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“Let me be the judge of that. Lie back. Spread those thick thighs and slip this little fingers where you need them most.” He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my forefinger and middle finger softly before guiding them between my legs and pushing my shoulder until I’m lying down. He gently lifts each leg and positions them how he’d like them, spread wide with my knees bent and tipped outward. The position isn’t the most comfortable way to lie with my ever-growing baby belly, so I wiggle and twist until I’m at the head of the bed, reclining on the pillows.
Arlo returns to the chair he’d been sitting in when I first woke up and sprawls comfortably. In the soft light of the morning sun, I can see the expectant tilt of one brow as he waits for me to get on with it. My hands obey, following the routine even before my brain accepts it, and I pull my sleepshirt over the mound of my tummy, exposing my body from just under my breasts down. No panties to bed—another rule imposed by my sort of kidnapper.
“Beautiful. You said you don’t need to come, but the shine of your wet girl juice is all over those plump little lips. Makes you a pretty liar.” In the beginning, Arlo only listened. Lately, he’s been watching more and more closely. I want him to touch me. To let me touch him. I know he won’t, though. Not right now, anyway. I’m not sure what he’s waiting for.
I’ve run through every excuse I can think of for why he won’t take what I know I’d gladly give, but none seem right. At first, I thought it was because he didn’t want me, but day after day, I see the hard bulge in his lap. When he pulls me close in the hallway, so none of his brothers can brush against me, he’s always thick and solid where his groin presses against me. Then I thought maybe my pregnancy was a turn off, but he spends more time touching and worshiping my belly than I do.
I’m uncertain what’s keeping him from giving me the dicking down that I want, but I wish whatever it is would disappear. All these weeks of my own fingers, never any toys or the very real dick I know he could give me, are getting frustrating. My fingers swirl around and around my clit, dipping into my hole and pulsing as deep as I can get them. They come out sticky with my arousal, the scent of it heavy in the room and the audible sound of my body slurping around them is louder than my panting.
I tap my fingertips against the aching knot of my clit, the slap sharp enough to drag Arlo’s attention away from where my hand is ineffective at bringing me off and up to my face. My eyes well with frustrated tears as I take in the way he roughly runs his massive palm over the bulging ridge behind his zipper. I realize with bone-deep certainty that’s what I need. Not my own short, skinny fingers. I need to be filled everywhere I’ve been too empty for too long. I need Arlo.
“Please,” I beg. “Please help me. I can’t… I can’t get there. I need you. I need… I need…” Tears fall freely now, the tremor of this knife’s edge of lust that won’t topple into pleasure making me desperate.
“I’ve got you, Francesca. I’ll always take care of what’s mine.” I know he’s promising more than just this moment, and the snarled up stress and longing that’s been choking me for weeks begins to ease.
Chapter
Fourteen
ARLO
A man can only delay the inevitable for so long. Me and Frankie? Inescapable. It doesn’t even matter that I’ve spent my life avoiding and resisting women thanks to the damage from my bitch of a mother. There’s no denying the shift that’s recentered my gravity. I orbit around Francesca Holt now, and there’s no unringing that bell.
“Don’t tease me, Arlo. Please. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t!” Frankie’s head is thrown back, pressing into the pillow. A halo of dark brown hair tangles around her, sticking in sweaty swirls against her temples and cheeks.
Her eyes lose the unfocused haze of need when I tug my shirt over my head. As she drinks in the sight of my body, lust sharpens the pupils that arousal had blown wide only minutes ago. The pink tip of her tongue licks along her bottom lip, and I swear I feel the ghost of its touch over every swirl of ink on my chest.
Guilt settles in my stomach, blurring the sharp need that’s been slicing through me since the moment I laid eyes on Francesca for the first time. I’ve been snarled up in my own bullshit, denying her what she needs for some useless idea I can protect myself from letting go of the past, and for what? She’s nothing like my mother, and I’m not that weak little kid anymore, either.
“Arlo?” Concern chills the heat between us. I can’t have that. Not now that I’m finally pulling my head out of my ass.
“Lie back, Cuteness. That wet little pussy has a job to do, and I’m going to make sure it gets done.” My words are playful, but there’s nothing humorous about the way I prowl from the foot of the bed to hover over her.
“Arlo!” She gasps when my mouth dives between her legs with no preamble. She’s been edging herself unintentionally this whole time, so I know it won’t take long to drive her over the edge into a climax. But that’s not the way this will go down.
I don’t just want to give Francesca an orgasm. I want to shower her with pleasure. Bathe her with satisfaction. Flood her with a climax so earthshattering her memories of any lover who came before me are drowned and forgotten.
“Settle down and take what I give you, Francesca. You’ve been asking for this for weeks.” And I’m a bastard for not making our first time romantic. No help for it.
Any plans I had for flowers and wooing her are dead in the water. My woman’s own fingers have done the job of keeping her satisfied for weeks, much to my listening enjoyment. The moment she started to struggle, nothing else mattered. I’ll be damned if I’ll let her suffer or do without anything she needs in this life. Francesca is mine, and if she needs my fingers, my mouth, they’re hers.
My lips wrap around damn near the entire rise of her mons. I push my tongue between the plush lower lips guarding her tight hole and hard clit. Her flavor is tart and tinged with the floral soap she uses in the shower. I don’t need to be with a hundred women to know her taste is the one I want for the rest of my life. I only need to be with her to know no other female will ever compare.
Her hips make tiny thrusts up to grind her opening against my chin, and I take it for the plea it is. Frankie’s cunt begs to be filled, so I feed it my fingers. First one, then a second and finally a third sliding into the rippling channel I know will be a perfect fit for my aching cock when the time is right.
This is for her, though, not me. While her head’s thrown back to the ceiling, I sneak a hand to my groin and give my dick a rough squeeze. The pain bites through the desperate pounding in my balls that demands to be inside her. I grip below my throbbing erection to wrap my fist around the two stones masquerading as nuts in my pants and crush them so tight I’d worry for my future baby-making abilities if I wasn’t so desperate not to come.
I’ve never jerked off so much in my life as I have since the first time I saw Frankie. And maybe, it’s a shallow victory, but the fact I’ve managed to simultaneously keep my dick in my pants and not embarrass myself by coming in my boxers like a teenager is a source of some pride.
“Make me come, Arlo! You’re the reason I’m even like this. I’m only so horny now because of you! Please, please, make me come!” Frankie sobs and begs.
I’ll wear her lust as a badge of honor just as priceless as the Ghost Born cut that means more to me than my own life. It’s time to give my girl what she’s so desperate for.
My fingers put deliberate pressure against the spongy spot along the front of her channel, I work her G-spot in tandem with the suction of my lips around her clit. The very end of the ball of nerves pinches between my teeth for my tongue to lash back and forth at the same pace my fingertips spear that answering spot deep within her.
Frankie shatters. Absolutely shatters. Her cries are so loud I know it’ll be my brothers hearing the sound of ecstasy from my room for once rather than the other way around. My intention to hold back my own nut retreats like a tide obeying the moon’s call, and my sore balls unload, my cock exploding without a single touch.
A lifetime of trauma and misguided fear of women dilutes in the torrent of love that pumps through me. My racing heart settles into a cadence of swelling waves that overflows and leaves me exhausted, my cheek resting on the swell of her belly. The tight skin of her stomach bucks, bouncing my head with the momentum of the baby rolling in her safe haven within Francesca’s womb.
