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Within seconds, the room cleared, leaving only me and my wife. “You want to explain what Kyla was talking about, sugar?”
“Well, it’s just that—I mean we didn’t mean to be gone very long—but we didn’t want our shadows reporting our whereabouts because we wanted to pick up Justice’s presents, and if you knew where we went it would ruin the surprise.” She grimaced when she saw my deep frown and the fury that I’m sure was blazing in my eyes. “We could only evade B, though. Kyla caught up with me before I could get even half-way to the meat-packing district and—”
“What the fuck?” I barked.
Imogene’s mouth slammed shut when she realized the blunder she’d just made.
I shut my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose with two fingers. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you down there by yourself, sugar?” I croaked. All of the scenarios were playing out in front of my eyes, each one worse than the last and leaving me more and more worked up.
When I lifted my lids, my wife was staring at my throat, remorse clear in her frown. I cupped her face and leaned my forehead against hers. I wanted to say something sweet and soothing, but I didn’t have it in me at the moment. So, I just scooped her into my arms and stalked to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reached our bedroom.
I decided Justice was on to something with his threat. Carefully, I laid Imogene on the bed, then retrieved a duffle I’d stashed underneath it on a whim one day. I unzipped it and dug through until I found the black silk ties and then tossed the bag away.
Imogene’s eyes were round as saucers when she spotted what was in my hand. They were churning with a little wariness but also curiosity and desire. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to tie you to our bed until I’m sure I’ve convinced you never to put yourself at risk again,” I informed her in a firm tone. Quickly, I stripped off both of our clothes, then I climbed onto the bed and leaned over to secure one of her wrists. “First,” I told her as I worked, “I’m going to prove my point by eating your pussy until you forgive me for siding with my brother”—I moved to the other wrist—“then, I’m going to spank your pretty little ass for disobeying me and ducking your security. After that, you’re going to open that sexy mouth and suck me off until I’m too sated to think about everything that could have happened to you.”
Imogene whimpered and rubbed her legs together, making my hard cock tighten while pre-come beaded on the tip. I tested the restraints, making sure they were tight enough to keep her in place but loose enough that they wouldn’t hurt her.
“Then, I’m going to fuck your big tits and spill my come all over them to remind us both that you’re mine.” I scooted down and pushed her legs apart, settling between them and taking a deep inhale of her cinnamon and sugar scent. “And, if you’re a very good girl, I’ll fuck your tight pussy until you’re screaming my name.”
I kept my word and fulfilled all of my promises, but I still wasn’t ready to release her. So, I fed her some dinner, then made slow, sweet love to her before taking off the silk ties and cuddling her into my embrace.
“I love you, sugar. You and our family are everything to me.”
Imogene sighed and snuggled even closer. “I love you too, Thatcher.” We were silent for a bit, then she cleared her throat, and I glanced down to see a blush sprinkling across her nose and cheeks. “Um…”
“What’s wrong, sugar?”
“Nothing—um—I was just wondering…”
I raised a brow and waited.
“What else do you have in that bag?” She looked so eager and self-conscious at the same time; I couldn’t help throwing my head back as I belted out a deep laugh. My wife was so fucking adorable.
Life with her was never boring. It was sweet, like cinnamon and sugar.
Epilogue
Imogene
4 years later…
I paused mid-stride when I stepped into our bedroom and spotted the duffel bag on our bed. We didn’t get the chance to use the toys Thatcher kept in it nearly as often as we wanted, but that was understandable since having kids tended to limit our alone time. And once we were outnumbered, we had to get even more creative. Not that we let having three children under the age of four—Thatcher loved knocking me up, and I loved letting him because I wanted a big family—stop us. Our need for each other had only grown over the years, and we took advantage of every opportunity we got to indulge ourselves. Like now, when all of our little angels decided to go down for the night within fifteen minutes of each other.
