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Married life wasn’t at all what he had imagined...
The door shut behind them with a dull thud, and along with their breathless laughter, it buried the constant murmur of the rain. Caelus and March stood there for a moment in the entryway, motionless, doing nothing but catching their breath as they leaned against the door. Water dripped from their clothes, and in that darkness, the only sounds were the steady plinking of droplets on the floor and the hail pelting the roof.
Fortunately, inside, there was no longer any rush to escape the storm, but neither of them had the strength to take another step, not even to turn on the lights. The air burned in their lungs the way it does when you blow on a pile of barely lit leaves; slow and sharp. Their sprint against Mother Nature had left them completely drained.
Now the man thought that maybe they weren’t as young as they liked to believe.
When Caelus finally managed to breathe evenly, he ran a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back, and found his wife standing in the dim light. The streetlamps filtering through the windows allowed him to make out some vague shapes, but it was the echo of her heels on the floor that made him lift his head in her direction. Immediately after came the click of the light switch, and the room lit up, momentarily blinding him. He rubbed his eyes and, as his vision adjusted, the first thing he saw was the mess they had made on the floor: puddles of muddy water spreading beneath their feet. Then came her scolding.
“Brilliant idea of yours, walking instead of taking the car, huh? You’re cleaning all this up.”
His wife stood three steps away, bracing herself against the wall with one hand while using the other to hike up the soaked hem of her dress. Despite her words, there wasn’t the slightest trace of anger in her voice, only a hint of amusement paired with a smile that was equal parts mischievous and serene. He knew that expression well. She was plotting something.
He might have started guessing what it was if he hadn’t just noticed the delayed effect the rain had had on March’s appearance. Her once–loose blue dress now clung to her like a second skin, and the neckline boldly framed her delicate pallor. Every curve of her body was on full display, along with the stray droplets that slid down—just like his eyes—into the valley between her breasts.
There was little left to the imagination. Caelus had to look away for a moment to quiet any indecent impulse, because his breath was once again threatening to leave him.
Now the man thought that maybe he wasn’t as old as he liked to believe.
A few minutes earlier, when the storm had caught them halfway home from their anniversary dinner, March had darted to take shelter beneath the awning of a closed shop. She stopped right at the edge, behind the curtain of water spilling from the roof, and turned to call him with urgency. But he hadn’t followed; instead, he looked up at the sky and remained there. He let the raindrops strike his face, eyes half-closed, with a nearly dazed expression. Even from beyond the watery veil, it seemed as if, to him, it wasn’t just any storm—it was as though the sky were falling on him for the very first time. That attitude, paradoxical as it might sound, wasn’t new. He had this gift for being awed by the everyday as if he were seeing it for the first time, for finding strangeness in the familiar like a child.
The woman had watched him from her dry refuge. Those quirks of his had puzzled her even after they were married, but she no longer scolded him or tried to change him—not that she ever really had, but it was worth mentioning. She had come to understand that this was simply who he was, and that, in fact, it was one of the many reasons she had fallen in love with him.
That was the man she had married, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself. With that in mind, she walked toward him, no longer caring about messing up her dress and makeup.
“Doesn’t it bother you to get wet?” she asked in a soft voice, with no hint of reproach.
She stopped at his side, beneath the glow of the streetlamp. Her heels splashed on the soaked pavement, and the hairstyle she had spent hours perfecting fell apart in seconds.
He lowered his gaze slowly, as if the sky no longer carried any weight compared to her. But he didn’t answer, not with words, anyway, but with his eyes. They wandered over her, unhurried, with an intensity that might have embarrassed anyone else. She met that gaze, the one that had already seen everything, that held her without judgment, that saw her whole when she couldn’t, and that often set her on fire. Despite the fire in his eyes, she rubbed her bare arms for warmth. The soft breeze, mixed with the icy rain of early winter, stung like a thousand needles on her skin.
“I’m sorry to break your silence,” she said, “but I’m a little cold.”
She wasn’t lying, but the truth was that his warm smile alone was often enough to soothe her. Caelus extended his hand toward her, unhurried, as if neither the rain nor time held any urgency, and she accepted it without the slightest doubt. Then he drew her into his arms, and in that embrace, everything else faded—the dampness of their clothes, the involuntary trembling in her legs, even the cold whisper of the wind. The beat of his heart muffled the rain, and the warmth of his body swept the chill away.
“We’re not exactly young enough for this kind of mischief anymore. Just so you know, if I catch a cold, you are taking care of me.” She rested her head against her husband’s chest to hide her mischievous grin. “And don’t even think about complaining.”
He tilted his head, just enough to answer closer to her ear; his breath brushing against her skin, warm, almost imperceptible, like a caress.
“You chose to come with me..., and I’m glad you did.”
