He runs a finger over my swollen breasts, my nipples already tight and hard, the areolas dotted with tiny bumps. I gasp when he rolls one between his fingers, his free hand anchoring me by the hip.
He wraps his mouth around my other nipple, tongue circling the sensitive peak and sending sparks straight to my core. I arch against him as he alternates between flicking my nipple with his tongue and gently tugging it with his teeth, drawing a broken moan from my throat.
“Goddamn, these are so sensitive,” he says, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over my wet nipple. “It makes me so fucking hard knowing it’s because I knocked you up.”
“I hate how much that turns me on,” I admit breathlessly.
Heath flashes me a grin. “That so? Why don’t we see just how much you hate it, hmm?”
He peppers kisses down from my breasts, trailing his mouth over my ribs and across my stomach. His tongue dips teasingly into my navel, making my skin flush hotter. His hands wander along my curves until he reaches the insulin pump site on my lower abdomen. He pauses, planting a reverent kiss beside the cannula, careful not to disturb it, before continuing lower.
My eyes sting at how naturally he’s accepted that part of me. Before him, I’ve been made to feel like my diabetes made me damaged goods, something people had to overlook if they wanted to be with me.
Heath is the first man not only to accept my differences but also to cherish them. He reminds me daily that I’m worthy of desire exactly as I am.
His lips travel farther down, skimming over my lower belly before drifting lower. I hiss sharply as his stubble grazes my inner thigh, my legs trembling the instant he reaches my center. He drags his tongue along the seam of my pussy, and instincttakes over. I drape my legs over his shoulders, drawing him deeper.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Take what you need from me,” he praises, lapping at me with greedy, long strokes. The filthy, wet sounds echo loudly in the room. Eager for more, I lock my ankles behind his head, my hips rolling as I grind against his face.
Hands down, this is better than any vibrator—Betty included—and I could easily become addicted.
“Holy shit,” he groans, voice rough and low against my core. “You mustreallyhate me with how drenched your pussy is.”
If only that were true.
He has consumed every part of me, and the urge to beg him to fuck me is growing almost unbearable. Only a fragile wall of resistance stands between me and a total, reckless surrender. It would be so easy to fall for the fantasy that Heath and I could actually make a real go of this, but there’s no guarantee our story has a happy ending, and I’m terrified of what it’ll cost me if it doesn’t.
All my racing thoughts vanish the second he closes his mouth over my clit, his teeth grazing over the bundle of nerves. My hands claw at the comforter, twisting the fabric tightly as tremors rack my body. He pushes two thick fingers inside me, thrusting in steady strokes, until the desperate need to fall apart beneath his touch overwhelms me.
Heath lifts his eyes to meet mine, dark with lust. “Tell me who’s about to make you come.”
“You,” I choke out.
I squeal as he nips at my swollen nub sending sparks flying through me. His fingers drive deeper while I chase my building euphoria, my moans growing louder and more desperate.
“Try again.”
“My husband,” I rush out, eager to please him.
A look of satisfaction crosses his face. “Say it again, wife.”
“My husband is going to make me come.” I babble as stars burst behind my eyes.
“Damn right I am.”
He latches back onto my clit, sucking hard as his fingers pump deep and fast. My entire body seizes as the orgasm rips through me, leaving me shaking uncontrollably while his hand becomes soaked with my release.
My limbs are loose and heavy as aftershocks continue to ripple through me. I thread my fingers through Heath’s hair, floating down from my high.
“Pretty sure you broke me,” I tease.
He trails his lips across my lower belly with a low chuckle. “Give it a few minutes. My hellcat always comes back swinging.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Can’t let you get too comfortable.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” he agrees smugly.
This man might be the death of me, but oh what a way to go.
