winterwandersland

You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.

By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.

And things had only been official for a week.

You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.

He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.

Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move

Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.

You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.

“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.

You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.

“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.

Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”

He slid deeper for emphasis.

You didn’t.

You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.

“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.

Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.

This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.

Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.

“Better?” The man’s question was simple.

Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.

You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.

Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.

“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”

“I—I know, I just can’t—”

At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.

You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.

“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”

The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.

“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”

“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”

“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”

But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.

Maybe you’d never found that place after all.

This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.

You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.

Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”

“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.

Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.

With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.

You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.

“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”

Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.

It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.

“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.

“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”

Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.

Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.

He still held onto your other hand tight.

Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.

Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:

“Higher.”

“Higher?”

“Um, to the…to the left.”

Simon tilted his hips left.

Yes.

That was just it. So close.

Almost…

Or, maybe…

“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”

Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.

Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”

The grin above you stretched even wider.

“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.

“Right there.” You nodded furiously.

A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.

“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.

“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”

Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.

The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.

Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.

You realized as much when he whispered it to you.

“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.

“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.

“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”

The ones that you’d been with before.

You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.

Simon was back inside you in a blink.

Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.

He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.

Vindicated.

“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”

You nodded in agreement.

You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.

“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”

When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.

And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.

Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.

“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.

His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.

You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”

“Feel good when I hit it?”

“Fucking perfect, Si.”

You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.

“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”

“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”

“Go on then, love.”

And, shortly, you did.

Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.

Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.

It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”

You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Thank you,” you murmured against him.

Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.

He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.

Leo loved that Daddy loved Mommy. That was not the problem.

Honestly, Leo thought it made perfect sense. Mommy was amazing. Mommy smelled like books and soap and the cotton she wore to the library. Mommy knew where the plasters were, remembered which dinosaur was which, and always did the voices properly during bedtime stories. Mommy could tell when Leo was sad.

So, of course Daddy loved Mommy. Obviously. 

Daddy loving Mommy was not confusing. But Daddy being attached to Mommy like a very large, very serious sticker was the confusing part.

Because since Daddy had come home, he had been very… clingy (he learned that word from your best friend, Uncle Jonathan). Leo noticed it immediately. Daddy stood too close to Mommy in the kitchen. Daddy followed Mommy down the hall when you went to get laundry. Daddy held on to Mommy’s waist whenever she walked past him, like he had to check she was still real. Daddy kissed Mommy’s forehead. Daddy kissed Mommy’s hand. Daddy kissed Mommy’s shoulder when she was making coffee, which made Mommy say, “Dex,” in that voice that meant you were pretending to be annoyed but were actually not annoyed at all.

And at night, Daddy was worse.

At night, when Leo was supposed to be asleep, Daddy slept in Mommy’s bed. Apparently it was also Daddy’s bed now, but Leo wasn’t ready to accept that.

And Daddy didn’t just sleep beside Mommy, but he was practically glued to Mommy!

Leo had seen it from the hallway more than once, when he was supposed to be asleep across the hall. You would be propped against the pillows, reading under the warm gold light of the bedside lamp, and Dex would be wrapped around your waist like he had been hired to keep you from floating away. His face would be half-buried against your chest, one arm heavy over your stomach, mouth pressing sleepy little kisses to your collarbone every few minutes.

You let him do it. You even smiled when he did, because you loved it.

Sometimes you put your fingers in his hair and scratched gently, and Daddy would go so still that Leo knew he liked it very much.

Leo understood affection. Leo understood love.

Leo didn’t understand, though, why Daddy was allowed to sleep with Mommy every night when Leo had to sleep by himself.

Because Leo had a room. Mommy had a room. Rabbit had a place in the dollhouse. The dinosaurs had their chest. Mommy’s library books went in her tote bag, even when you sometimes forgot three of them on the kitchen table. Shoes went by the door.

Everything had a place.

Except Daddy, apparently. Daddy’s place was just wherever Mommy was. He didn’t even have his own room!

This bothered Leo for days.

