“You got a breeding kink, Coach.”
“You want a coach?” he says.
I glance over my shoulder, flinging my hair, relentlessly teasing him. “Can you still coach? Is there anything more for me to learn?”
“Oh, there’s more.” He sucks on my neck, then strides into the kitchen and back in record time, holding a bottle of olive oil and a bag of salt flakes. He takes my bra off and commands, “Lay down on the rug.”
I do.
His body is heavy on mine, but he lifts his lower abs so as not to pressure my belly. I keep telling him it’s fine until my bellygrows, but he’s always thinking of me. Even with our fight, his thoughts were of me.
“What’s the olive oil for?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, continuing to trail wet kisses along my neck and boobs. They’re so needy, practically screaming for him to bite them. As if he knows what’s running through my mind, he says, “Tell me what you want, Butterfly.”
“Bite them. I want pressure.”
I feel his lips smile on my skin, and he takes my nipple into his mouth, nibbling, grazing, and then biting. I scream. He stops. “I’m drawing up a new play. What should I call it?”
He pours olive oil on my chest and then sprinkles salt on my boobs like he’s seasoning his dinner. His head dips, licking the salt off my drawn-up nipples. The slide of his tongue. The sound of his swallow. Perfect. Erotic.
After he’s spread the oil between us, he commands, “Show me how wet you are.”
My fingers roam to my center, moving up and down. Slow, then fast.
“How does touching yourself make you feel?” he asks as he drives his fingers inside me.
The air in my lungs feels heavy. There’s not enough of it. “I… I… feel like a beautiful butterfly.”
“You are a beautiful butterfly. Knees parted on the floor. The flush on your face. Sweat dotting your body like spots on a butterfly’s wings. Finally, you see it.”
My center throbs with need as he teases me, keeping me on the edge. “I want more,” I cry out.
“More fingers?”
“I want you inside me. I want you to be relentless.” I can’t believe the words slip from my mouth. Who am I? I’mcarrying a baby, but these hormones are out of control, and I can’t stop a runaway train. Better to give in to my feelings.
Matt spreads my legs and bites my bundle of nerves. It’s electric and painful yet pleasurable.
But it’s still not enough. “More.”
He crawls back up my body, kissing me roughly, and growls, “Get on all fours.”
“What are you going to do to me?” I lift onto my elbows.
“Ruin you for any other man.” He kisses me hard and rough. Urgent and ravenous.
“You already have.”
My body goes into orgasm mode immediately. It’s a mix of his raw, penetrating words, his body, and the anticipation. I roll over. “I don’t want to ruin the rug with this oil.”
“Fuck the rug. I’ll buy ten more if I can be inside you every night like this.”
Suddenly, I feel more oil on my back as he smooths it on my ass cheeks, slides his finger through my folds, then slaps my ass—not hard, but still, I want it harder. “More.”
“More is different than harder. Which or both?”
Breathless, I say, “Both.”