Yes, it was true. She was there because she wanted to be, and she didn’t regret it. That was something she had learned from him. It had been over ten years since she had said “I do” at the altar, after a short courtship, and still, she loved him as much as she had on that very first day.
They had to part just enough to look at each other properly. The tips of their noses were flushed red with cold, their lips tinged violet, but neither of them seemed to mind. They were lost in each other, beyond the physical, connected in heart and soul. March’s eyes, pink-tinged blue like the dawn sky, glowed with a light of their own, fixed on his. There was no rush in her gaze, only stillness, as if she were trying to seal that moment into memory, and he understood.
They leaned in at the same time, needing no signal; they knew each other’s pace and had learned to love without needing to say it. Their lips met with the confidence of those who know the terrain, and yet explored it like it was the first time. Slow, gentle, almost deliberative, like a waltz.
The kiss tasted of rain, yet she still felt the warmth of her husband’s body against hers, unfazed by the harsh weather. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, afraid that even the smallest gap between them would be too much. And so they remained, motionless in the middle of the empty street. The streetlamps painted golden glimmers in the puddles at their feet, and the scent of fresh, wet earth curled around them, but the couple stayed lost in each other’s lips, in that embrace that seemed capable of stopping time itself.
Caelus’ lips, shy at first, began to move with growing confidence. He gently tasted her lower lip in a slow, questioning gesture, and she answered by rising onto her toes. She cupped his face in both hands, deepening the kiss. Her tongue didn’t ask for permission, but he didn’t mind at all; he had anticipated her movements at exactly the right moment.
In that kiss, Caelus caught notes of caramel—the familiar trace of the lipstick she wore—and the sweetness soon transformed into warmth: a slow-burning flame that swelled between them. He tightened his grip around her waist, and March tangled her fingers into his wet hair, tugging slightly to shift the angle of the kiss. A breathy gasp escaped him when she responded with a soft bite, followed by her tongue smoothing away the sting.
It was a perfect dance. Their mouths moved with an urgency barely restrained by an unspoken promise: Let’s wait until we get home. But every brush of their tongues, every little moan swallowed by the rain, built a delicious tension that sparked through both of them. March could feel Caelus’ racing heartbeat where his chest pressed against hers, and her skin burned beneath the soaked fabric of her clothes. There was no cold or heat anymore; only fire, and a deep, growing need.
...Until the first hailstone struck a nearby rooftop. A dull thud against the pavement followed, then another, and another still, until they fell too quickly to tell one from the next. They were forced to pull apart, wrapped in a faint cloud of white steam rising from the fever of their bodies.
“Run!” March laughed, grabbing her husband’s hand with a tight squeeze.
He didn’t need to be told twice. They ran, laughing, one hand over their heads in a futile attempt to shield themselves from the increasingly harsh hail, and the other clasped tightly together, not willing to let go, not even for a second. Fortunately, their house was nearby. Not close enough to keep them dry, but close enough to avoid freezing to death.
“Heeey, what are you thinking?”
Caelus blinked. March’s voice pulled him out of that memory, though the heat of the kiss still burned on his lips.
“You’ve been staring off into space for the last five minutes,” she added.
She had taken out the hairpins that had once held up her hairstyle before the rain. Her dripping hair now fell over her shoulders, wild and enticing.
“Nothing... You looked beautiful today.”
It was the truth. Even now, soaked from head to toe, she was beautiful. He knew there was no need to dress it up—she understood what he meant, just like that.
“You always say that,” she murmured, but still leaned in close enough to brush a brief kiss over his lips, her wordless way of saying thank you.
Caelus slid a hand to her waist, and that simple gesture was enough to remind them of what they’d been doing before the storm interrupted them. Like a slow combustion, an ember suddenly exposed to air, a fire lit inside him.
March, for her part, noticed the temperature change immediately. He was never very good at hiding his intentions; they always gave him away in the way his breath quickened with hers, in the way his mouth came back to find hers with just a little more urgency. So many years together had taught her the exact point at which, with less than a gesture, he was telling her what he felt.
March smiled against his lips and took a step back, pressing a finger gently to them.
“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll catch a cold if we don’t dry off.”
Her voice was soft, but there was something more, a spark that made it clear she wasn’t just talking about finding towels. She turned away before he could answer and began climbing the stairs, her pace calm but sure. Caelus followed her in silence.
She didn’t offer her hand, and he didn’t ask for it. The only thing they shared was the quiet echo of their bare feet on the wooden steps... and the glances she threw him over her shoulder. Headlights from passing cars streamed through the street—facing window, casting shifting shadows along the staircase. Outside, the world carried on, but inside, another story was unfolding: theirs.
At the top of the stairs, they headed for the bedroom, the first door before the bathroom. Once inside, March switched on the lamp atop the dresser and pulled two dry towels from the wardrobe beside it.
“Think fast!” she said, and tossed him one.
