“I’ll be back,” she announced to whoever was listening. “I’m dying for a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt.”
I waited all of a minute and a half to follow her.
No one noticed us disappear.
I entered the room to find my wife—my fucking god, was it nice to say those words finally—lifting her dress over her head.
She was wearing white lace underwear and a white lace bra. That white lace bra was overfilled, and I growled at the sight.
“I could get used to those boobs.”
She flashed me a grin and reached behind her.
Her breasts spilled free of the confines and jiggled to a stop.
My dick, which had already been hard as stone, went even more rigid.
I reached down and pressed the heel of my hand into it to take pressure off of the zipper that was digging into it.
She walked toward me, and those breasts started to jiggle again.
“Nothing against your beautiful normal breasts,” I said as I kept my eyes on them. “But my god, this is fantastic.”
She snickered. “Enjoy them now. I hear that when I’m done breastfeeding, they’ll be deflated like used and overstretched tube socks.”
The visual wasn’t enough to put a damper on my raging cock.
Eighteen
I’m so tired, the bags under my eyes are bigger than my boobs.
—Nettie to Eddy
Nettie
“Come here, wife.”
His words sent shivers down the length of my spine.
I dropped my phone onto the table with a clatter and went to him.
“Yes, sir.”
His lips peeled back in a feral grin, then he was reaching for me, placing his hands around my waist and tugging me the rest of the way to him.
When I was close enough—which was practically merging his skin with mine—he fisted the panties that I was still wearing and…
“Those were my wedding panties, Boone!”
“They’re my wedding panties,” he pointed out. “You wore them for me. So they’re mine to do with as I please.”
He had a point.
But…
“They were sixty-two dollars.”
The fabric fell free of my waist and pooled at my feet.