Not in a jealous way. More in a sad, practical way. Everyone needed a place. So one afternoon, Leo marched into the guest bedroom that had slowly become your office, pointed at the pull-out sofa bed and your desk, and announced, “Daddy, this can be your room.”

Dex looked up from where he had been fixing the loose hinge on the door. “My room?”

Leo nodded, very seriously. “You need one.”

Dex glanced toward the hallway, where you were making tea in the kitchen, then back at Leo. He looked confused. “I… have a room.”

Leo frowned. “Where?”

Dex said it like it was obvious. “With your mom.”

Leo went completely still. His little face folded into pure confusion. “With Mommy?”

Dex’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”

Leo stared at him like Daddy had just explained the laws of the universe incorrectly.“But that’s Mommy’s room.”

“It’s our room.”

Leo blinked.

You appeared in the doorway with two mugs just in time to watch your son’s entire worldview collapse.

Leo looked at you. Then at Dex. Then back at you.

“Mommy shares her room?”

You bit your lip.

Dex, unhelpfully, looked deeply pleased with himself, smug despite the fact that his competition was literally his own son. “Yes,” he said. “With me.”

Leo’s mouth opened. For once in his tiny life, he had no argument ready. He didn’t even know people could share rooms!

One night, though, when the apartment had gone dark, Leo climbed out of bed with his blanket dragging behind him and tiptoed down the hall. His night-light had been on, but the corner near the wardrobe still looked too shadowy, and Rabbit had fallen off the bed twice, which is probably a bad sign.

Your bedroom door was half-open.

Inside, you were trying to read.

Keyword trying, because Dex was not helping.

He was curled around you beneath the blanket, his arm around your waist, his cheek pressed against your chest. Every time your eyes moved back to the page, his mouth brushed against your skin in a lazy little kiss, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Dex,” you murmured, the book still open in one hand. “You’re distracting me.”

His voice came muffled against your skin. “Hmm.”

“I am trying to read.”

“So read.”

You lowered the book.

Dex lifted his head just enough to look at you, and Leo saw that gentle thing happen to Daddy’s face again. The thing that only happened around Mommy. Leo decided this was very sweet.

Unfortunately, Leo was also a very rule-oriented kid, so he also found it very hypocritical.

“Mommy?”

Dex went still immediately.

You looked toward the door, your eyebrows furrowing. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Leo stood in the doorway in his pyjamas, clutching his blanket with both hands. “I’m scared of the dark. Can you come sleep with me?”

Your eyes changed from curious into sympathetic. It meant Leo already knew you were about to say something disappointing and feel bad about it later.

“Oh, baby,” you said. “You’re getting bigger now. You need to try sleeping by yourself, okay? Being independent is important.”

Leo stared at you. It was very close to his father’s death stare when his eyes moved, very slowly, To Dex.

Dex, who was still wrapped around your waist.

Dex, whose face was still half-buried against your akin.

Dex, who had made no attempt to move, explain himself, or pretend he was not clinging to you for dear life.

Leo frowned. “But Daddy’s bigger than me.”

You froze. Dex’s eyes finally opened properly.

Leo pointed at him, deeply offended by the hypocrisy happening in front of him. “He should be independent first!”

What followed in the next few seconds was terrible, perfect silence.

Then you made a laugh-like sound into your hand, trying to hide it but failing. 

Dex lifted his head slowly. Leo stood his ground.

He had Dex’s stubborn little mouth. Dex’s serious eyes. Dex’s absolute confidence when he believed he was right.

And unfortunately, he was right.

“Leo,” you said carefully, trying very hard to remain a responsible parent. “Daddy is…”

You looked down at Dex. Your husband looked up at you, daring you to finish that sentence.

You couldn’t.

Because what were you supposed to say?

Daddy spent seven years missing Mommy?

Daddy has attachment issues?

Daddy is a six-foot fugitive who becomes emotionally unstable if Mommy is too far away?

Daddy is emotionally dependent but we’re working on it?

Leo blinked at you, waiting for an answer, but your husband beat you to it. 

“I am independent,” Dex defended himself, clearing his throat.