Despite the surprise, his reflexes were still sharp enough. He caught it midair, just before it hit him in the face.
“You’re pretty aggressive today,” he remarked with a crooked smile as he slipped off his suit jacket and let it fall to the floor. “Didn’t you like dinner?”
“I did like it. It’s just that... the waitress wouldn’t stop staring at you.”
His wife draped the towel over her shoulders as if to dry herself, though she didn’t move any further. She crossed her arms and turned sharply, facing away from him.
Caelus stepped behind her, slid his arms around her waist, and pressed his lips to the curve of her damp neck.
“You know I only love you, but it’s not my fault I’m this handsome.”
She let out a breathy laugh that betrayed the tension in her shoulders. For a brief moment, she almost let herself fall against him, but she quickly pulled herself together. She spun on her heels to face him, and although there was no space between them—their chests pressed together—she refused to back down. The frown she wore was forced, a poor mask for any real anger.
“Don’t play the fool.”
Caelus considered her words. He would have believed her anger from the start if it weren’t for that unmistakable tone in her voice. She was lying.
“I’m not playing, this is pure talent.”
“Cut the jokes. You’re making me lose track of how outraged I am.”
“Sorry, sorry. Please, continue with your complaint.”
She narrowed her eyes, as if gauging how far she could stretch the performance. Yes, she was acting, but she was sure he hadn’t noticed. In her own blindness, she moved closer just enough to brush his lips with hers in a playful tease, but not to kiss him.
“It bothers me that you like to flirt...”
“Flirt? Me? With whom?”
“With anything that breathes,” she replied without breaking contact. Her accusation had lost its edge.
Caelus smiled.
“Is that your impression of me? I thought I made my feelings pretty clear.”
March suppressed a smile. But she couldn’t hide the sparkle in her eyes, the slight tremble of her lower lip, that way she pushed him without wanting to push him away.
“You’re lucky I’m indulgent,” she murmured. “But you should remind me... more often.”
That’s when her husband decided to end the charade. He kissed her without asking permission, but gently, convinced she wouldn’t stop him. And he was right. His wife’s mouth welcomed him with warm contact, filled with a clear intent that contradicted her desire to keep playing the jealous wife.
Between the back-and-forth, she gasped against him, still feigning annoyance. She pushed his chest with one hand, but her fingers clenched the fabric, unable to let go completely.
“You’re an idiot...”
“An idiot who loves you,” he replied, barely parted from her lips.
The towel she held slipped to the floor. Their lips sought each other again, this time deeper. Neither spoke, their ragged breaths said everything necessary. Outside, the rain never ceased, tapping erratically but steadily on the roof. Inside, the entire world shrank to the battle between their mouths, to the chills that ran through them both in contrast to the rising heat.
Caelus pulled her by the hips, guiding her backward until the icy glass of the window pressed against her shoulder blades. She arched, and in that same moment, he folded against her, firm, enveloping, allowing her no space or breath to pull away.
“I could make love to you,” he whispered against her mouth, “so there’d be no doubt how much I want you..., but only if you want it, of course.”
“You still talk like you have to ask,” she muttered, feigning annoyance. “We’re married.”
He smiled. He enjoyed teasing her just as much as when they were younger, and the truth was that despite the years, she still had the same effect on him.
“Consent is important, sweetheart.”
At his words, March took his hands and guided them up her hips, past her waist, along her ribs, and rested them on her breasts. He circled them with his fingers out of pure instinct, still stunned. And then, just by touch, she discovered it:
“You’re not wearing a bra.” It sounded more like an observation than a complaint, his thumbs brushing over her erect buds through the fabric. “Is that how you went out to dinner?”
She smiled at him. The chill of the rain against the window at her back and the heat of his hands sent shivers cascading through her body.
“I thought you’d like it. Was I right...?” she said, then quickly corrected herself. “This dress is meant to be worn without one. I’m not a bitch, no matter how much you want to make me look like one.”
Caelus didn’t answer. Without hesitation, he took a nipple between his teeth, gently biting down on the damp fabric still covering it. The wet material clung to her softness, revealing every detail: the rosy circle, the hardened texture beneath his lips. March raised her arms above her head, baring her neck and giving him free rein to play with her however he pleased. It was as if she’d completely forgotten her jealousy and anger.
With the tip of his tongue, her husband traced slow circles, warming the fabric until it felt like a second skin. Then he blew softly, the cold air against the dampness drawing a quiet moan from March.
He smirked against her chest, savoring her reaction.
“I don’t think you’re a bitch... unless you want to be.” He tried to joke, but his voice cracked as his lips trailed down to her sternum.
March didn’t get a chance to respond. With slightly trembling fingers, she slid the dress off her shoulders, letting the fabric slip down her body and pool at her feet.
