“Nah,” I say, letting my breath heat the shell of her ear, “I’ll keep you warm.” My hand finds the seam of her panties, a nothing scrap of silk that’s already soaked through. I drag my knuckle along the damp heat, then wedge two fingers underneath, sliding into her with purpose. She’s tight, wet, and already throbbing, her legs trembling.
The taste of her lingers on my tongue; I’m starving, but I force myself to slow down, to mark the way she closes around my hand, the way her thighs clamp my wrist, greedy and demanding.
When I pull my fingers away, she lets out a noise of pure frustration, reaching for my hand with both of hers. “Don’t tease,” she says, and she brings my fingers to her mouth, sucking herself from me, eyes locked—smoldering, wild, desperate.
Fuck me.
I drop to the floor, knees to wood as I pull her hips to the edge of the seat. She smells like clean laundry and sex, apotent mix that makes my hands tremble. I hook her thighs over my shoulders, spread her open, and kiss her clit with an open mouth, tongue wide and flat.
I don’t fuck around with tracing her edges, don’t bother with the delicate stage-play of gentle licks. I drive my tongue deep, flatten it against her, gnaw just a little at the swollen seam, and then circle, circle, circle her clit until she’s half-sobbing, the sound a muffled whimper against her own bunched-up fist. Every time I think she’s about to come, I pull back, kiss her thighs, bite the inside of her knee, then dive in again, relentless.
She grabs my hair—hard. Fists it at the root, tugs me up, then pushes me down, like she’s steering this, and I let her have that control that she needs, while I taste her pussy filling my need.
Her body shudders, and her voice is high and urgent: “Yes. Yes, yes, don’t stop.” She’s not even trying to whisper, not trying to be quiet, and the raw honesty of it makes my cock weep.
Not yet, I think. I’m greedy, too. I want every possible second of this, want her shaking, wrung out, demolished, so that later, when she thinks about me and worries set in, she’ll have to face the fact that I am all about her.
I slow, let my tongue idle, and take her clit between my lips, alternating pressure and flicks. She tenses, her whole body arching, then collapses, trembling, as I back off.
“You’re being an ass,” she says, but she’s smiling, rubbing her foot along my hip, wordless permission to keep going.
I bury myself in her, savoring the way she melts, the taste and the heat and the sharp spike of her nails in my shoulder when I slide two fingers into her again, crooked just right. She’s so wet she’s dripping, and I lap it all up, greedy, gluttonous, and I know that will never change.
“I’m gonna—” she gasps, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I’m—don’t stop, please?—”
I dig my fingers harder, tongue working in tight circles, and I can feel the exact moment she loses control: her thighs clamp my head, her hips jerk, and then she’s coming, mouth wide in a silent O, hands scrabbling for purchase on the back of my neck. I ease her down slow, keep licking, savor each aftershock.
She goes limp, breathing hard, shaking slightly. I look up at her, chin wet, lips numb, and she grins, lazy and mean. “You’re really good at that.” She says with a satisfied smile.
I kiss her knee, then the inside of her thigh, not ready to climb up yet, wanting to stay in the orbit of her heat and scent and taste.
She sits up, grabs a handful of my hair again, and pulls my face to hers, kissing me messy, tongue greedy, not caring that she can taste herself on my mouth.
“Your turn,” she says, breathless, and pushes me back on the floor, climbing onto my lap with a confidence. She snakes her hand down, finds me hard under my sweats, and fucking smirks.
“You’ll win, Claudia,” I groan as she sinks down on me. “Every time.”
After we eat,we both end up in her bed. Turns out, she likes to cuddle. She was still asleep when Savannah began fussing a little. I knew she was hungry because I’ve been listening to audiobooks about children’s first years. So, I carefully picked her up and held her while rubbing her back. She never woke up fully; she burped and fell into a much more sound sleep. I could have put her down, but there’s something about holding a baby, well, not every baby, but Savannah, while she sleeps against my chest. I could stay like this forever.
“You’ll never remember this,” I whisper, “but I will.”
Savannah stirs, her lips forming a tiny “O,” like she’s dreaming of something extraordinary. “This is our beginning,” I tell her. “You’re mommy’s, and you’re mine.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Claudia
We’re sittingin the media room watching the game, while Noelle and Sofie scroll through all the pictures Nalani, Paul, and I took of our trunk or treat experience, before it started downpouring.
“The ones before that are of Savannah at daycare.” Nalani beams. “Cutest little pumpkin ever.”
“I love that you bought matching outfits for the two of you.” Noelle says while I’m mid yawn.
“Please tell me working with them doesn’t make you hate hockey,” Sofie says as I yawn.
I shake my head, “Just tired.”
The truth is, I’m exhausted and I have no reason to be. Savannah is very settled into her a routine since I started working and even more so over the past few days. The three nights while at the hotel, even the two nights we went to the home games, in Sofies box. I’d put her in her carrier, and she’d fall asleep at around seven and didn’t even wake when I put herin her bed. She woke at one to eat and then she was back out, no longer waking after that feeding and acting fussy, so I get five hours of straight sleep. Well, aside from the first night, when there was no game, and Deacon and I went round after round, I’ve slept for a couple hours before that one AM feeding and I haven’t exactly done it alone. Deacon has slept in the bed with me every night.
