The Christmas Wife (8 page)

“Fuck it,” she muttered.  “I deserve some me time.”

She cupped her breast, pulling lightly at the nipple and
pretending it was Deacon touching her.  He was in the tub with her and she was
reclining against his wet chest while he sucked on her neck and teased her
nipples.

She moaned lightly and pinched her nipples as she pictured
Deacon’s hand sliding down her tummy - in her fantasy it was flat as a board,
no muffin top flab in her sex fantasies, thank you very much – and cupping that
hot and aching spot between her thighs.

She trailed her fingers down past her stomach and traced her
inner thighs teasingly before touching her pussy.  She rubbed at her clit, fuck
she was soaking wet already, and made another soft moan as she pictured Deacon
whispering hot and dirty – yes, definitely dirty, dirty was good – words in her
ear.

* * *

Deacon moved silently through the dark
house.  He was home earlier than last night but Claire had obviously gone to
bed.  He ran his hand through his dark hair.  He had spent most of the last two
days and nights at the office, deliberately ignoring his urge to go home, his
urge to touch Claire and take her as his wife in every sense of the word.

Fuck.  Ever since their wedding night she
was all he could think about.  He would find himself reliving the taste of her
at least a dozen times a day and it was driving him crazy.  He needed to get
control of himself.  The marriage was a fake and he had told Claire that sex
wasn’t on the table.

Of course, that was before he had kissed
her.  Before he had tasted her sweetness and felt her body’s helpless reaction
to his touch.

Sighing harshly he moved past Claire’s
bedroom, refusing to look in through the open doorway – if he did, he would be
tempted to join her in her bed - and slipped into his own bedroom.  Oddly, the
bathroom light was on and he peered into the room, his heart stuttering to a
stop.

Claire was in the tub.  She was naked and
wet and, holy mother of God, she was touching herself.  His dick hardened and
pressed against his pants in a throbbing ache.  The tub was filled to the brim
with water, he could see nothing but her head and the bare curve of one
shoulder, but her eyes were closed and she moaned softly as her shoulder moved
delicately and the water rippled around her.

She moaned again and he stepped silently
into the room as she bit at her bottom lip and arched her back.  He shouldn’t
be in here, he should be turning around and leaving, but he was rooted to the
spot by his need to see her come.  Would she cry his name, he wondered dimly,
when she found her pleasure?

Her eyelids fluttered open and she focused
hazily on him before jerking wildly and making a startled cry.  Water surged
over the side of the tub and splashed on to the tile floor as she stared
wide-eyed at him.

“Deacon?  Wh-what are you doing home?”  She
whispered.

Without a word he turned and left the
bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Claire stared at the door before groaning
and sitting up.  Oh God.  Deacon Stone had just caught her masturbating in his
tub. 

Maybe he didn’t.  Maybe he just thought
you were having a bath.

He knows, you idiot.  He knows!

She climbed out of the tub, drying herself
hurriedly with the towel before yanking her nightdress over her head.

Fuck, this is bad, Claire.

I know!  Just shut up and let me think
for a minute.

She pulled the plug in the tub before
pacing back and forth nervously.  She couldn’t stay in here forever.  Besides,
Deacon was probably downstairs by now.  He wouldn’t be waiting for her in the
bedroom.  But if she stayed much longer he would return, and did she really
want to face him?

Hell, no.  It would be bad enough in the
morning to have to apologize for masturbating in his damn tub.  She absolutely,
positively could not do it tonight.  Not when her entire body was still
throbbing for release, not when the image of his shocked face was so clear in
her mind.

“Fuck me,” she muttered under her breath
before marching to the door and yanking it open.  She stepped into the dark
bedroom and hurried for the door.

“Did you finish, Claire?”

His voice, low and rough, came whispering
out of the darkness and she screamed breathlessly before whipping around to her
right.  Deacon was sitting on the bed, his face hidden in the shadows, and she
reached up to grasp for a necklace that was no longer there.

“Deacon, I…”

He stood and started toward her.  She
squeaked nervously and backed away until her ass hit the low dresser that was
tucked against the wall.

“Did you finish, Claire?  Did you make
yourself come?” 