Caelus paused just to look at her. Now half-naked before him, her skin was flushed and glistening with residual raindrops and the sheen of her arousal. Her breasts, full and round, rose with each quickened breath, her pink peaks stiff and tempting as ripe fruit basking under the sun.
With a tenderness that contrasted the fire in his eyes, he cupped them completely, relishing their warmth. March held her breath as his rough fingertips teased her sensitive peaks—no barriers between them now.
“You’re such a damned tease sometimes...” she whispered, but Caelus didn’t rush.
Instead, he lowered his head and took a nipple between his lips. With no fabric in the way, the feel of her skin against his tongue was pure pleasure. Never breaking eye contact, he traced spirals, sucking firmly, alternating pressure and release until her reddened and glistened under the dim lamplight behind them.
March moaned under his mouth, hypnotized as he switched between her breasts, taking each into his mouth with devotion, sucking and nibbling with just the right pressure to make her legs weak. Sometimes he paused just to blow softly on the damp skin, watching how quickly she hardened beneath his breath.
“Mhm, and you love me just as much as I love you, my dear,” he murmured between kisses.
One hand slid down her back to hold her steady while the other caressed the breast his mouth had abandoned, keeping it warm and stimulated.
March gasped as he gently pinched a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth sealing over the other. She reached up to unbutton his shirt, but he caught her wrists gently, lifting them above her head and pinning them to the wall.
“Wait,” he whispered, his mouth descending her neck. “Not yet.”
His lips followed the path of the raindrops still glistening on her skin—the hollow of her collarbone, the valley between her breasts, the tremble of her stomach under each kiss. When he reached the waistband of her panties, he paused to nip the elastic lightly, letting it pop back against her skin with a teasing snap.
March stifled a moan, but before she could protest, Caelus lifted her into his arms—as if she weighed less than a sigh—and carried her to the bed.
He dropped her onto the mattress with a gentleness that belied his urgency. Breathless, she had only a moment to take him in. Caelus stood silhouetted against the light, his soaked shirt clinging to his torso, outlining every line of his body; the white fabric, now transparent from the rain, stuck to his chest and the faint ridges of his stomach, evidence of his training.
He was a walking contradiction.
That golden gaze of his still held the tenderness of a man who’d fix her favorite juice in the afternoon without her needing to ask, but now, with his gray hair sticking to his forehead and the tension in his muscles beneath the fabric, it bore a subtle darkness beneath. March knew him too well: this was the same man who whispered terrible jokes into her hair in the mornings and who claimed all of her at night.
The young woman lifted her foot and pressed it against his chest to stop him. She was surprised to feel his heartbeat racing in the same rhythm as hers.
“Not so fast.” To her misfortune, the excitement made her voice sound more like an invitation than a warning, but she chose to continue.
Caelus looked at the foot resting over his heart, then at her, and smirked. He opened his mouth to protest, but she was already sliding to the edge of the bed, forcing him back until his calves hit the dresser in front of it, where the lamp sat. With a gentle push, she made him sit on the furniture.
The lamp wobbled, but he was too focused on what his wife was doing to pay it any mind. With the light this close, he could see every detail of her movements, her body.
“Now it’s my turn,” she announced with that glint of mischief in her eyes, and this time, there was no room for argument in her voice.
She knelt between his legs but didn’t rush. First, she explored the area. It was hot, throbbing. Her attention shifted from his groin to Caelus’ face, watching his expression with every move she made. Slowly, she unbuckled his belt, feeling him tense beneath her. Then, with torturously slow movements, she pulled down the zipper, letting the heat pour out.
“March...” Caelus pleaded, but she looked up, meeting his eyes directly as she slid the fabric aside with a single finger.
His erection rose against his stomach, already glistening at the tip.
The pink-haired woman smiled—that catlike grin that drove him wild—and took him in her hand. The wedding ring on her finger glinted in the lamplight as she felt the rapid pulse of his length. Starting from the base, where his veins throbbed most noticeably, she began ascending with kisses as light as breath itself. Her lower lip barely grazed his shaft while her nose buried itself in his pubic hair. Caelus held his breath to keep from making a sound, but she noticed how his hands gripped the edge of the dresser; those involuntary reactions filled her chest with pride, spurring her onward.
Without breaking eye contact, March dragged her tongue along the ridge of his glans, collecting the bead of moisture there. That was the moment he knew he was doomed.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Why do you have to be like this with me?”
She didn’t answer; this time, it was better to let her tongue communicate through means other than words. With the tip, she traced a perfect circle around the head. Watching the tension ripple through his abdominal muscles, seeing them contract—it was a poem written only for her eyes.
She continued, flattening her tongue to drag slowly up the underside, stopping at the frenulum where she knew he was most sensitive. Caelus cursed, arching forward, but March held him down with a hand on his stomach.
“Stay still,” she murmured against his skin, and then she took him in further.
