I watch as he pours in a generous amount of bubbles and then stalks back over to me.
“Arms up,” he demands. Despite being bare for him last night, nerves rock through me.
Even before being pregnant, my body wasn’t like those of the women he’s pictured with online. But twenty weeks in, and my hips are wider, my breasts fuller, and my stomach is getting rounder by the day.
But as I comply and the fabric leaves my hands, descending for the floor behind Everett, he takes every inch of me in.
“Masterpiece,” he muses, taking his time to run his eyes over every inch of me before sliding his palms up my thighs and ducking his head to steal my lips.
He kisses me until I’m breathless, and just when I think he’s going to up the ante and give me what I need, he tugs me from the counter and carries me to the tub.
“How’s the temperature?” he asks as my toes tip into the water.
“Perfect,” I breathe before he lowers me fully into the soothing water and fluffy bubbles.
A frown tugs at my brows when he releases me and takes a step back.
“Where are you going?” I ask in a panic.
“Trust me?” he asks with a smirk as he continues backing toward the door.
I’m pretty sure he’s expecting me to say no, because when the opposite falls from my lips, his entire body locks up in surprise.
“Y-You?—”
“I trust you,” I confirm.
He tries to fight the smile, but he can’t—and just before he turns away and disappears from the room, I catch it as it spreads across his face.
As his footsteps get quieter and then the sound of him crashing about in the kitchen hits my ears, I can’t help thinking that he really has nothing to be worried about. He’s already doing the most incredible job looking after us. I have no reason to believe that’ll change once the season starts and then when our little one arrives.
“Breakfast, milady,” he announces when he reappears with the tray. Only this time, it’s coffee—decaf, obviously—OJ again, and a huge bowl of fresh fruit.
My mouth waters, but as he rests the tray on a table beside the bath, he turns his attention to ridding himself of his underwear.
Oh yeah, this just got a million times better.
“Scooch forward,” he instructs as he stalks closer, his already hard cock exactly at my eye level.
My tongue sneaks out to wet my lips, and without knowing, I lean closer.
“Oh shit,” Everett rasps as I reach out and wrap my hand around him. “Bea, that wasn’t—” he starts, staring down at me with wide, wanton eyes. “Fuck,” he adds when I lean forward and flick my tongue across his tip, collecting up the precum that’s already beading there. “Sweetheart, I—” The second I take him in my mouth, all his words die in favor of watching me.
Shifting onto my knees, I take him a little deeper, letting his taste coat my tongue.
His fingers sink into my hair, but he doesn’t take over; he lets me set the pace.
I don’t take him right to the back of my mouth to start with, but he doesn’t seem to mind that my mouth focuses on the head, while my hand works the rest. In fact, from the look on his face, you’d think he’d never had head before. Which, obviously, is categorically not true, but I appreciate his enjoyment, nonetheless.
“Fuck, you’re going to make me come in this hot little mouth if you keep doing that, sweetheart.”
I stare up at him and suck a little harder, my hand working his shaft.
His nostrils flare, his stomach muscles contract, and then his cock jerks violently, spilling cum across my tongue.
I take it all before sitting back and swallowing.
“You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He grips my chin between his fingers, tilts my head back, and kisses me as deeply as possible, not giving a single shit that he can taste himself on my tongue.