He was close enough now for her to feel his
warm breath on her face and she trembled in response before shaking her head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I – because I was embarrassed that you saw
me, you know…” she whispered.

His hands curved around her waist and he
lifted her easily and sat her on the top of the dresser.  His legs nudged her
thighs apart and he leaned toward her, resting his hands on the wall on either
side of her head. 

“Embarrassed?  Do you have any idea how
fucking hard it makes me to watch you touching yourself?”

“Deacon,” she moaned as red hot desire
blossomed in her belly.

“You should have finished what you started,
sweetheart,” he murmured.  “Now I’m going to have to finish it for you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he moved
his right hand away from the wall.  Her eyes widened when she felt the tips of
his fingers brush against her inner thigh.  He pressed on her soft skin and
said, “Spread your legs nice and wide for me, sweetheart.”

She widened her thighs and then immediately
clamped them around his hips again at the first touch of his warm fingers.  He
grinned at her and stroked the wet lips of her pussy before pushing his finger
between them to rub at her swollen clit.  She arched her hips into his hand,
panting lightly as he circled her clit and pressed firmly. 

“Deacon, please,” she begged.  She pumped
her pelvis against his fingers as the frustration built inside of her.

“I’m going to watch you come all over my
fingers,” he whispered as he slid his middle finger into her tight warmth, “and
then I’m going to take you to my bed and fuck you.  Would you like that,
Claire?”

“Yes,” she muttered. 

Her hands wrapped around his biceps,
squeezing through the slippery material of his suit.  She wished he was naked. 
Hell she wished she was naked and flat on her back in his bed with his hard
body nestled between her thighs.  His hand wasn’t enough - she needed more -
she needed his cock.

“Fuck me, Deacon,” she suddenly pleaded and
he shook his head.

“Not yet, Claire.  First you’re going to
come for me.”

“Yes,” she panted, “Oh God, yes.”

He licked her mouth and she groaned in
frustration when he wouldn’t kiss her.  “Deacon…”

“Do you like my kisses?”  He asked with a
small grin.

“Yes, very much,” she said. 

“You taste delicious,” he growled into her
ear.  “You taste good, smell good, feel good.  I can’t wait to watch you riding
my dick.”

A surge of wetness coated his fingers and
he grinned cockily at her.  “Someone else can’t wait either.”

“I can’t.”  She squeezed his arms again. 
“I really can’t.”

He rubbed her clit in small firm circles
and she closed her eyes as his mouth dropped on to hers.  They kissed hungrily,
their tongues sliding and twisting together as his fingers continued their
relentless rubbing.

Don’t scream when you come
, she reminded herself frantically. 
You can’t let Hattie hear
you
.

“Mama?”

“No!”  She couldn’t stop her cry of
frustration when Deacon pulled his hand out from under her nightgown.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he
muttered.

Claire stared at the doorway.  She could
barely see Hattie in the darkness and she hoped that the little girl hadn’t
seen the way Deacon was touching her.

“Oh, Hattie,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry, mama,” the little girl
whispered.  “I’m so scared.”

“It’s okay, honey,” she said.  Deacon was
still standing between her legs and Hattie took a few steps toward them.

“Hi, Mr. Stone.”

“Hey, kid,” he grunted.

“Are you and mama making a baby?”

Deacon gave Claire a wide-eyed look of
panic.

“Honey, I told you - Deacon and I aren’t
going to make a baby,” Claire said hurriedly.

“But he’s kissing you.”

“Yes, but grown-ups can kiss without making
a baby.”  She pushed at Deacon’s chest and he moved away so she could slide off
the dresser.  She took Hattie’s hand and smiled faintly at Deacon before
leaving the bedroom.

“Mama?  What’s wrong?”

Claire rubbed at her aching forehead and tried to smile at
Hattie.  It was Thursday night, Deacon had been gone when she and Hattie had
got up for school this morning, and she had debated calling him for most of the
day.

In the end she had decided not to.  She had promised him
that she and Hattie would stay away from him and, last night aside, she was
determined to do just that.  Besides, she was feeling positively awful and the
thought of having to apologize again for jumping him like a randy monkey was
making her already nauseous stomach even more nauseated.