The sight was mesmerizing for Caelus. She eased him slowly between her lips until they sealed around him, her cheeks hollowing. He could feel, in that instant, the wet heat at the back of her throat, so exquisite it defied words. There was no way to describe the feeling of her around him: the trembling velvet pressure of her mouth, the way her lips and tongue caressed him, or how her hand at his base moved in perfect rhythm with every motion. It was pure ecstasy.
For her, however, it was something more human, not quite divine. A texture she could name, a taste she could remember: the salty hint of his precum. What overwhelmed her was the pleasure she took in his pleasure, the way her muscles clenched in empathy just from seeing him this vulnerable.
“Don’t stop looking at me,” she ordered before taking him again, deeper this time.
March set a hypnotic rhythm: rising to the tip, letting the head drag against her palate, then sinking back down, stifling a moan every time her nose pressed into the gray hair of his abdomen. Caelus wasn’t holding back anymore—he’d stopped worrying about his balance the moment his hands left their makeshift seat to tangle in her pink hair instead.
“Ah, March...” Her name tore out of him, raw and broken; ripped from somewhere deep inside.
With one last flick, his wife pulled away, though a thin strand of saliva still connected them for a fleeting moment before snapping. Her taste lingered, sharp and intoxicating, but she had decided the game ended there. March wanted to have her fun another way.
“Don’t think I’ll let you finish that easily, honey,” she whispered, swiping the back of her hand across her lips as she stood.
Caelus, disoriented by the sudden loss of contact, lifted his gaze a beat too late. By the time his eyes found her, she was already walking toward the bed with slow, deliberate grace.
“You just gonna stay there?” she asked, perched on the edge of the mattress.
Her crossed legs hid most of her from view, but her bare breasts still bore the flushed marks of his kisses. The message was clear: If you want more, you’ll have to come get me.
Caelus needed no further invitation.
He pushed off the dresser and, without stopping, shucked off the pants tangled around his legs as he strode toward her. His erection remained stubbornly hard, aching, but when he leaned over her this time, there was no urgency—just slow, languid intent. She leaned back on her elbows as his mouth found the hollow of her collarbone, then trailed lower, savoring every inch between her breasts as if it were the first time—all over again. A beautiful contradiction, he’d have said.
There it was; that innocence she adored, that awestruck reverence for a body he’d memorized yet still worshipped like a revelation.
“Take it all off,” his wife demanded, tugging impatiently at the shirt he still wore.
Caelus straightened to yank it off in one motion, baring the toned torso she knew so well. But before she could admire him, he was already back to his task: his lips charted paths down her stomach while his fingers teased the inside of her thighs, close but never quite touching where she needed him most.
He nipped lightly below her navel, then soothed the spot with a kiss that made her shiver. Gently, he parted March’s legs and settled between them. The cool air hit her exposed flesh, and her muscles tensed at the sudden chill.
Pleased with the sight of her like this, he bent down—but not to take her yet. First, he inhaled deeply. The scent of her, pure and heady, hit him like a drug. No perfume, no soap, just her, and he loved it more than any fragrance. Though his body throbbed with need, he took his time just looking. The dim light revealed how swollen and wet she was, her curls glistening with arousal. The sight made his mouth water.
Something primal in him reveled in knowing he was the only one who got to see her like this—completely bare, body and soul.
When he finally lowered his head, he made every second a revenge of its own; after all, she’d done the same to him. He nuzzled the inside of her thighs, then brushed his lips there, wanting her to feel every inch of his mouth drawing closer—but keeping her waiting as long as he pleased. March whimpered, her hips lifting instinctively, but Caelus held her down firmly, refusing to rush. He pulled back just before touching her, close enough that her skin prickled with anticipation.
“Honey...?” she begged, but he only glanced up, catching her gaze as he blew a soft breath over the flushed curls between her legs.
“Yeah?”
He couldn’t see her hands, but he felt the sheets tighten beneath her. March was clenching her fists.
“You know! Are you gonna make me wait all night?”
He grinned—that wolfish smile he only wore when he wanted to watch her squirm—then buried his nose in the crease where her thigh met her sex, breathing her in as if to memorize her scent.
“See how it feels? Pretty mean, huh?”
March huffed, but before she could protest, the tip of her husband’s tongue traced a slow path from her entrance to her clit, stopping just shy of it. He didn’t lick—just circled it with wet lips, teasing, while his fingers (those damnably long fingers she loved) slid through her folds to gather the slickness already there.
“Think you’re a little wet,” Caelus murmured, holding his glistening fingers up to the dim light before sucking them clean. “But it’s not nearly enough yet.”
She gasped at the gesture but had no time to react. He lunged for her clit, taking her fully into his mouth, sucking with the perfect pressure that made her vision blur. Then, as if he had the rhythm of her body written on his skin, he slid two fingers inside her and curled them forward at that perfect angle—that angle, hitting just there, where her sanity came undone.
