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“And you’re going to be the best father in the world when our baby comes,” I finished, not forgetting to add that regardless of how awesome the kiss was. “You’re the best man I know, Tate Townsend, and you make every day better than the one before it for me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life,” I finished, watching as his pupils dilated and his mouth split into a grin.
“I thought you were ignoring the texts I sent you,” he told me, confusing me. “When I said it again last night, you didn’t say anything then either, and I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
“What texts? The only ones I got were about blue balls, our baby being an Avatar, and your fantastic attempt at romantic poetry.” I wouldn’t say it out loud, but I was totally getting that poem put on a mug, a t-shirt, a tank, a bag, probably a key chain, and maybe even engraved on a piece of jewelry that I’d never take off.
“The texts I sent you that…” he broke off when I accidentally flicked his lip with my tongue when I licked my own. He looked torn for a second, and then groaned, “Fuck it!”
Swooping down, he kissed me, going straight from the initial lip touch, into a deep consuming lip lock, and adjusted his position on top of me so that we were pressed up against each other – chest to chest, crotch to crotch.
I didn’t have a lot of experience, but I was fairly certain that your vagina wasn’t meant to turn into a screaming slut within seconds of kissing someone, yet mine did every freaking time. If I couldn’t feel how hard he was too, I’d be embarrassed by her.
Bending my legs at the knees and bracing my feet flat on the mattress, I pressed them down hard so that I could lift my hips up and grind us together where I needed him most – sweet shit, did I need him there. Given how many times we’d done this over the last day, I would have thought I’d be done and recovering for a while, but instead it felt like I hadn’t ever had him. As I ground up into him, the hem on the t-shirt I was wearing lifted, leaving me bare against his cock, the fabric of his boxers the only thing separating us.
Why had I thought they were so awesome minutes ago? They were evil, ugly, hideous… and keeping me from his dick.
Almost like he felt the same way, he reached down and pulled the waistband down, freeing his erection so it was resting against me. Every time I ground up into him, he’d shift so that it was rubbing up and down my wet center, bumping my clit at the same time. Moving my pelvis slightly meant that when his length next moved it ended up resting more in the small space between my lips, making me groan into his mouth. What started off as a low moan grew when he caught my leg behind my knee and shifted it so that it was now over his hip.
“I’m not sure we’re ever gonna be able to leave this bed,” he rasped into my mouth.
“How is this a problem?”
Reaching for the hem of the t-shirt, he tugged it up, meaning I had to do a partial ab curl (totally not as sexy as his with my mini bump) so that he could pull it over my head. “It isn’t,” he muttered as he swooped in and flicked his tongue over my nipple. “Jesus, are these getting bigger?”
Here’s the thing, I wasn’t flat chested, nor was I huge, but I definitely had an ample cup size. When they’d started growing at age eleven, I was so embarrassed being the only girl in my grade wearing a B cup bra. Throughout my diving years, they’d been a pain in the ass because you couldn’t miss them and guys had come to our competitions just to see them. Yeah, I knew that for sure. When someone texts you to tell you how great your tits looked, or holds up a sign with ‘Those tits make a splash!’, you can’t miss it.
Basically, I had been surrounded by asses at school, and it had made me self-conscious. Obviously, when you hit a certain age, you lose that and learn to appreciate what the good Lord above gave you, but there were still times when it would strike again. If you’d asked me a year ago if this would have been one of those times, I’d have said yes. Instead, it just made me want him even more. They weren’t words filled with hearts and flowers, but the tone he’d said them in was almost reverential.
To the men of the world, that tone makes a difference, which was why I did what I did next.
