From Bo’s lips, I consider it all to be poetry. Praises so beautiful and genuine and earnest that I collect each of them and lock them away inside my chest.
My toes curl as my pleasure builds like a windstorm inside my belly. The look of intensity on Bo’s face as he uses my body fills me with deep, aching lust. Without warning, he removes his hand from my mouth and moves it to my hip, gripping my flesh as he pistons into me.
“Please,” he begs. I know what he wants. Perhaps he’s fucked all the shame out of me, but I don’t care anymore. I nod for him, and he smiles as he tugs me to the edge of the dresser, angling me just right.
I whimper, throwing my head back as I feel an orgasm wash over me like a warm breeze—subtle but so damnperfect.The kind of release you feel in your bones all the way to the ends of your hair, possessing your body and mind.
“Bo,” I cry out, gasping at the immediate feel of his release as he trembles and stills between my legs before removing himself.
I watch, my head hanging between us, as Bo pushes his cum back in with two fingers.
I’m not surewhyI find it so hot, but I do. There’s something so primal about it. Him wanting to fill me, even though I’m already pregnant. Like he’s saying, not-so-subtly, he’d do it again if he could. That he’s glad for it all.
He removes his fingers, and I open my mouth, smiling wickedly as he pushes them between my lips, and I suck them clean.
He laughs in a bittersweet way. In anI cannot believe my lifekind of way that has my shoulders lifting with pride.
“So…” I say through panted breaths, smiling at the ceiling as my chest heaves. “Wecando it standing, then.”
Bo’s own chest is working overtime with each quickened breath, but he still breaks into a beaming smile, his face pointed up to the ceiling. “Seems like it…” he whispers, more from exhaustion than a need to be quiet. That islonggone.
When he tilts his face down toward mine, looking all too pleased with a boyish grin and an arrogant satisfaction behind his eyes, I kiss him.
I kiss him because I’m grateful, even though I’m often terrible at showing it.
I kiss him because he truly does want to take care of me.
I kiss him because I think I’m going to let him.
I kiss him because I love him.
More and more each day.
CHAPTER 33
Thirty-Three Weeks Pregnant. Baby is the size of a pineapple.
Itakeadeepbreath, cooling my frustrations, as I stare deep into the mirror at my own reflection.
I’ve got the cute dress on, the one Sarah insisted I buy from the maternity section thatactuallyfits my growing frame. It’s a sage green floor-length wrap dress with white hand-sewn flowers all over it. It ties in the back, creating the illusion of a small waist above my now prominent bump. And it showcases my new boobs—two sizes larger than they used to be.
Both Bo and I arebigfans.
I’ve also got the makeup on. Though, pathetically, bending over the sink to apply mascara was causing me to get winded.
What’s making me frustrated is my hair.
I had this whole vision that I’d braid it, keeping it off my face in this wispy sort of way that matches the bohemian vibe of the dress, but it’s just not happening.
I’ve twisted and contorted myself in every which way, trying to see it in the mirror as I reach over my shoulder. But no matter what I do, my right hand will not cooperate, and I drop the third strand every time.
Once I told Bo I didn’t want any more surprises, he confessed about one that he and Sarah had been cooking up ever sincehisbirthday. A birthday party for me. Except, knowing me the way they do, they decided I’d rather kill two birds with one stone and have a combined baby showerandbirthday party.
Bo insistedthisway I could tell myself the party was for August, and sort of him too—so I caved.
But now I’m probably already late, and I look like I’ve never held a hairbrush in my twenty-nine years of life. I’m about to throw it into a low ponytail, curse my rectangular-shaped forehead, and call it a day when Bo knocks softly on the half-open bathroom door.
“Need a hand?” he teases, leaning on the doorframe.