“Aah—ah...!” A jagged cry ripped through her throat, raw and unrecognizable.
March arched into herself, fingers tangling in his hair in a desperate grip as her hips lifted, seeking more contact, more friction, more of him. Her husband’s mouth was fluent in the language of love, and it filled her with pride—she was the one he had learned with, through trials, errors, and sacred mistakes, how to send her soaring, only to drag her back down into the abyss.
“I’m gonna— Caelus, don’t stop,” she warned as heat coiled in her belly like the promise of an explosion.
Not only did he not stop, but he quickened his pace, locking eyes with her as his mouth worked. He was good at this, after all—he could never deny her when she begged like this.
That sight—him, buried between her thighs, one hand working her, his eyes dark with need, fixed on hers—was what shattered her restraint.
The man abandoned everything else to focus solely on her nub, already swollen and throbbing. His lips formed a perfect seal around it, sucking gently as the tip of his tongue traced rapid figure-eights over that fevered, aching center. One hand slid beneath her ass, lifting her slightly for a better angle, while the other gripped her thigh to hold her in place, because March could no longer stay still.
Her orgasm hit like a wave crashing against the shore—inevitable, violent in its intensity, and the scream that nearly shredded her vocal cords seemed to rise from the depths of her soul. Her back arched sharply, fingers tightening in Caelus’ hair with near, painful force. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he kept working her clit, drinking in every drop of her pleasure, every twitch of her muscles, every shudder that wracked her body. Only when the spasms began to fade and the tugs on his hair softened into caresses did he finally lift his gaze.
March panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the skin of her stomach glistening with sweat and still pulsing with aftershocks. With one last long, soothing lick—more comfort than provocation—Caelus pulled away, letting his wife collapse onto the mattress.
But of course, that wasn’t the end. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the saint he pretended to be.
Without delay, he began moving up her body, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses until he reached her lips. March tasted herself on her husband’s tongue as he claimed her mouth with shameless ferocity.
“That was quick, wasn’t it?” he teased, his grin downright taunting.
She wasn’t about to let that slide.
“Shut up and fuck me,” March ordered, wrapping her legs around him.
And he, ever obedient, complied, but in the way he saw fit.
His hands slid over her body, lingering on her breasts before settling on her hips. He lifted her firmly, tucking a crumpled pillow beneath her to keep her at the right angle, and she spread her legs. Like a flower opening to the first light of dawn, the lamplight bathed her sex in an amber glow.
Her lips, swollen from his earlier attention, glistened, slightly parted. The neatly trimmed hair framed her entrance like a rosy halo. But what hypnotized him was the very center —her clit, still erect and flushed from him, visibly pulsing under its hood. Below, the inner folds—deeper in color, almost crimson—parted slightly, like fleshy petals dripping nectar.
It amused him, in a way, to see his wife so uninhibited. He still remembered their first time, how she’d blushed just being naked beside him. With that memory in mind, Caelus leaned in again.
“Let me look at you,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, as he ran his thumbs along her folds.
He parted her with a tenderness that clashed with the urgency from minutes earlier, relishing the way she quivered at the barest brush of his fingertips, how her body responded before she even realized it.
The sight was obscene and beautiful in equal parts.
The innermost blush of March’s folds was revealed, her inner walls glistening with arousal. Every time she breathed, her entrance fluttered with each breath, as if beckoning him inside.
Caelus let his length rest against her slick lips, and the warm weight of his cock pressed against her entrance made March writhe with pleasure and anticipation. He began a slow, teasing rhythm, guided only by gravity, letting his cock drag slowly from her clit to her entrance, pausing exactly where she trembled the most.
March gasped needily and reached down without hesitation, gripping his erection. She reached for him, guiding his length firmly against her, craving every ridge, every throbbing vein drag against where she burned hottest.
Her husband watched, enthralled, as his own body glided over hers, shiny and obscene under the light. The contrast of his flushed skin against the pale pink of her thighs, the way her clit pulsed every time he passed over without entering her, even the lewd, wet sounds filling the air—it was maddening.
March whimpered when he pulled away again, but she didn’t have time to mourn his absence before he rubbed the head of his cock against her soaked folds, coating himself in her arousal. So close, yet not inside, that duality drove her insane.
“Don’t make me wait,” March begged, but her voice came out broken.
He didn’t answer, just as she hadn’t earlier. Instead, he leaned forward, bracing one hand beside her head while guiding his length to her entrance with the other. The cold air of the room against the wet heat welcoming him was a brutal contrast. She was so ready that the first inch slid in without resistance—by now, her body recognized him instantly.
March felt the pressure before the shape; a firm but not abrupt presence, stretching her just to the point of tension. She closed her eyes, focusing on the delicious slowness with which her husband filled her. Every quarter inch was a revelation: the weight of his hips against hers, the tremor in his arms as he held himself back from crushing her, even the rough sound of his breathing when, at last, he was fully sheathed inside.
