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“Does that hurt?” Wyatt asks, his husky voice deep with longing as he instantly releases them and cups my breasts gently.
I nod slowly. “My nipples are like little pain buttons since the pregnancy.”
“I never want to hurt you,” Wyatt says, moving me back under the stream so the water can cascade the bubbles down my body. “Just tell me if anything ever gets to be too much.”
He proceeds to massage my entire body under the water, running small circles over my traps and my shoulder blades, his fingers gliding delicately over the swells of my ass as he rubs my lower back in a kneading sensation. He takes his time, never once turning the wash session into sex, which I appreciate.
Shower sex for bigger girls is so not a thing. First of all, water is a horrible form of lubrication. But mostly, it’s the fact that I’m not light enough for Wyatt to pick up and rock me up and down on his cock. It’s one thing for him to carry my sick body across the room to drop me on my bed or hoist me up onto a counter. But for him to hold me against a shower wall for sex…without a good base under my ass, big boy or not…forget about it.
But I gather that this shower is intentional in other ways beyondsex. It’s about exploration, which we didn’t really make time for last night. Wyatt’s hands flatten over my belly as he rubs his rough palm against my flesh.
“What does it feel like?” he asks, his voice deep in my ear.
I wince against the contact, my body recoiling at the feeling of someone paying such close attention to a space I consider the problem area on my body. I guess I have a handful of problem areas if I were to compare myself to magazine covers or shine a light on the places where I have stretch marks and cellulite. But I’ve done some serious self-love reflections in the past decade to accept my body for what it is and be grateful for it for housing my organs and giving me life. And giving this baby life, for that matter.
It’s a good body, even if it’s not what society might see as perfect. It’s perfect for me. And if this crazy mountain man wants to feel the life growing inside it, I won’t let annoying insecurities get in my way of enjoying some good old human contact.
I’m a cow, I’m a cow, I’m a cow…
“It doesn’t feel like much at this point.” My shoulders lift as I remind myself this feeling of him touching me means nothing to me. “Aside from my sore nipples, I honestly forget I’m pregnant sometimes.”
The corners of Wyatt’s mouth turn down as he nods. “That’s wild.”
“I can’t suck it in anymore, though,” I add with a huff. “My stomach just goes nowhere.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. He likes that answer. God, I bet he’ll be obsessed when I start showing more. I might need to turn my cow mantra into a poem or haiku. Something a bit lengthier to get through the upcoming months if we’re going to continue to be up close and personal.
When I started this surrogacy job, I never imagined seeing him this much. I thought it’d be doctor’s appointments and maybe occasionally in the barn. Now, this man has somehow barreled his way into my shower.
By the time the water turns cold, my body is limp, and all my muscles that were sore before are completely healed from his tender caresses.
The nozzle squeaks as he shuts off the tap, and I struggle to keep my eyes open as he begins to towel dry me. I glance down and see he’s still fully erect, his cock straining at the tip so much it looks angry, but his face looks completely content.
With the towel wrapped around me, he brushes through my hair, taking care to go slowly over the snarls. I briefly wonder how the hell he knows how to brush a woman’s hair so well, and then a flash of his niece comes into mind.
“Your hair looks funny straight,” his deep voice rumbles as he combs out the last few messy strands.
I frown at him in the mirror and then glance at my slicked-down hair. “Well, stop looking, then.”
His heated eyes meet mine. “I like it like this, but I like your curls better.” A tender look flicks across his face as he returns his attention to my head. “They suit you.”
“God, you’re weird,” I reply with a laugh, shattering the moment. He glares at me, so I elaborate. “On the outside, you’re this rugged, scary guy offering dirty orgasms, but on the inside, you’re total mush, aren’t you?”
The corner of his mouth tugs up, and the wicked look in his eye has my insides swirling. He leans close, his bearded chin teasing the shell of my ear as he replies, “Just don’t tell anyone.” His brows lift lasciviously. “How am I supposed to remain the mysterious, grumpy brother if word gets out I’m a softy?”
“And a Swiftie,” I add with a grin.
He grips my sides with a wicked glint to his eye. “I’m going to fuck you for that.”
“Now, don’t go threatening me with a good time,” I singsong, and a squeal erupts from my throat as he aggressively yanks the towel off my body and drags me out of the bathroom butt-ass naked.
My smile feels permanent as I fall back onto my rumpled white bed. I grab my wet hair to fan it above me, knowing full well it’ll be a mess when we’re done here, but I have better things to focus on than hair product because Wyatt stands at the side of my bed, and he just dropped his towel.
There’s that big dick again.
I have a feeling today will hurt even more than yesterday. And my weird body simmers with excitement over that potential.
“Don’t push my buttons,” Wyatt says, standing between my bent legs and grazing his fingers up my calves. “I want to take my time with you this morning, and when you irritate me, I just want to fuck you hard and fast.”