“Nothing, Hattie.  Mama’s just got a bit of an upset
stomach.”

“Oh.”  Hattie squirmed over in the bed and patted the empty
spot beside her.  “Lay down, mama, and I’ll rub your tummy.”

She smiled at her daughter and curled up next to her.  She
had a blinding headache, she was much too warm and she was so nauseated she
could hardly think straight.  She didn’t have the energy to convince Hattie to
sleep by herself.  She closed her eyes as Hattie squirmed closer and rubbed her
stomach with her small hand.

* * *

“Mr. Stone?”

Deacon sat up and switched the bedside lamp on.  He squinted
at the alarm clock.  “Hattie?  What’s wrong?  It’s really late.”

“Mama won’t stop throwing up,” she whispered.  She sniffed
loudly and he could see the tear tracks on her small face.  “Now she’s lying on
the bathroom floor and won’t come back to bed.”

He threw the covers back and nearly ran out of his bedroom
and into Hazel’s.  Claire was curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor and
fear flooded through him.

“Claire!  Claire, look at me!”

To his relief she raised her head and squinted at him. 
“What?”

“You need to get up off the floor,” he said.

She groaned and rested her head on the tile again.  “No.  I
can’t stop throwing up and I’m really hot.  Just leave me here.”

“You can’t stay in the bathroom,” he said as Hattie peered
around him.

“Mama?”

“I’m okay, Hattie,” Claire said tiredly.  “Mama just has the
flu.”

Deacon helped her to her feet and pressed his hand against
her forehead.  “Jesus, Claire.  You’re burning up.  I think you should go to
the hospital.”

She shook her head.  “No, I’m fine.  It’s just the flu.”

He started to protest and she shook her head again before
groaning and pressing her hand against her stomach.  “I just need to lie down,
Deacon.  Please.”

He picked her up and carried her out of Hattie’s bedroom.

“Where are you taking mama?”  Hattie hurried after him.

“Back to my room.  She needs to lie down in the bed,” he
said.

“I want to stay with her,” Hattie whined as he tucked Claire
into the bed.

“That’s fine.”  He lifted the little girl onto the bed and
she crawled under the covers and stared anxiously at her mother.

“Mama?  Do you want me to rub your tummy?”

“No, honey.  I just need you to lie really still, okay? 
Every time you move it makes mama want to throw up,” Claire said.

“Okay.”  Hattie lay perfectly still beside her as Deacon
pressed his hand against Claire’s forehead again.

“I’m going to get you some Gravol and some water.  It’ll
help with the nausea,” he said.

She nodded and he ducked into the bathroom.  He grabbed the
Gravol from the medicine cabinet and reached for a glass.  Before he could
finish filling it with water, Claire was stumbling into the bathroom.

She knelt in front of the toilet and vomited wretchedly.  He
hurried over and gathered her hair back, holding it away from her face and
rubbing her back lightly as she threw up.  She straightened, wiping her mouth
with a trembling hand, and flushed the toilet.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

“It’s fine,” he said.  “Here, drink this.”  He handed her
the glass of water and two pills.  She swallowed them down with a few mouthfuls
of water as he grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and wet it. 

Claire made a harsh, gurgling noise and he winced when she
leaned over the toilet and threw up the water and pills.  He pulled her hair
back and pressed the wet cloth against the back of her neck as she dry-heaved
repeatedly.

When she was finished, he flushed the toilet and sat down on
the floor beside her.  He pulled her into his lap and pressed her head against
his chest.  She was sweaty and flushed and she groaned softly as he wiped her
face with the cloth.

“Is mama going to be okay?”  Hattie had joined them and she
stared at Deacon, her bottom lip quivering.

“Yes.  She’s going to be fine.  Go back to bed, Hattie,”
Deacon said.

“I need to take care of mama,” she whispered.

“I’ll take care of your mama.  Go get some sleep.  You have
school in the morning,” he said.

“Okay,” she said with none of her usual cheerfulness.  “I
love you, mama.”

“Love you too, honey,” Claire said weakly.

