“Please.” Her hand slides lower, and her fingers dust against my shaft. She wraps her fingers around my base until I’m thrusting through her firm grip into her pussy. “Fill me with your babies.”
Everything about her is my undoing. With a roar I’m sure the neighbors hear, I explode inside her. My cock twitches violently as my release shoots deep inside her in hot, powerful spurts.
Blake’s own orgasm follows immediately, her body arching off the bed with the force of her release. Her walls clamp around me like a vise as she screams my name. My hips sputtering against her as powerful ribbons of cum continue to fill her.
When the last tremor has subsided, I collapse beside her, my body spent, my chest heaving, and the ache of my wound nearly unbearable. Blake notices, and her eyes widen when she notices that my gauze is bloody. “Jagger…”
“Shh.” I kiss her gently. “It’ll be okay. Just let me have this. Let me have you. All of you.”
“You have me,” she whispers against my lips.
We stay tangled together for a long time, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The sun is higher now, casting the room in a bright, cheerful light that feels entirely at odds with the darkness of our lives.
“I could get used to this,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.
“To what?” I ask against her neck.
“Waking up with you,” she replies. “Not having to rush off, not having to look over our shoulders every five minutes. Just… this.”
I smile against her skin. “Me, too. Though I have to admit, there’s something kind of exciting about the constant danger.”
“That’s because you’re an adrenaline junkie,” she quips, though there’s affection in her voice. “Normal people don’t find firefights exciting.”
“If I werenormaland lived a boring life, I never would have met you.”
She nuzzles against me as I pull her closer, and her pulse beats against my chest, steady and strong. It’s the most comforting feeling I know, and it lulls me toward sleep despite my best efforts to stay awake.
I drift off with a smile, knowing that when I wake, I’ll claim her all over again. And again.And again. Because this is what I’ve been searching for my entire life. Not just the physical pleasure, but the emotional connection, the trust, and the…love.
I wake in the dark, the room quiet except for the soft whir of the ceiling fan. For half a second, I don’t know where I am. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I turn my head toward the nightstand. The red numbers of the alarm clock are blinding.1:27 a.m.
“Doc,” I grumble, my voice rough with sleep.
My hand slides across the sheets. I search for her warm skin and the familiar curve of her hip, so I can pull her back into me. My fingers meet nothing but cool cotton. Her side of the bed is empty, the sheets not holding a bit of her heat, like she’s been gone long enough for the warmth to disappear.
I push myself upright, the bed frame groaning softly beneath me as I swing my legs over the side and push myself from the mattress. Using only the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the crack in the curtains, I pull on a pair of sweatpants from the nearby chair.
Not bothering with a shirt, I walk down the short hallway, listening for any sign of Blake. All I hear is silence.
As I reach the edge of the hallway, the floorboards creak under my bare feet. I pause, instinctively quiet, like I’m stalking prey instead of my girlfriend.Girlfriend… Soon-to-be mother of my children.I stand motionless against the wall, staring at Blake as the faint glow of a lamp spills over her.
Blake is curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, wearing nothing but one of my shirts. It’s one of my old ones, soft and worn, hanging off her shoulder and swallowing her tiny frame. The hem rests high on her thighs, barely covering her. She has a glass of wine in one hand, and her phone in the other, the screen lighting up her face in pale blue.
A piece of hair falls into her eye, and she puffs out her lower lip, blowing upward to try to move it. She misses. Tries again. Still misses.
Jesus Christ. She’s so beautiful it almost hurts.
I don’t even know how long I stand there, just watching her. Her little mannerisms—like the tiny pout of her lower lip when she’s concentrating, or the way she absentmindedly rubs her thumb along the stem of the wineglass—are mesmerizing.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” I say finally.
She startles, gasping softly, and the wine sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the glass. Her eyes flit around the living room, finally finding me lingering in the shadows.
She lets out a quiet sigh and confesses, “My internal clock is all out of whack. I couldn’t sleep.”
I push off the wall and walk across the room, the hardwood cool under my feet. After sitting down beside her on the couch, close enough that our thighs brush, I inhale and quickly notice that she smells like me.
That shouldn’t do things to me, but it does.