Leo’s eyebrows pulled together. “You’re holding Mommy.”

Dex looked down at his own arm around your waist as if discovering it there for the first time, because at this point, it was muscle memory. Then, he looked back at Leo.

“I’m protecting her.”

You chuckled, and Dex shot you a look, almost a pout.

Leo didn’t look convinced. “From what?”

Dex opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

You bit your lip to stop a laugh

That was when Leo knew he had found weakness.

He stepped farther into the room, dragging his blanket behind him like a tiny judge entering court. “There’s no bad guys in here.”

Dex’s face went serious. “There could be.”

You smacked his shoulder lightly. “Don’t scare him.”

Dex rolled his eyes, because he knew his son. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

Leo climbed onto the end of the bed without permission, still frowning at his father, which was funny, because it just looked like Dex and mini-Dex having the world's cutest standoff.

“If Daddy can sleep with Mommy because he’s scared of bad guys,” Leo said, “then I can sleep with Mommy because I’m scared of the dark.”

You stared at him. Dex stared at him.

Leo stared back, deeply satisfied with his own logic. It was, unfortunately, airtight.

Your resolve lasted maybe half a second. “Oh, sweetheart,” you sighed, already defeated. “Fine. I’ll come with you.”

Leo’s face lit up immediately.

You pulled the blanket back and started to climb out of bed. Dex, because he was your husband, moved at the same time. He was already sitting up, hair mussed, expression serious, one hand reaching for the edge of the blanket like it was obvious that he was coming, too.

Leo noticed, and his little smile vanished.

“No.”

You paused halfway out of bed, with one foot on the floor.

Dex looked at his son. “No?”

Leo tightened his grip around your hand and stood very straight, blanket dragging behind him like a tiny king issuing a royal decree. “Daddy can’t come.”

Dex blinked. You pressed your lips together.

“Why not?” Dex asked, and there was just enough offence in his voice to keep you amused.

Leo frowned at him, still deeply wounded by the audacity. “Because Daddy needs to practice to sleep by himself.”

You turned your face away because if you looked at Dex, you were going to laugh.

Dex stared at Leo.

Leo stared back with the calm, righteous confidence of someone who had caught a grown man breaking his own rule.

“I can sleep by myself,” Dex said, eyebrows furrowing.

Leo’s eyes dropped very pointedly to your side of the bed, where Dex had been wrapped around you two seconds ago. “You don’t.”

You made a small, helpless sound.

Leo tugged your hand, already pulling you toward the door. “Come on, Mommy.”

You let him lead you, biting your lip so hard it hurt.

Dex stayed in bed, visibly offended, the blanket pooled around his waist, looking like an assassin who had just been grounded by his four-year-old. As a result, he scoffed.

It was small, but Leo heard it.

“Daddy,” Leo said, scandalised.

Dex stared at him. “What?”

“That was rude.”

Dex closed his eyes.

For a second, you thought he might actually argue. Dex liked arguing when he thought he was right, and Dex almost always thought he was right. But then he looked at you, and the annoyance in his face tamed into something much more helpless.

Leo saw it.

Daddy loved Mommy so much. Leo liked that Daddy loved Mommy.

He did.

It made the house feel cozy.

But rules were rules.

“It’s one night, baby,” you said softly.

Dex’s teeth clenched.

He didn’t  like it, that much obvious.

But Leo was watching him with solemn expectation, and Dex had been trying very hard to be good at fatherhood. Good at breakfast. Good at bedtime. Good at not moving the dinosaur chest even though he clearly still wanted to. Good at letting Leo win small things because he was his son. 

So Dex exhaled through his nose. “Fine.”

Leo brightened.

Dex pointed lightly at him. “But Mommy comes back after you fall asleep.”

Leo frowned. “No. Mommy sleeps in my bed.”

Dex’s expression went flat.

“All night?” Dex asked, very annoyed now.

Leo nodded. “All night.”

Dex looked at you like betrayal had entered the marriage.

You smiled sweetly. “It’s only fair.”

