressing a kiss to each child’s head.
I do the same, hugging and kissing my parents as I do.
“Thanks for today and Merry Christmas,” I call, blowing kisses and waving as we’re wished happy Christmas as well and head outside to make our way home, promising to see them all in the morning.
“The whole night to ourselves. What are we going to do with all that time?” Damien grins as he kisses me before we climb into the car.
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” I return. “I could give you your final Christmas present…”
“Another gift?” He glances at me as he traverses the darkened streets as a flash of light splits the sky overhead. “What did I do to deserve another gift?”
“Oh you were just your usual studly self.”
With a laugh, he pulls into the driveway of our five bedroom home and cuts the engine.
“Come,” he says, his voice soft and dripping with promise. As the electricity in the air crackles around us and the storm rumbles in the distance, I know that this man has only one thing on his mind. We are alone and we can be as noisy as we like.
Being home on our own, there’s no way in hell I’m taking Henrietta straight to the bedroom. Instead, I take her the moment we walk through the door, pressing her body up against the oak, pinning her beneath me as I devour her mouth with mine, something I’ve been dying to do all day after watching her strutting around in that ridiculous bikini.
With my dick rock hard in my pants, I reach down and pull her kaftan off her body and I remove my shirt, my hands skimming over her soft skin, craving the feel of her beneath my fingertips.
“Now, I’m getting this poor excuse for a swimsuit off you,” I growl, gently biting her ear as I pull at the thin straps, undoing the bows one by one, until the thin fabric drops to the floor, leaving her naked before me. “Don’t ever wear that thing again.”
She grins, a sexy glint in her eyes. And I half think she chose that bloody thing on purpose, because she knew I’d go crazy with protectiveness and desire. I drop my board shorts, kicking them to the side as I lean down and lift one of her legs in the crook of my arm, my cock finding her already wet entrance without fail as I slam into her.
She gasps. It’s loud and erotic and I feel her pussy clench around me. It’s fucking amazing and I almost blow. Almost. Taking a deep inhale, I slip myself back and forth through her juices, loving the vice-like grip she has on me as I hit my stride, our mouths coming together as we kiss franticly, like we’re starved for sex and each other.
Her body knocks against the door with each hard pump, and she cries out in pleasure, fingers curled and digging into my skin as she loses control and comes around me, her pussy pulsing, causing my cock to eject it’s juices and unload inside her.
She lifts her other leg as we still against each other, and I hold her in my arms as our kissing becomes more sensual. Above our heads, we hear a loud crack and the distinct sound of a downpour hitting the hot ground outside.
“Ever made love in a thunderstorm?” she whispers in between kisses. I make a low noise in the negative. “Take me outside. I want to love you in the rain.”
Just when I think it isn’t possible to become even more turned on by her, my cock grows instantly harder, almost ready blow from the thought of being with her as the cool rain hammers down and hits the heat of my skin.
I carry her to the back door, grabbing a blanket on the way and I step out into the storm, the rain hitting us in cool heavy drops as I dump the blanket and lay her down on it, kissing her like a man starved the entire time.
“Feel what you do to me?” I murmur, jerking my hips back and pushing into her, showing her my hard length from the inside.
“Yes,” she cries. Rocking her hips back against mine. This connection we have is insane. We both know it. But neither of us can seem to stop it. It’s like our bodies speak the same language and we crave each other. It’s as simple as that.
We roll over, sitting up together and kissing as Henrietta takes me deeply, working me with her tight walls as she rocks her hips. A flash of lightening lights up the sky, illuminating her ecstasy claimed face as she keeps her eyes on mine, watching for the moment when we share our release.
A few seconds later, the thunder claps and I grip her breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers as she whimpers into my mouth. It’s so fucking hot, and I can feel that pressure building, demanding its release.
I lean back, creating a gap between us where I can reach between our connection and rub on that precious clit of hers, that bundle of nerves that throbs against my touch and sends her writhing and moaning.
So close. I can feel it in her movement, hear it in her voice. She’s about to come.
Lightening flashing, rain pouring down, cooling our heated bodies. Her moaning increases, her body quivers and I know she’s there. I know it.
Boom. The thunder shakes the sky and she lets go along with it, crying out my names as her body releases, pulsing around my cock and forcing out my juices. The gripping and the grinding, milking me for all I’m worth. I grab her wet hair, my fingers taking it in fistfuls and I pull her against me, my mouth crashing into hers as I grind our hips together, dragging the last of the moment out as our tongues slide, connecting, loving.
The lightening flashes again, but the thunder takes longer to come, indicating that the storm is passing. We continue to kiss, staying together as the rain continues to drop at a steadier pace, the heat of the ground rising beneath us as the water on our skin slowly lowers our temperature.
“This has been a pretty amazing Christmas,” I tell her, listening as the thunder rumbles in the distance like a memory.
She sits back slightly, sliding her hands over the top of my head and pushing my wet hair off my forehead as she smiles down at me.
“It has. But I have one last gift for you. Are you ready for it?”
“Not if we have to go inside. I’m quite happy right here.” I grin, leaning in to kiss her warm neck, my hand sliding down her body to cup her full breast.
“I can give it to you here. We don’t need to move at all,” she says, her breathing growing deeper as I massage and suck.
“Ok,” I murmur, the rain a gentle patter now as I continue to touch her silky skin.
I freeze, pulling back so I can look into her eyes. “You’re pregnant?”
Smiling, she nods. “About ten weeks now.”
A smile stretches across my mouth and I reach up to cup her beautiful face. “Another baby? That, my gorgeous wife, is the best gift I could receive,” I murmur, taking her mouth with mine, struggling with my smile as I’m flooded with happiness over the news of another family member.
Five children may seem like a lot to some. But to Henrietta and I, it’s what we want. A large family to love and cherish together. To grow old, surrounded by children and grandchildren. To us, that is a perfect life.
And as our kissing grows passionate once more, and we lie back down on the now soaked blanket, I worship her body, showing her just how happy she makes me as we end Christmas day the same way we started it, in each other’s arms, knowing that together, we are everything.
Hope you enjoyed that final look into the relationship of Damien and Etta! Don’t forget that the Drawn series is continuing with their daughter Evie in Drawn to Fight and is available for preorder now at the following estores – iBooks, Barnes&Noble & Kobo and on Amazon Kindle on release day, Feb 10, 2015.