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I’m obscene with it. Thick, straining, a wet patch already darkening the denim where I’ve been leaking since I pulled that toy out of the box. Her fingers jump. Then they settle, feeling the heat, the pulse, the mess I’ve made of myself just from getting to fuck her with a toy.

“Does that feel like I’m pretending?” My voice has gone rough. “Does that feel like I wish you looked differently? Nobody will ever come close to making me feel how you do, Blaire. This is yours, it’s always been yours. You could walk in here in a trash bag and I’d still be leaking through my jeans like a teenager. Don’t talk about my wife’s body like it’s something I have to forgive.”

Her breath stutters. Wife wasn’t the word I meant to use. It sits there anyway, true in a way the last four years never made untrue.

“I’m not your wife,” she says, but it’s weak. Her hand hasn’t moved off me.

“You were always going to be.” I roll my hips once into her palm so she can feel exactly how gone I am. “You already are, in every way that counts. Now let me see you. Please. I’ve waited long enough.”

She searches my face. Whatever she finds there makes her exhale, shaky, and lift her arms.

I push the hoodie up slow. Over her stomach first. The soft give of it. The faint silver lines along her hips that make my throat tight. I don’t rush past them. I look. I drag my knuckles along one and feel her flinch, then still when I don’t pull away.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, and I mean it so hard it comes out like a vow. “Fuck, Blaire.”

The hoodie goes over her head. I drop it off the side of the bed. She’s in a plain bralette, the kind you wear to pack boxes, and even that feels like a gift. I hook a finger under the band.

“This too?”

She nods, barely.

I get it off, toss it aside, and then she’s just there. Completely bare for me, nipples tight, chest rising too fast, eyes on the ceiling again like if she doesn’t watch me look it might be easier.

I look like a man who’s been starving.

“You’re gorgeous,” I say, and I don’t care how wrecked I sound. “You are the most gorgeous thing I have ever had my hands on.”

“Simon—”

“Hush” I kiss her mouth, deep, then her jaw, then the slope of her breast, careful, reverent, filthy. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to compare you. I’m going to put my mouth on every inch of your incredible body and then I’m going to use that toy on you until you forget how to be embarrassed.”

I pick the pink dildo back up. It’s still slick from her as I drag the head through her folds once, twice, slow enough that her hips chase it, as I lower my mouth to her breasts.

The first pull of my mouth makes her gasp like I shocked her. I groan against her skin. She’s softer here than she used to be, but the feeling of her nipple in my mouth has the same effect on my cock its always had. Her nipple hardens on my tongue and I suck, slow and wet, while I notch the toy against her and ease the head in. Barely an inch. Her back arches off the mattress and I follow her up, mouth still on her breast, sucking harder when she tries to be quiet.

I lift my mouth off just enough to speak. “That’s it. Take it. You can do it sweet girl.”

I work another inch in, twisting, watching her stomach jump—the same stomach she tried to cover, the one with the faint silver lines I want to map with my tongue. I kiss down between her breasts, over the soft give of her belly, open-mouthed, messy, while I feed her the toy in a slow, filthy slide until it’s seated and she’s clenched around it.

“Fuck. Look at this body.” My voice is wrecked. I drag my palm over her hip, thumb tracing a stretch mark like it personally did me a favor. “You grew my son in here. You stretched for him. You fed him. And you thought I’d look at you and want less?” I laugh once, low, against her skin. “I’ve been leaking through my jeans since I pulled this out of a box. I’m going to come in my pants like a teenager before I even get my zipper down, and that’s your fault. This body. These marks. These tits.”

I move back up to suck her other breast into my mouth. Harder. I use my teeth just enough to make her whimper, and I start moving the toy faster.

I grind into her mattress on every stroke of the toy. The wet spot is bigger now. I’m making a mess of myself and I do not care.

“Fucking perfect” I rasp against her nipple, then lick it, then suck again. “Nobody else’s body did this to me. Not once. You could have stretch marks up to your throat and I’d still be this hard. I’d still be this fucking gone.”

She moans, trying to muffle it in her arm. I catch her wrist and pin it to the mattress beside her head.

“No. I want to hear you. You’re going to let me hear what this body sounds like when I take care of it.”

“But Theo-“ “Is dead asleep. Let me hear you.” I growl.

I pick up the pace. The toy slides easier now, coated, filthy, and I angle it until her breath punches out of her and her free hand fists in my hair. I groan into her breast. My hips stutter against the mattress. I’m so close it’s humiliating. The denim is soaked. Every grind is slick and too much and not enough.

“Simon—please—”

“I know. I’ve got you. You’re doing so good.” I squeeze her hip, hard, possessive, while I fuck her with the toy in a rhythm that has the mattress whispering against the wall.