“Hmmm,” Dex sighed.

“Yes,” Leo said. “Because Daddy is learning.”

Dex looked deeply unimpressed. Still, he leaned across the bed and kissed your temple. His mouth lingered against your skin, warm and reluctant, his hand coming up to cup your cheek like he was already annoyed about missing you from two rooms away.

Leo sighed loudly. Dex looked at him.

“You kiss Mommy a lot,” Leo said.

You laughed for real then.

Dex’s mouth twitched. “I’m married to her.”

Leo considered that.

“Does married mean Daddy is always cuddling mommy?”

Dex shook his head, trying to wrap around why his son was so argumentative about you. Oh right. He was his son. “No.”

Leo looked at you. “I think yes.”

Dex opened his mouth, but you reached over and patted his cheek.

“Don’t argue with him,” you said, still smiling. “He’s already won.”

Dex looked offended, but he kissed your palm anyway.

Then he leaned down and rested one large hand on top of Leo’s head. “Be good,” he said, even though he knew Leo was already a very good kid. 

Leo nodded. “Be brave.”

Dex breath hitched. 

Leo repeated very seriously, “Be brave, Daddy.”

Dex looked at him for a long moment, and then his voice went smaller. “I’ll try.”

So you carried Leo back to his room, even though he was big enough to walk, because sometimes being scared of the dark meant you got carried. His room smelled like clean laundry, picture books, and plastic dinosaurs. The night-light cast amber stars over the walls, and the dinosaur chest sat at the foot of the bed, exactly where Leo wanted it.

You curled yourself around him in his little bed as best you could. It was too small for you, so your knees bent awkwardly and one foot stuck out from under the blanket, but Leo looked pleased.

Your arm went over his tummy.

“Mommy?” he whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Daddy loves you a lot.”

Your hand moved slowly through his hair. “Yes,” you whispered. “He does.”

“He kisses you all the time.”

You smiled in the dark. “I noticed.”

“Is that because married?”

You were quiet for a second. Then you said, “Partly.”

Leo thought about that.

“Does Daddy get scared when you’re not there?”

Your hand paused only briefly, but he felt it. To avoid thinking too much, you kissed his forehead.

“Sometimes.”

“But he’s big.”

“Yes.”

“And he has to learn.”

You laughed into his hair. “Yes. Apparently he does.”

Leo nodded, satisfied.

For a while, there was only the hum of the apartment and the faint noise of New York outside the window. Leo’s eyes grew heavy. Your hand kept moving gently through his hair until sleep pulled him under.

At some point, you fell asleep, too.

You meant to wait until Leo was settled and then secretly go back to your room. You really did. But Leo was warm, the bed was soft enough, and the apartment was silent. Your eyes closed for just a second.

Before you knew it, pale morning light was slipping through the curtains.

Leo woke first.

For a moment, he only blinked at the light on the wall. Then he noticed you still curled awkwardly around him, asleep with one arm across his middle.

Then, he noticed your hand.

It had slipped over the edge of the bed sometime in the night and… someone was holding it.

Leo lifted his head.

Daddy was on the floor.

Dex was asleep beside Leo’s bed, back against the wall, one knee bent, one arm resting on the mattress. His fingers were tangled gently with yours. He must’ve come into his room sometime in the night, found your hand, and fell asleep. 

He hadn’t climbed into the bed.

So, while he may have tried to stay in his own room, he had definitely not slept by himself.

Leo stared.

Dex looked different asleep. Still serious somehow, but softer around the mouth. His black T-shirt was wrinkled. His hair was messy. He looked uncomfortable on the floor, but he was holding Mommy’s hand like it was the only place his hand belonged.

Leo looked at you. Still asleep. He looked at Daddy again. Still asleep.

Then Leo slowly reached for Stegosaurus.

He lifted it close to his mouth so he could whisper without waking either of you.

“Daddy is not independent,” Leo told it.

Stegosaurus, wisely, didn’t argue.

Leo nodded to himself. Then, after a moment, he added very softly,

“But he’s learning.”

—end.