As Hattie disappeared back into the bedroom, Deacon gave
Claire a worried look.  “I think you should go to the hospital.”

“No,” she said.

“Claire – “

“I don’t have insurance, Deacon,” she interrupted.  “It’s
just the stomach flu.  I’ll be fine.”

He started to protest again but she was scrambling out of
his lap and dry-heaving again.  He held her hair and rubbed her back until she
was finished and then pulled her back into his lap.

“Oh God.  I am so embarrassed,” she whispered.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly.  “Do you want to go back to
the bed?”

“No, I’m going to sleep on the floor in here,” she muttered.

He urged her to lean back against his chest and she
collapsed against him with a soft sigh.  “I’m really sorry, Deacon.”

“You can’t help being sick, Claire,” he said.  “Just try and
get some rest.”

She closed her eyes and he wiped her face again, worry gnawing
at his insides.

* * *

“Claire, what the hell are you doing?”  Deacon hurried into
the bedroom.  Claire was trying to pull on a pair of pants and he yanked them out
of her hands.

“You need to get back into bed.”

“I can’t,” she said wearily.  “I need to get Hattie ready
and drive her to school.”

“I’ll get her ready.”

She laughed weakly.  “Sure, you will.”

“You can’t do it,” he said firmly.  “You didn’t get any
sleep last night and you’re still sick.”

“You didn’t sleep either,” she protested.  “I’ll be fine,
Deacon.  Give me my pants.”

“No.”  He held them over his head when she tried to reach
for them.  “Get back into bed.  I’ll take care of Hattie, get her to school and
pick her up.”

“You really can’t,” she said.  “The school won’t just let
you pick Hattie up without my permission.”

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to
her.  “Call them and tell them I’ll be dropping her off and picking her up. 
Where’s Hattie now?”

“I sent her to her room to brush her teeth and get dressed,”
she said.

“I’ll check on her while you call the school.”

He left the bedroom before she could argue and stuck his
head into Hattie’s room. “Hattie?”

“What?”  She wandered out of the bathroom in her underwear.

“Your mom is still sick so I’m going to help you get ready
and take you to school, okay?”

“Okay.  I’ve already brushed my teeth.”

“Good.”  He opened the dresser and rifled through it.  “What
do you want to wear today?”

“My Hulk t-shirt!”  She crowed.

He pulled out four different shirts with various images of the
Hulk on them.  “You like the Hulk, huh?”

“Yup.  He’s my favourite.  Ricky at school says Superman’s
better but Ricky’s stupid.”  She dug out a pair of jeans and pulled them on.

He handed her one of the t-shirts as she stared expectantly
at him. 

“What?”

“I need help with the button and zipper.  They’re tricky in
these jeans,” she said.

He knelt in front of her and tried to grab the zipper.  It
was ridiculously small and he felt like an uncoordinated giant as he yanked at
the zipper.  It refused to move and he yanked again, nearly knocking Hattie off
her feet.

She giggled as he steadied her.  “I told you they were
tricky.”

“What the hell?”  He muttered.  “Is there some kind of damn
zipper trick to kid’s jeans?”

“You shouldn’t swear in front of me, Mr. Stone.  I’m just a
little kid,” Hattie said solemnly.

“Sorry,” he muttered before yanking at the zipper for a
third time.  It broke in his hand and he cursed again as Hattie laughed.

“You broke my pants!”

“I’m sorry.”  He was sweating and he shrugged out of his
suit jacket as Hattie wiggled out of the pants.

“That’s okay.  I have another pair.”  She pulled a second
pair of jeans out of the dresser and pulled them on.  He went to help her and
she backed away.  “It’s okay.  I’ve got this.”

He flushed as she patted his hand like he was a useless old
man and zipped up her pants before buttoning them.  She smiled at him and
patted his hand again.  “Don’t feel bad.  These ones are easier.”

“Right.  Here’s your shirt.”  He handed it to her and she
put it on as he stood up.

“Okay, are you ready?”

She gave him an odd look.  “You have to do my hair.”

“I have to what?”  He eyed her hair.  It was a tangled mess.

