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“Your parents are good,” he said, sounding sick to his stomach. “They made it sound like you’d only donated once. Had I known it was as many as it was, I would’ve…”
“Done the same thing, because you’re a big ol’ softy,” I countered.
He groaned into my shoulder. “I would take every single thing back if I could. God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I wrapped my arms around his head and squeezed it tight.
He made a protesting sound into my armpit. “Staaaaap.”
I snickered and squeezed harder.
His hands came up, and all of a sudden, I was no longer the one in charge, he was.
And I was on the bottom, his legs on either side of my ribs, while he tickled the crap out of me.
“Wade!” I cried out loudly. “Noooo!”
By the time he stopped, I was crying from laughing so hard, and I barely caught my breath before he was switching gears back to where we’d previously been only ten minutes before.
With this new position he was in, his balls were resting on my chest, and his large cock was growing bigger by the second, bisecting my breasts.
His eyes were now heated, and he was staring at me like I was about to really like what he was about to do to me.
“How can you already be hard?” I questioned, voice barely over a whisper.
His eyes went from my breasts to my eyes. “Do you see where I’m sitting right now?”
I looked down, opened my mouth to reply that I did, in fact, see where he was sitting, and he took advantage of my position and pushed his cock into my mouth.
I teasingly bit down, and his eyes flared.
Then we did it all over again. This time hard and fast, but still just as sweet.Chapter 16Apparently, the correct response to ‘see you later, alligator’ is not ‘after supper, motherfucker.’
Who knew?
-Wade to Landry
Wade
“I’m gonna be somebody, someday!” my wife—my very drunk wife—sang loudly with the song that was playing through the speakers.
Bayou’s eyes met mine and promptly slid away. “You know, I’m actually kind of impressed how well she holds a tune.”
I chuckled. “She sings pretty damn good when she’s not drunk. It doesn’t surprise me that she sings well when she is…although at this point I’m really quite surprised she’s hitting all the notes. She’s on beer seven, I think…”
“Eight,” Izzy replied, mirth filling her eyes. “I think she finished her eighth as she was walking toward the food table. That’s her bottle that Linc is holding.”
We all looked over to where Linc and his wife were standing. Conleigh and Landry were now slow dancing to a very fast-paced song while Linc watched on, extremely amused.
“I think she got sidetracked,” I admitted, finding it amusing that my wife had let her hair down and had actually had some fun after the day that she’d had.
“I really like her,” Izzy murmured, watching as Linc walked toward us with delight written all over his face. “She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Did you know that she said I could drop off the baby at her daycare whenever I needed to?”
I felt my heart pang at that.
“She wants a baby,” I murmured, watching Landry stumble and right herself.
She looked down at the offending object that’d tripped her—her own feet—and scowled.
Moments later, her heels were kicked off in the direction of our table and she was once again dancing, though now Conleigh and Landry had switched to line dancing.
“Then give her one,” Linc said as he caught the tail end of our conversation.
I felt things inside of me clench.
“If I could, I would,” I murmured. “But, when Landry was a teenager, she had an infection that got out of control and they had to remove her ovaries and fallopian tubes.”
Izzy blew out a breath. “Shit. That makes me feel awful.”
It did me, too.
Every single day since we’d found out that we were still married and that I wasn’t going to let her go again, I’d been thinking about ways to make this better. To give her the things that we both wanted.
And I’d finally decided that adoption was likely the way to go.
Only, I had no clue whatsoever where to start.
“When she told me that she wanted to start the daycare when we first met, I had no clue why. She said she loved kids, and that she’d always wanted to do it.” I paused, unsure if I should go on, but at a loss for how to handle the situation without putting my ass in the fire again—so to speak. “She wants kids. She wants them badly. The only problem is that she can’t have them and that I can…she said she always wanted to have a baby that looks like me, with my hair. I’m not sure if that means that I should offer to find a surrogate and we use my stuff, or we straight up go for adoption. I’m so fuckin’ scared of losin’ her that I don’t want to say anything wrong and risk offending her.”
