“I thought about last night. How full you made me feel.”
He rocks into me again, humming under his breath, so I continue.
“I also wondered what it’d be like to…”
“To what?”
I bite my lip and glance at him again. “To give you a blow job.”
His nostrils flair and he mutters something under his breath in Italian, his fingers dig into my hips.
“Anything else?”
“Mmmhmm.” I gaps as he rocks into me harder this time. “I want to ride you.”
“Fuck, Elizabeth.” He thrusts again, shaking the table. “I vote yes to all of those.”
My laugh turns into a gasp as he thrusts deep, hitting a spot I’ve only heard of.
“Oh my god,” I moan.
“No god here,cara. Just me.”
He hits that spot again and hot pleasure coils deep inside of me. My orgasm builds and I know it’s going to be intense.
“Lorenzo,” I pant. “I’m so close.”
One of his hands snakes around to my front. I think he’s going to rub my clit, but he moves higher, slipping into the front of my dress.
“I had a fantasy about these,” he says, cupping a breast. “How they’d look full of milk to feed my baby.”
I gasp as he thrusts and rubs my nipple at the same time.
“Tell me,cara, do you want to have my babies?”
Hot pleasure coils through me and it’s so intense that my eyes roll back and my toes curl.
Lorenzo stills, hit hot breath hitting my ear. “I asked you a question, Elizabeth.”
“Y-yes,” I manage. “I want to have your babies.”
He makes a satisfied sound and then thrusts two more times before I shatter. And, my god, the orgasm goes on and on.
“Fuck,” he groans. “I’m gonna put a baby in you,cara.”
I gasp as he comes, pulsing hot and deep inside of me. His release makes me come again and this time it’s even more intense.
“That’s right. Let that sweet pussy milk my cock dry.”
We lie there, him still inside of me, both of us panting. But the only thing I can think about is what he said.
Do you want to have my babies?
The question loops in my mind, slow and echoing, like the final note of a song I wasn’t ready to end.
I’ve never really pictured myself as a mother. Never lingered in baby aisles or imagined soft lullabies and sleepy eyes that looked like mine. Not because I didn’t want it but because I’d never been with someone who made the future feel like more than a trap.
But Lorenzo doesn’t make me want to run. He makes me want toroot. To stay. To build. He makes me want things I used to laugh at. Things like a house with extra bedrooms. Sunday mornings wrapped in sheets and sticky fingers from pancake syrup. Little feet pounding the floor and tiny hands that reach for mine—hands that might have his dark eyes and my stubborn heart.
