We lie there in comfortable silence, the dark holding us instead of pressing in.
“Still,” he adds after a moment, “if she’s the reason you’re having nightmares, I’ll lodge a complaint.”
I smile, eyes closed. “Don’t you dare. She also fed me.”
He groans softly. “She does that too. No one leaves hungry. Or unexamined.”
I laugh quietly, the last of the tension easing out of me.
“I feel better,” I say. And it’s true. Not fixed. Just steadier.
“Good,” he murmurs. “That was the aim.”
His hand continues its slow, grounding circles on my back. His breathing stays even. He doesn’t shift, doesn’trush me, doesn’t ask if I’m okay again like he’s ticking a box.
I drift, hovering on the edge of sleep, held in place by warmth and familiarity.
“There is,” I murmur, barely louder than his breathing, “one thing you could do for me.”
He hums. “I’m listening.”
I switch on the bedside lamp and tilt my head back just enough to look at him. “A little bit of… licky licky.”
There’s a beat.
Then he laughs. A real laugh. Warm, surprised, the sound vibrating through his chest where my cheek rests.
“You realise,” he says, still amused, “that is the least seductive phrasing available in the English language.”
“Still effective,” I mumble.
“Debatably,” he says, and then he’s moving, careful and deliberate, turning me gently onto my back without anywhere near squashing my tummy, like it’s a manoeuvre he’s been quietly practising in his head.
He kisses me.
Not rushed. Not hungry. Just a soft, lingering kiss that feels like being reassured rather than claimed. His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek, like he’s anchoring me to the moment.
“Mmm,” I say when he pulls back a fraction. “That’ll do.”
He smiles against my mouth. “I suspected.”
He kisses me again, slow and sweet, like sleep can wait and nothing bad exists outside this room.
I’m still in my softest pyjamas. Thin cotton shorts ride up my hips, tank top twisted just enough to expose thecurve of my baby bump. Not that it matters. Geoff doesn’t care about the fabric. He cares about what’s underneath.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts, tugging them down just far enough, and I lift my hips without thinking, helping him, already wet and aching. The first drag of his tongue is slow, deliberate, like he’s taking his time, like he’s decided this deserves attention. I gasp, my back arching off the mattress.
“Fuck—”
The word breaks into a moan as he does it again, this time flattening his tongue against my clit, pressing just hard enough to make my thighs tremble.
His fingers follow, two of them sliding inside me without warning, and I choke on a cry, nails digging into the duvet. He curls them just right, finding that spot that makes my vision blur at the edges, and I’m already babbling, voice thick and desperate.
“Geoff, don’t stop—”
My hips jerk up, chasing more, and he groans against me, the vibration sending another wave of heat through my body. His free hand clamps down on my hip, holding me still, firm enough to bruise.
I love it. I love the way he takes, even when he’s on his knees for me.
