I wanted her hands around me, gripping and pulling, frenzied in that way that we seemed to never have energy for anymore. Wanted that slick slide of tongue over my skin and the vibrating sounds of pleasure, the urgency. She bent, licking another wet line from the head to my balls, smiling with her eyes up at me as she pointed her tongue and ran it around and around and around in a wet circle at the very tip of my cock.
Fuck.
My fingers found their way into her hair, massaging, guiding her down and I was speaking nonsense; encouraging her and begging her and praising her fucking perfect, sweet little mouth.
“Love that mouth. Fucking love it.” I ran a finger down from her temple to her lips, feeling her slide back and forth over me. “I bet you could take me all the way down, couldn’t you?” I said, giving in to what I wanted so so much.
She took me farther and farther until her eyes watered and she pulled back, sucking in air and staring up at me. I was harder than I’d been in ages, practically shaking with the need for her.
I needed Sara’s deep brown eyes and quiet, scratchy voice and hands that were both soft and strong. I wanted only the arch of Sara’s spine and the taste of the wet between her legs and the clench of her when she came around me with a shocked cry. I’d been with her a hundred times and every one of those times she’d been a different woman—a new discovery—revealing something new of herself.
With my cock between her lips, she reached back and unfastened her bra, letting it slide down her arms and land silently on the floor.
Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at me and when she reached forward and played with her nipple, I was fucking done.
Perfect suction, her hot little ass in perfect view . . . holy fuck. I closed my eyes and gave in to the clawing ache that built in my thighs and stretched upward, tightening . . .
A tiny thump sounded in the other room: Anna rolling into the side of the crib. She coughed a few times.
I started to step away but Sara planted her hands on my hips with quiet urgency. “She’s fine. You’re so close, baby, stay.”
And then the baby started to cry.
Sara slid her mouth down again, sucking hard and fast, begging with her eyes for me to relax, to come, to keep this moment alive somehow, but how the bloody hell was I supposed to fuck her mouth with our infant daughter crying in the other room?
The hungry cry, Sara once told me. “Do you hear it?” she’d asked. “How different it sounds?”
I knew without having to even ask that her breasts were growing heavy and uncomfortable.
This time, when I stepped back, she let me.
I ran the pad of my thumb from her temple down across her cheek to rest on her full, wet bottom lip. “Petal. Go on.”
With an apologetic grimace she took my hand and stood. She looked so fucking beautiful in front of me: topless, wearing her tiny lace pants, legs toned and smooth. She stretched and kissed me once, soft and slow, trapping my cock between us.
“We’ll finish this later?”
“Sure,” I murmured, kissing her forehead.
Her ass, when she turned and stepped into the nursery, was sublime. And then she bent, picked up our baby, and walked to the rocking chair.
Instead of sitting at her feet like usual, I went down the hall into the bedroom to let my body come down.
Twenty minutes later I felt Sara crawl into bed behind me. Her hand was warm when it slid around my chest. Her mouth was soft and wet on the bare skin of my shoulder.
“You awake?” she whispered, letting her hand run down my stomach to where I was naked under the covers. My body began to respond when she gripped me, but I was so fucking close to sleep, so exhausted. I took her hand in mine and pulled it up to my chest, wordlessly telling her we’d find another time.
* * *
“Good morning, sunshine.” Will was sitting in my chair, his feet perched on my desk.
I glanced at him and then shut my office door behind me. “Comfortable?”
“My office is better,” he said in response. “How was the epic shagfest?”
“Mildly disappointing.”
His playful expression dimmed at my probably-too-honest answer and he sat up, planting his elbows on his knees. “What happened?”
I dropped my laptop bag near my office closet and sat across from him. “George was good, it was just a lot of updates, a lot of mishaps at the restaurant, and then the sex that never quite happened after.”
“What kind of mishaps?”
“Alfredo on the trousers, water dumped on the mix, Sara’s breasts leaking through her dress, the valet scraped my car. You know, the usual date night.”
Will held up a hand. “Her breasts and the dress and the what now?”
I sighed. “William. Sometimes you disappoint me with your predictability.”
But he was already shaking his head. “I’m honestly curious. They . . . leak?”
I felt my brows pull together. “Well . . . yeah. ’Course they do. You do realize where milk comes from, right? What they’re actually for? That they weren’t created simply for you to enjoy.”
