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“Soon,” I assured him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “When will you start working out again?”
“Maybe this week. I need to call Bronson to see if he can fit me in. You could still go to Brad, you know.”
“I know, but I’ve been working out downstairs. Of course, you’ve thrown me off my game. You’re a bad influence.”
Oliver smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We need to get back into rhythm again. I plan to start tonight.”
“There is nothing wrong with that part of our lives,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
Oliver took a step closer, backing me toward the bed. When I felt it against my legs, I dropped down, anticipation coursing through me. He pulled me to the edge, his hands firm yet gentle, and began to assault my swollen tissue with his tongue, lapping at me with long, deliberate strokes. I moaned his name, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Say it again,” he whispered against me, his breath hot.
“Oliver.”
“Again, Ryleigh.”
“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver,” I chanted, lost in the sensation.
Without warning, I felt him enter me with his cock, filling me completely. He leaned over, placing his hands on either side of my head, and began to pump into me with a steady rhythm. Our eyes locked, and we just stared at each other, the connection between us deep and intense. I reached up and touched his face, scratching at the scruff that had grown thicker since the morning.
“I love you, Oliver,” I breathed, my voice trembling with emotion.
“I know,” he panted, his strokes growing more urgent.
“Arrogant asshole,” I choked out.
His gaze darkened. “You know you’ll need to stop saying those things when our son is born,” he teased, a grin playing on his lips.
“I have at least a few months after before he starts talking,” I replied, biting my lip as Oliver drew me closer to the edge.
My body tightened around him, and I dug my nails into his biceps, moving my hand from his face. I threw my head back, moaning his name as I came, my body exploding into flame. Oliver stilled, pulling out of me after I finished.
“What are you doing?” I asked, breathless and confused.
“I want you in my arms when I come,” he said, climbing onto the bed.
I knew he would be positioning himself against the headboard so we could rock together. I moved to straddle him, sinking down onto his length, and wrapped my arms around his neck. We moved together, a slow and intimate rhythm that built with every thrust. Oliver’s hands roamed my back, pulling me closer as his breath quickened.
“I love you, Ryleigh,” he whispered, his voice strained.
“I love you too, Oliver,” I replied, our foreheads touching.
I couldn’t stop saying it. I truly loved him with all my heart. With one final thrust, he came, his body trembling against mine. We stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, our hearts beating in sync.
“This is so good.” I took a large bite of my pepperoni and sausage pizza, throwing a piece of sausage to Trouble. We were sitting on the bed with the box on top of newspapers as we indulged in the delectable slices. I knew I would sleep like a baby after this. My appetite had picked up as my hormones did and I was sure I gained at least a pound.
I seemed to always be snacking while I sat at my desk. I tried to keep it to healthy snacks, fruit, yogurt and nuts but sometimes I gave in to my cravings and ate something sweeter like a candy bar. I knew chocolate wasn’t good for me but occasionally wouldn’t hurt.
By the time we were finished, Oliver had eaten four hearty slices to my two. Trouble, who had his fill of cheese, sausage and crust was quietly napping in his bed near the closet. After Oliver cleaned up, I removed my pink robe and slipped under the covers naked. It was only 8:30, but I was exhausted as sex, loads of carbs, fat and pregnancy could do.
I was half asleep when Oliver slipped into bed next to me, turning on the television and pulling me over to put my head on his chest.
“How are you, Mrs. Fox?”
I yawned. “Ready for bed.”
“Sleep, my sweet girl. I just want to watch the hockey game.”
