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“Got a magic something else, too,” I growled.
Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to hide a smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
Working my way back down, I straddled her legs and rubbed her lower back harder, moving my hands out toward her sides. I gripped her hips, but before I could lift her onto her knees, my perfect wife was already moving, positioning herself with her ass in the air.
“You good?” I asked.
She shot a playful smile over her shoulder. “Other than you taking forever, yeah.”
I wrapped an arm around her, spanning a hand over her small baby bump before sliding to cup her between her thighs. My middle finger teased her slit through her fuck-all hot panties.
“Please,” she begged.
I’d told her when we’d first met that she’d beg, but she rarely did.
Rarely had to.
But when she did, it seared in my brain and shot straight to my dick.
“I need your cock,” she continued on a whisper, and fuck yeah, it was still my kink.
“It’s yours.” Pulling my sweatpants down to free myself and her panties to mid-thigh, I kept her legs between mine and positioned my dick. “Fuck yourself with it.”
She leaned back, her greedy pussy taking me inch by inch.
“Fuck, I love you,” I bit out, my eyes locked on the view.
Once she had all of me—dick, sanity, heart, and soul—she stopped. “Dammit.”
My hands moved, skimming her as if I could feel the problem. “What’s wrong?”
But then I heard it.
A faint cry that would grow to a bossy, demanding one.
“Ignore her,” Ophelia tried, but she was already shifting away, knowing I wouldn’t.
“Don’t move,” I ordered, groaning as I pulled free. “Not even an inch. I want this view of your perfect pussy when I get back.”
Tugging my sweatpants back into place, I walked down the short hallway, pausing for a second to smirk at my favorite framed picture. O and her friends, sweaty and happy. I’d stolen it that first day and after she’d found it, jokingly—kinda—calling me a perv, she’d hung it with the countless others that covered our walls. Brothers and friends and us.
Family.
Every time my eyes landed on it, I was hit in the gut by how damn lucky I was.
Fate.
The crying amped up, and I pushed open the cracked door.
“You got crap timin’, kid,” I said.
Standing in her crib, Arielle looked up at me with big gray eyes and grinned.
She may have only been eleven months, but my daughter knew a sucker when she saw one.
I lifted her so we were eye to eye. “We talked about this. Ya gotta sleep. I’m not always gonna come runnin’ when you cry.”
Like her mama, Arielle called my bullshit and laughed in my face.