He muttered an incoherent curse, and the dizzying knowledge that she’d shaken his composure made her clench around him. The groan he let out at that was animal. Caelus dug his fingers into the sheets, fighting for control. Inside her, it was all heat and pulse, a living rhythm that seemed to mold to his shape. When she experimentally rolled her hips, he had to bite his tongue to keep from finishing right then.
“Wait—!” he growled, but it was a lie. He didn’t want her to wait; he wanted her to ruin him.
March felt her body adjusting to him, every nerve alight at the contact. She hooked her legs around his back, pulling him deeper, making him more hers. With one hand, she traced his chest, then lower, to where they were joined, stopping right at the point where her skin met his.
“I needed you inside me.”
Caelus swallowed hard. Who would’ve thought that someone so gentle could say something so filthy? The way she swung from tenderness to hunger drove him wild.
He withdrew with aching slowness, letting March feel every inch of his cock sliding back until only the tip remained. She whimpered and clung to his shoulders, drunk on the sight of him—his tense pectorals, the curly silver trail of hair leading down to his navel, the flex of his abs as he held himself back.
“Ah—don’t be cruel,” her whimpers soft, like purring.
He smirked, wicked and sweet all at once, then sank back into her in one fluid thrust. March let out a choked cry, her nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave red marks. But instead of pulling away, Caelus let out a guttural growl, as if that sharp pain was exactly what he needed to fully ignite.
“Cruel?” Caelus leaned down to nip at her earlobe. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, my love.”
And it was true. Every movement of his was a response to hers, like a dance, not a battle. The rocking of his hips was slow but deep, each thrust drawing sighs that spiraled into madness. Yet March refused to let him lead entirely. She might be a princess in his eyes, but princesses had long stopped needing heroes to save them.
With a sudden movement, she flipped him onto his back, straddling him with feline grace that left him breathless. Now, she was the one controlling the angle, deciding how deep she took him and setting the pace. Caelus could see her in all her glory: her disheveled hair clinging to her sweaty neck, her full breasts swaying with her movements, and the look of pure ecstasy on her flushed face, alive with adrenaline.
“I love seeing you like this,” she confessed, her hands gliding up his thighs, feeling the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath her touch.
He took her breasts in his hands, unable to get enough of her smooth skin under his fingertips, and she rewarded him with a smile. March leaned forward, braced her hands on his chest, and began grinding in slow circles, rubbing against him in a way that made them both gasp. It wasn’t just the roll of her hips; it was a deliberate friction, dragging the head of Caelus’ cock against just the right spot inside her while her clit pressed deliciously against his pubic bone.
“Ah, fuck” he growled, his hands gripping her hips so tightly his knuckles turned white, fighting to keep control.
March felt it—the desperation in his grip, the tremble in his legs, the way his breathing hitched, the frantic pulse at the base of his length—and she smirked, wicked. It was exactly what she wanted.
“You’re gonna come if I keep going, aren’t you?” she asked, stopping abruptly, leaving him teetering on the edge.
Caelus groaned, equal parts frustration and adoration. She was the sweetest kind of torture.
“And you say I’m the cruel one.”
He didn’t get to finish his weak protest. March leaned down to kiss him, swallowing his complaints, and then she moved again—this time with a relentless rhythm that left no room for games. Caelus, surrendered to pleasure, matched her pace, his hands roaming every inch of her body as if it were the first and last time.
March gave him no reprieve. Bracing her hands on his chest for leverage, she rode him with relentless hunger, each thrust faster than the last. She felt every inch of him sliding out of her, only to plunge back in with a snap of her hips that made the mattress shudder. The slick, wet sound of their skin meeting mixed with their gasps, their moans—neither of them holding back anymore.
Soon, the rhythm turned punishing, as fast as it was dangerous.
But just as March loosened her grip on his hips, Caelus seized that split second of vulnerability. In one fluid motion, he slid one hand between their bodies and the other under her thigh, using their combined weight to flip her without breaking contact.
The world spun.
In less than a breath, March was face down, her knees sinking into the mattress. Caelus’ hands slid down to her hips to adjust the angle; his left palm pressed into the small of her back, while his right pulled her against him, fitting her to him completely. At that stage, even a second outside of her felt like death.
“Now it’s my turn,” he growled against her neck, the possessive edge in his voice thick with pleasure.
Just as she had done to him moments before—before she could even protest—her husband was inside her again: harder, deeper, relentless.
The reversal turned her world upside down. From above, Caelus watched the tremors ripple through her with every thrust: the arch of her back, the sheen of sweat between her shoulders, the way her body tensed under his hands. With every motion, he felt the drag of his balls against her slick sex again and again. Each time he pulled back, the dark pucker of her anus peeked out between her cheeks.
