“N-now, Suds, now.” My breathy voice prays for release.
A calloused finger replaces his mouth, slides over my clit and into my opening. Moaning, he curves a knuckle into my G-spot. I hold my breath as he laps and finger fucks me.
At his mercy, panting. I clench my eyes shut, tighten every muscle in my body, and press up into his face.
“So damn sweet.” He sucks, and holy shit.
I explode into tiny orgasmic pieces of pixie dust and unicorns. When I open my eyes, his are staring, soft and warm.
My palms reach to his rough cheeks and I pull those swollen lips to mine. The earlier flavor of him disappears, replaced by a taste of me and we kiss for the longest time.
Then, I wait under the covers as he sets his PTSD alarm.
“I love you.” I snuggle back into a spoon.
“Love you too, sugar. Both of you.”
Both of us? Huh. That was bizarre.I probably misunderstood but before I can clarify he’s snoring away.
Now, I can’t sleep.
Chapter Ten
Suds
In the morning, my eyelids lift and I smile at my fucking good fortune. Sex-mussed, Sam’s asleep, facing me, with one hand tucked under my hip. She’s so fucking beautiful. What did I ever do to deserve her?
Last night, she didn’t deny being pregnant, an excellent first step. All out in the open, I’ll need a plan to survive nine months of hormones, crying jags, and other weird shit. Hell, if I can make it through Afghanistan, I’m pretty sure I can handle a biscuit in the oven.
In no time, I make a big mental list. Hitching up, while important, is not as urgent as making sure she stays healthy. I don’t know why, but she’s not taking her condition seriously enough. Perhaps it’s overwhelming and she’s in denial.
What the hell do I know?
Slipping out of bed without waking her, I sneak downstairs and substitute decaf for her usual blend and make breakfast.
She calls out for me when she wakes. “Suds?”
“Down here.” I glance to the loft where she peers through the railing.
“Why’re you up so early? Bad dream?”
“Nope. I’m fine. Bacon spits in the pan, so I turn down the heat and crack a couple eggs into the fat as she rounds down the stairs in one of my old t-shirts.
Leggy and lithe, she wanders across the living room and into the bathroom. After doing her morning routine, she slides behind me, wraps her arms around my waist, and squeezes those wonderfully soft breasts into my back. If I had my druthers, I’d press her against the refrigerator door and fuck her most of the day.
Instead, I kiss the tip of her schnozzle and hand her the special brew I made, just for her.
She takes a sip and scrunches her nose. “New brand?”
“Nope.” I lie. “Same ol’ brew.”
“Huh.” She sits down at the table as I pour her some juice and set down a vitamin.
Our kitten, not liking someone else in the limelight, hops onto the counter. She paws at my waistband until I scratch her head. Then, she turns on her back, opens her belly for more, and purrs.
Sam glances over. “I need to tell Mia to cancel the cat therapist. She’s fine.”
As if to prove me wrong, she meows, jumps thirty feet in the air, does a double flip and upon landing, zooms up the stairs.