“I can’t go to school without brushing my hair.”  She
disappeared into the bathroom and after a moment he followed her.

She climbed on to the stool in front of the vanity and
handed him the brush and two elastics.  “I want two braids today, please.”

“I don’t know how to do braids, Hattie.”  Sweat was starting
to drip down his forehead and he wiped it away as Hattie frowned at him.

“Why not?”

“Well, boys don’t know how to braid hair.  That’s girl
stuff.”

“That’s sexist,” she announced.

“Where did you hear that word?”

“Ellen.  She says girls can do anything boys do, and there’s
no such thing as girl stuff and boy stuff.”

“Hattie…”

He trailed off and they stared at each other in the bathroom
mirror. 

“How about a pony-tail?” He said.  He had never done one of
those either but it seemed like it would be a hell of a lot easier than a
braid.

“Two pony-tails,” she said.

“Uh, okay.  Like one on either side of your head?”

She gave him another strange look.  “Where else would they
go?”

“Right.”  He brushed her hair, gently pulling out the
tangles as she studied him in the mirror. 

When the tangles were smoothed out he parted her hair down
the middle, cursing to himself when it wouldn’t part straight.  He tried again
and was only moderately more successful.

“You’re not very good at this,” Hattie said
matter-of-factly.

“I know,” he said.  He tried for a third time, studying the
crooked part before sighing to himself.  That was as good as it was going to
get.  He gathered one side of her hair into a pony tail just above her ear and
glanced at her in the mirror.

“That’s good,” she said encouragingly. 

He picked up the elastic – why did everything have to be so
damn small – and stretched it out.  He cursed again when the elastic broke with
a snap and pinged against the mirror.  Without speaking, Hattie handed him
another elastic.

Stretching it gingerly, he wrapped it around the little
girl’s hair a few times before repeating the steps on the other side of her
head.  He stepped back to check his work.  It looked okay to him and he glanced
at Hattie.

“It’s not bad,” she said.  “Mama does it better.”

“Sorry, Hattie,” he said as she jumped off the stool.

She smiled and patted his hand for a third time.  “That’s
okay.  You tried your best and mama says that’s what matters.”

He grabbed his suit jacket and followed her out of her
bedroom and down to his.  She stood by the side of the bed and rubbed Claire’s
arm.  “Bye, mama.”

“Bye, honey,” Claire said.  “Have a good day at school,
okay?”

“Okay.”

Claire handed Deacon his cell phone.  “I called the school
and put the school name and address into your phone.”

“Good.”  He hesitated.  “Mrs. Crane won’t be here for an
hour or so.  Maybe I should wait and take Hattie to school a bit late.”

She shook her head.  “No, I’ll be okay.”

“You have my cell number.  Just call me if you need
anything, alright?”

She nodded wearily and closed her eyes as Hattie rubbed her
arm again.  “I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, Hattie.”

Hattie followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen. 
He spied her backpack on the chair and handed it to her.  “Ready to go?”

“I need a lunch,” she said.

“Oh, right.  Okay, uh,” he opened the pantry cupboard and
scanned it quickly, “how about a peanut butter sandwich?  That’s nice and easy
and kids like peanut butter, right?”

“I can’t take peanut butter to school, Mr. Stone.  Alicia is
allergic to peanuts,” she said.

“Shit.  Okay, um, what about a box of Kraft Dinner?”

She gave him a look that suggested she thought he might have
been dropped on his head as a child.  “We can’t cook at school, Mr. Stone.”

“Shit,” he muttered again.

Hattie opened the fridge and peered into it.  “Mrs. Crane made
pasta salad for supper last night.  I could take some of that.”

“Good, that’s a good idea, Hattie.”  He grabbed the
container of pasta salad and shoved it into her backpack.

“I can’t eat all of that!”  She said.

“Just throw away what you don’t eat.”  He glanced at his
watch.

“That’s wasteful!”  She gave him a horrified look.  “Mama
says we never waste food.”

Climbing onto a chair, she grabbed a plastic container from
the top cupboard and filled it with some pasta salad before handing it to him. 
He threw it into her backpack and scanned the shelves of the fridge desperately.