“This won’t?—”
“No. This won’t hurt Tater Tot.”
My damn heart swells up eight sizes.
She’s using my nickname for her baby.
She presses another kiss to my jaw, then shifts to lift her hips again, finding a rhythm as she rides me.
Her hands rest on my chest, fingers digging into me. When she dips her head, her hair brushes my shoulders. I thrust to meet her as she pumps my dick.
I can still taste her on my tongue, mingling with the scent of her vanilla honey shampoo. I roam her body with my hands, squeezing her ass, teasing her nipples, stroking down her spine from nape to crack, until we’re both panting and my cock is so hard and ready.
“Ziggy—” I gasp.
“Oh god, almost there,” she whimpers. “Feel—so—good. You—so—good.”
I can do this.
I can hold on for one more minute.
I grit my teeth and thrust harder into her, gripping her thighs, shifting my hands until I can brush my thumb over that sweet little nub at the top of her sex.
She gasps and throws her head back, squeezing me tighter, and then the spasms come around my cock.
Thankfuck.
I let go with a groan of relief as I hit my climax too, cock pulsing, squeezing her thighs tighter while she grinds hard on my hips.
Dots dance in my vision.
One foot curls.
The other’s fucking stuck in place.
But Ziggy’s gasping breath as she comes all over my cock is music.
Her grip on my shoulders makes me feel like her anchor.
The thing holding her life together.
I want to hold this woman’s life together.
I want her to know she matters. That I care.
I want new life in this house.
I wanther.
For as long as I can have her.
Ziggy will cost me my rugby career. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week.
But eventually.
And as the last of her orgasm leaves her and she collapses on top of me in time with my own body relaxing, panting and blowing her soft breath across my chest, her fingers gently drifting over my shoulder as she releases her grip, I don’t care.
For this moment?
