He dropped to his knees, pulled her to the edge of the table, threw her legs over his shoulders, and buried his face between her thighs like a man on a mission. His tongue was everywhere—licking, sucking, fucking into her while his thumb worked her clit.
“Rolani—oh fuck—I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He sucked her clit into his mouth and sucked gently.
She came so hard that her moans sounded like the melody of “My Favorite” by Heather Victoria. Her thighs clamped around his head, her back arched off the table, and she screamed. He didn’t stop. Kept licking, kept sucking, wringing every last bit out of her until she was pulling at his locs, shaking, too sensitive to take anymore.
When he stood up, his face was wet, and he looked hungry for more.
“Bedroom,” he said, dick pitching a tent.
“The cookies?—”
“Fuck those cookies.” He lifted her off the table, and she wrapped her legs and arms around him. He carried her down the hall, her mouth on his neck, his shoulder, biting hard enough to leave marks. By the time they got to the bedroom, she had his sweats hanging off his body.
He laid her on the bed, stood back to pull his shirt over his head. She watched—chest, stomach, the V disappearing into his briefs. He wasted no time removing his clothing.
“You just gonna watch?” he asked, stroking the thickest, most beautiful, slightly curved dick. It should be framed.
“For now.” She bit her lip, eyes on his hands moving up and down. She was getting wetter by the second. “I like the show, baby.”
She came close and wrapped her hand around his dick and took over stroking it for him, precum at the tip. She licked it, and his knees buckled as he groaned. “Fuck, I missed your hands on me.”
She stroked him slower, tighter, watching his face. “Just my hands?”
His eyes opened, dark. He grabbed her wrist, leaned her back, and pushed in.
Time stopped. Not slow, not gentle. The stretch after four and a half months made her grab the sheets and bite down on her lip so hard she tasted copper. He filled her completely, and her body remembered him before her brain caught up.
Every nerve ending fired at once. Her back arched off the bed, her mouth fell open, and the sound that came out of her wasn't a moan. It was relief.
“Fuck, Ken.” His forehead pressed against hers, both of them breathing hard. He needed to pause. Not because he wanted to. Because if he moved right now, it would be over. She was tighter than he remembered, wetter than he expected, and the heat of her had his arms shaking. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
“Baby.” She needed more. Needed all of him.
He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. She screamed.
“This what you need?” He did it again, harder.
“Yes—fuck—yes?—”
He set a rhythm that had her gasping for air. Deep, hard, hitting that spot over and over. Her legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, and he groaned.
“That’s it. Take this dick. Show me how much you missed it.”
She couldn’t speak. Could only hold on while he flipped her over onto all fours. He ran his hand down the curve of her spine, slow, watching her arch into his touch. The sight of her on her knees, pregnant with his son, waiting for him, broke whatever control he had left. He gripped her hip with one hand, pulled her back onto him, and the angle made them both lose their minds. His free hand found her clit, and bliss consumed her.
“Is my baby okay?” he asked, nibbling on her ear. “Speak up, doll.”
“We’re fine,” she whispered, leaning into him, he leaned down kissing her sloppily while sliding back in.
“Rolani—oh my god, baby.”
He leaned her over and gripped her hips and sexed another orgasm out of his woman. Her walls clenched around his dick, and his eyes crossed. Her whimpers were about to send him over the fucking edge. He slapped her left ass cheek, and she let the neighbors know his name.
“Rain down on this dick, doll baby. Let me feel that shit.”
Her pussy was clenching around him so tight he couldn’t move. His vision blurred. Every muscle in his body locked up, and for a second, he thought he might black out.
