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Like honey. Like ambrosia. Like a fine fucking wine that ought to be savored…
But I can’t stop myself for long enough to slow down and enjoy the taste.
I need more of her.
Now.
I hook her calves over my shoulders and lift her against my mouth. The hours that I’ve managed to squeeze in at the gym pay off as I carry her to my bed like that: riding my face and smearing her juices all over my lips.
“You’re fucking ovulating,” I tell her, breathing heavy as I toss her into my bed. “You’re in heat—I can taste it.”
“Fucking good then,” she snarls, crawling across the mattress to me. “Put your baby in me!”
She’s on all fours, clawing at my belt in an instant. She wants my cock so bad, her fingers have forgotten how belts work. That only makes me harder. I have to push her back on the bed and watch her pout while I unbuckle it myself.
The button, though. And the zipper.
Those, she figures out for herself.
Her mouth on my cock feels desperate. Hungry. She laps my pre-cum up with an animalistic eagerness that makes me want to shoot my cum down her throat until she’s gagging on it.
Instead, I grab a fistful of bleach blonde hair and pull her lips away. My cock exits her mouth with a satisfying POP!
“That’s not gonna get you pregnant,” I growl with need.
She grins up at me, eyes hooded with that same need.
“No?” she asks, faux-innocent. “Then by all means, doctor—show me how it’s done.”
Five
Sabrina
Personally, I blame hormones.
The same dangerous cocktail of chemicals that left me acting like a sobbing mess a week ago—and a heinous bitch the week before that—has now made me literally fucking insane.
Like, there’s some idiotic trigger-happy piece of grey matter deep within my lizard brain that’s overriding every rational thought I might have right now.
Every part of me that should be telling me that I’m crazy—that this is some truly ridiculous bullshit, and that sane women don’t go having babies with strange doctors who fold their laundry—those parts of me are apparently hanging out back with the rest of my freshly pleated La Perlas.
Because every part of me in Rainier’s bed right now is spread across his mattress and dripping onto his sheets while I look at him like a wild animal freshly uncaged.
“Fuck me! Fuck me pregnant like you fucking mean it!” I yell at him, sitting up and leaning into him.
He doesn’t say anything back. He just takes a fistful of my hair in one hand and his cock in the other. And he smacks me across the fucking face with it.
A mix of my saliva and his precum smears across my cheek on impact.
He’s big enough and thick enough, and he hit me with his dick hard enough, that I’m knocked back onto the bed after his shaft connects with my cheekbone.
He puts his palm down on that little space in the center of my belly, just between my ribs, and holds me down while he moves between my thighs.
As for me? I’m just laying back, seeing hearts and stars.
A man like Rainier can smack me with his dick any day.
“Is this what you want, Sabrina?” The heel of Rainier’s hand massages the lowest of my ribs, then moves in a circle around my belly to show me where our child might grow if he succeeds. “You want me to put a baby right here?”
