Roarke’s hands were already under my shirt, rough as they moved deliciously over my sensitive skin. He shoved the soft cotton up and over my swollen breasts, and the cool air hit my nipples at the same instant his hot mouth closed around one, sucking hard enough to make me gasp. My fingers dug into his shoulders, sawdust clinging to my palms.
“Fuck, Josie,” he growled against my skin, voice thick. “These are so full. So perfect.”
He switched to the other breast, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to send a sharp jolt straight to my clit. I was already soaked, the pregnancy hormones making everything slick and swollen and so much more sensitive. Every pull of his mouth felt like it tugged directly between my legs.
I fumbled with his jeans, popping the button, dragging the zipper down. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, the head already glistening. I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking once, twice, loving the way he hissed through his teeth and thrust into my grip.
“Need to taste you first,” he muttered, dropping to his knees right there on the sawdust-covered floor.
He yanked my leggings and panties down in one rough motion, careful of my belly but not gentle anywhere else. The moment my pussy was bare, he spread me with his thumbs and licked a long, slow stripe from entrance to clit.
I cried out, loud and shameless, the sound echoing off the workshop walls. His tongue circled my clit in tight, relentless strokes while two thick fingers slid inside me, curling just right. The stretch was perfect—too much and exactly enough all atonce. My hips rocked against his face, chasing the pressure building fast and bright behind my pubic bone.
“Roarke—oh God—don’t stop?—”
He groaned into me, the vibration pushing me closer. His fingers pumped faster, slick sounds filling the air along with my panting moans and the wet suck of his mouth. My thighs started to shake.
“Come for me, baby,” he rasped against my clit. “Let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze my fingers.”
That did it.
My orgasm hit like a freight train—sharp, blinding, rolling through me in heavy waves. I screamed his name, fingers knotted in his hair, hips jerking as I rode his tongue and fingers through every pulsing contraction. He didn’t let up until I was whimpering, oversensitive and trembling.
He stood, mouth shiny with me, eyes wild. “Turn around.”
My legs felt like jelly, but I obeyed, bracing both hands on the workbench. The crib rail he’d been sanding sat right in front of me—smooth, curved, beautiful—and the thought of him fucking me over the piece he’d handcrafted only made me hotter.
He kicked my feet wider, notched the broad head of his cock at my entrance, and pushed in slowly. We both moaned—long, low, broken sounds.
He felt enormous like this, stretching me wide, filling every inch. The slight downward angle let him sink impossibly deep, the head nudging me in that achey, perfect way that made my eyes roll back.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he gritted out, hands gripping my hips. “Even pregnant. Still so damn perfect.”
He started moving—slow at first, letting me feel every thick inch dragging out, then slamming back in. The workbench creaked under my palms. Sawdust drifted down around us likedirty snow. My breasts swayed heavily with each thrust, nipples brushing the wood, sending fresh sparks through me.
“Harder,” I begged. “Please—Roarke?—”
He gave it to me.
His hips snapped forward, skin slapping skin, wet and obscene. His balls smacked my clit with every stroke. I could hear how soaked I was—every thrust pushing out more slick, dripping down my thighs. His grunts turned animal, raw, matching my rising cries.
One hand slid around to my clit, rubbing fast, firm circles while he pounded into me from behind. The angle was brutal—perfect—hitting that spot inside that made white light explode behind my eyelids.
“I’m close again—fuck—Roarke?—”
“Me too,” he snarled. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna come so deep inside this sweet pussy?—”
His fingers pinched my clit just right.
My second orgasm ripped through me harder than the first—violent, consuming, my walls clamping down on his cock like a fist. I screamed, body locking, thighs shaking so badly, he had to hold me up. The pulses were endless, milking him, pulling him deeper.
Roarke groaned my name like a prayer—low, wrecked—and then he was coming too. Hot, thick spurts flooded me, each one accompanied by a ragged thrust and a guttural sound torn from his throat. He buried himself to the hilt and held there, hips jerking, pumping everything he had into me while my pussy fluttered and clenched around him, drawing out every last drop.
We stayed locked together, breathing hard, his chest pressed to my back, one arm banded protectively around my belly. His cock twitched inside me once, twice, still half-hard.
Finally, he eased out of me and turned me gently, pulling me against his chest. I rested my cheek over his heart, listening to the rapid thump slowly steady.
“I love you,” I murmured against his skin.