“Do not blaspheme, Max,” he said, holding out a single finger in warning. He looked a little dazed. “And they leak like, constantly?”
“Not constantly, you bleeding idiot. Just when she hasn’t fed Anna in a few hours or if she hears her cry . . .” I winced, meeting his eyes. “Or another baby cry, apparently. I didn’t really anticipate that one, to be honest.”
I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that I felt like I was betraying Sara’s privacy in talking about this; it was more that I felt I had access to a secret room in the man tavern and I really shouldn’t hand over the password to Will until it was his time. Let him suffer a bit.
I gave him my most condescending smile. “Lots of things happen with the female body that even you haven’t seen.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Why?” I clucked my tongue sympathetically. “It brings me such joy.”
Will tilted his head, and seemed to consider whether or not to tell me something. His blue eyes narrowed and a little smile took over one half of his mouth.
I waited it out until I knew he couldn’t stand it anymore. The staring contest continued for at least ten seconds longer.
“Fine,” he said on a bursting exhale. “I’ve been with a pregnant woman before.”
I regarded him with mild disgust. “Okay, given that I know you’ve never impregnated anyone yourself, I’m just going to say it: that’s slightly fucking weird.”
“Yeah . . . I did a lot of shit then that I wouldn’t do now. But I’ve never been with a woman who . . .” He glanced down to his chest and looked back up at me, brows raised.
“Right,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. Will was such a notorious breast man, it occurred to me that it was strange that he hadn’t seemed to think about this perk of motherhood before now.
“What does it taste like?” he said, like a crack in the air.
I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “William.”
“Maximillian. Don’t even try to pretend like you haven’t tasted it.”
I remembered the conversation Sara and I had about it the first week we were home. We were in the newborn haze, with dishes piled in the sink and in the same clothes we’d worn the day before. Sara was in pain, and I did what I could to help relieve it: with my hands, my mouth. She’d watched, eyes wide and grateful, her nails gently scratching my scalp and asked me how it tasted.
I blinked back over to Will. “It’s . . . sweet,” I admitted.
He whimpered, closing his eyes. “I feel like I need to meet Hanna at the apartment for a lunchtime—”
“Christ, you’re pathetic.”
He opened his eyes and studied me, eyes narrowing. “You dig it.”
“Her tits are glorious. Of course I dig them.”
“Not just that. It.” He leaned forward, forcing me to hold his gaze. “You do! Holy shit! You dig that they leak and think it’s weird. Are you feeling shame, Gentle Giant?”
I pulled back, shaking my head at him. “Absolutely not.”
“And by ‘absolutely not’ you mean, ‘I am absolutely horrified that I dig the—’ ”
“I’m close to kicking you out of my office.”
He laughed, rocking the chair back on two legs. “Which means I’m close to unearthing the truth.”
“The truth, you sodding wanker, is it’s just a weird balance right now.” I hesitated for a moment, trying to organize my thoughts. “Yes, of course there are things about it that are surprisingly hot. But before, it was just us. Max and Sara, living together, still getting to know each other. It’s like you and Hanna now: you can stay out as late as you want, fuck as loud and often as you want, go on a weekend holiday without notice. We were deep in the throes of that, and now there is a little girl in my life who is more important than anything. And . . .” I pulled at the back of my neck. “I didn’t expect it. I didn’t expect to feel so many things at once. I feel like I’m walking around with my heart outside my body, and I know it’s even more true for Sara. I didn’t know how hard it would be to see her energy split. So yeah, the fact that I basically want to fuck her all the time but worry that I’ll . . .”
He sat quietly, listening. But when I couldn’t figure how else to explain the strange tension in me, he guessed: “You feel guilty.”
“A bit.” I slid my palm across my mouth. “I mean, look. There’s only so much I’m needed for right now. Sara feeds her, holds her. Anna wants her mum, you know? I can change her and sing to her and take her running, but she doesn’t need me yet.” I grimaced, hating how it sounded to admit: “But I still need a lot. It feels selfish to want the ‘epic shagfest’—as you so delicately put it—to be just as wild as it ever was. It isn’t just about me anymore.”
“Funny that you haven’t mentioned what Sara wants it to be like.”