Think about Fletcher in his waffle budgie smugglers.
“That’s good,” she whispers, “because I’d hate for you to not feel as good as I do.”
“You feel better than winning a cup after being written off as the worst team in the league.”
She strokes my chest while she presses soft kisses to my jaw, hovering over my dick like she’s giving me a minute. “That’s very specific.”
“Best day of my life.”
“I haven’t had the best day of my life yet.”
“Challenge accepted. Get on my cock.”
She laughs.
Fuck, I do too.
It’s been months since I’ve been with a woman, but probably years since I laughed in bed with one.
And it feels so damn good.
I hook a hand behind her neck and shift so I can kiss her.
She tastes like paradise. All of her. Her skin. Her mouth. Her pussy.
And while she kisses me back, she centers herself over my hard-on.
“Condom?” I ask against her mouth, barely getting the word out.
She half-laughs. “Can’t get more pregnant. And I’ve had all of the STI tests done the past couple months. I’m clear.”
“Same.”
“Good.”
I kiss her again, and she slowly takes me into her body, making me nearly whimper at her hot, slick core squeezing me.
“Youarebig,” she murmurs.
For the amount of extra blood surging to my cock, it’s a wonder I can think. “You’re welcome.”
She giggles again, and fuck me if she doesn’t squeeze me tighter.
Bliss.
Pure bliss.
She sinks all the way down with a shudder that makes her breasts jiggle.
Fucking perfection.
I shift my pelvis to press up into her, then freeze. “The baby?” I whisper hoarsely.
Shit.
Is this okay for the baby?
She smiles at me as she lifts her hips, then settles on me again. “Baby’s fine.”