Something in him snapped.
The hands that had held her with tenderness moments before turned to claws, gripping her hips with bruising force. There was no rhythm now; just brutal, driving thrusts, each one plunging further, chasing oblivion.
“This is what you wanted?” he demanded as his hips slammed against her ass with a wet slap.
March could barely think. The world narrowed to the searing friction of him inside her, to the hand sliding between her legs to circle her clit. When his fingers found it, she cried out—a guttural sound she didn’t even recognize as her own.
“Yes! Like that! Just like—!”
In response, Caelus matched the quick circles on her clit to the rhythm of his thrusts.
“I want to feel you come around me.”
And she couldn’t refuse.
Another orgasm hit her like lightning, an electric jolt that tore tears from her eyes. Her vaginal muscles clenched around Caelus in violent spasms, but he didn’t stop. He drove in to the hilt, made her body an instrument to reach the highest note of ecstasy, pushing her to the edge. But when he felt his climax approaching, he froze.
With superhuman effort, he barely pulled his hips away from March’s, just enough for the cold air to slip between them. He could hardly control the trembling in his arms, still braced on either side of her body, framing her arched back.
“Tell me where you want me to finish.” His voice sounded rough even to his ears.
She gasped, still drunk on her own orgasm. She felt everything: his weight on her, the way his body blanketed her like a shield, the unbearable, sweet pressure of his throbbing erection still partly inside her. She wanted it—wanted him.
“Inside,” was all she could say at first. When he didn’t move, she stifled another moan and turned her head toward him. “I love it when you finish inside.”
No more questions.
He plunged into her again, deep, as deep as their bodies could take, and began thrusting mercilessly. He kept going, unrestrained, until the burning weight in the base of his stomach made it impossible to hold back.
A cry tore from March’s lungs as she felt him spill into her. Thick, scorching waves flooded her, matched by the spasms of his hips. The heat spread inside her while his body arched over hers in one final shudder, his climax triggering hers.
March felt her walls tightening around him, as if her body were trying to keep every last drop, possessed by pure, instinctive greed. Every tremor of his made her shiver in turn; a chain reaction of pleasure and belonging. He wasn’t just inside her; he had melted into her, and they shared the same rapture, the same climax, the same devotion.
Caelus collapsed onto her back and pulled his wife’s slick, sweat-dampened body against his own, wrapping both arms around her waist. He watched her ragged breaths shake her hair and couldn’t resist lowering his mouth to her skin to kiss it, to taste it.
“I love you,” he murmured. “So much.”
March couldn’t answer, not with words. But she turned her head just enough to find her mouth, and in that slow kiss—salty from sweat, tender with exhaustion—she gave back everything she couldn’t say. He pulled out of her, and for a moment, something in her body seemed to shift. His warm semen began to escape from inside her, trickling slowly down her thighs. March didn’t mind that it soaked the sheets; she would send them to the laundry tomorrow. Soon, their panting gave way to silence, until the only sound left in the room was the rain.
Lying side by side, she nestled against him. He slid an arm beneath her neck and pulled her closer. March let out a satisfied sigh as her head found the perfect hollow of his shoulder.
“I liked it,” she confessed. “A lot.”
Caelus smirked and idly traced his fingers along her arm.
“Just ‘a lot’?” he teased, feigning offense. “I thought it was ‘amazing,’ or ‘unforgettable,’ or—”
“Shut up.” His wife gave him a weak elbow nudge to the ribs. “Don’t start gloating. You know it was good.”
He laughed, then—without moving much—pulled the sheets still tangled on the bed over them both. March closed her eyes, savoring the peace that only existed in moments like these... until he had to speak again.
“So you’re not mad at me anymore, huh?”
March arched a brow.
“Mad? When was I mad?”
“This whole thing started because of the waitress at the restaurant,” he replied, toying with a strand of her hair. “The one who ‘wouldn’t stop looking at me,’ supposedly.”
She scoffed and adjusted herself against his side.
“Oh. Right. The waitress...”
Caelus propped himself up on one elbow, his expression brimming with amusement.
“There were no waitresses tonight.”
March glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and then that smile—the one she wore when she got caught in the act—curved across her lips.
“Well..., someone had to take the initiative. You were too distracted by the rain to notice my subtle hints.”
Caelus let out a laugh.
“But why?” he asked. “You could’ve just asked me to fuck you, I wouldn’t have protested.”
March gave him a light smack on the shoulder, but her laughter gave away the act.
“And where’s the fun in that? This way is much more entertaining, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t deny it. The whole act had gotten him harder than ever.
“You used me for your amusement without considering my feelings,” he said, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”
“Again?”
“Obviously. But this time, I want you on the kitchen table.” That was his answer, right before the sound of rain and shared laughter wrapped around them once again.
Married life wasn’t at all what he had imagined. It was a thousand times better.