“Already?” she pouts.
“Say goodbye to Sammy and Evan.”
“Bye, guys,” she coos, wiggling her fingers instead of waving as she leans heavily into my side.
After saying my goodbyes, I half walk, half carry Starling out of the house, glad that we came in the golf cart and I don’t have to carry her all the way home. Lifting her onto the seat, I take the one beside her and start to reverse the cart.
The moment we’re straight, I accelerate forward, then nearly steer off the road as Starling falls down and presses her face into my crotch.
“What the fuck?” I laugh.
“This is what you said,” she slurs, fumbling with the zipper on my pants, eventually managing to unfasten it and push my boxers down enough to free me.
Swallowing my dick whole, I hear her gag as the head hits the back of her throat. But instead of pulling back, she hums around my cock, and I almost lose control.
“Fuck,” I growl, trying to concentrate on where I’m driving as she bobs her head up and down my length, pushing my dick in and out of her throat.
After an embarrassingly short amount of time, my balls draw up and I shove my hand on her head, forcing my cock even deeper down her throat as I come, fighting the urge to close my eyes.
Instead of letting her up, I hold her in place as I steer the cart one-handed down our driveway to the front door of our house. By the time I turn the cart off and release my hold on her head, there are tears running down her cheeks, and she looks wrecked.
Dragging her bottom lip down with my thumb, I eye her assessingly. “Such a perfect little whore.”
Her eyes light up at the dirty endearment, and I feel my dick start to harden again.
“You’ve needed that all day, haven’t you?”
Nodding, she sighs, and I feel the sadness in the quiet noise.
“Come on, Little Bird. Let’s go to bed. I have plans for you tomorrow.”
My eyes snap open as daylight starts to bleed through the blinds over the window and terrace doors that lead from our bedroom and out onto the balcony overlooking the pool and ocean in front of us.
After I carried Starling upstairs last night, she barely managed to strip out of her clothes before she fell asleep. Lying naked beside me now with tear-tracked streaks of mascara still marring her cheeks, her disheveled appearance reminds me of the way she sucked my cock and swallowed my cum.
This woman is everything I’ll ever want. She’s sexy and submissive, powerful and confident. She’s my equal, and yet she’s still mine in every single way.
Eyeing her, I run my gaze over her curves, imagining how she’ll look with my baby growing inside of her. I want to get my wife pregnant. A part of me knows that having a baby would tie her to me forever, and I crave that. But more than that, I want to watch her when she realizes that I own her so fully that I can make the decision to fill her cunt with enough of my cum that it takes root. I want to see her agree to have my baby, simply because I’m telling her that’s what’s going to happen.
I’m not going to coerce or trick her into getting pregnant. I’m going to tell her what’s going to happen, and she’s going to obey me, because she loves it, and so do I.
Soft snores fall from her parted lips, and I find myself smiling down at her. This woman is my entire world, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life making babies with her.
Grabbing my cell, I half watch her, half doomscroll through my socials, finding myself and Starling tagged in several pictures. Most are from people at the party we know, but several are from a profile called Birdsflyhigh. Clicking into the profile, it looks to be a new user, as the only pictures on the account are from the baby shower.
Frowning, I open my text app, intending to message Clay to ask him to look into who the profile belongs to, but get distracted when Starling starts to stir.
“God, my head feels like a full marching band is performing inside of it and I haven’t even opened my eyes yet,” she groans.
“Shall I get you some painkillers?”
Nodding carefully, she pouts, her full lips pink and begging to be bitten. “Thank you.”
Sliding from the bed, I step into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. Spotting her birth control pills, I fight the urgeto take them but reach for the Tylenol instead, popping two into my hand before closing the cabinet and heading back into the bedroom.
Taking the pills from me, she carefully inches upright, and I hand her the bottle of water I brought up for her last night before she passed out.
“God, I feel awful,” she says, quickly swallowing down the pills and half of the bottle of water before she shuffles down the bed again and pulls the covers to her chin.
