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I take a quick shower and half-dry my hair with a blow dryer before I head downstairs to join Adam and Mila. I find them sitting at the kitchen table with a few bowls of homemade play dough and some bottles of food coloring. Adam is a notoriously terrible cook, but he’s an expert at making homemade play dough.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I say, bending over to kiss the top of Mila’s head.
“Good morning, Mommy. We’re making play dough. See?” She points at the bowls with her chubby finger.
“I see,” I reply as I lean over to kiss Adam’s cheek and whisper in his ear. “Keep banking those points and I’ll let you cash them in tonight.”
He laughs, turning to Mila as I continue into the kitchen. “Okay, baby, how many drops of red do we put in this bowl if we want to make the play dough pink?”
She holds up her hand, using her other hand to hold down her thumb. “Four.”
“Very good!” he replies, holding the dropper over the bowl. “Let’s count them together. One. Two. Three. Four.”
Mila’s face beams with delight and my insides turn to mush. God, I love those two monsters, even when they’re wreaking havoc.
“Okay, if we want to turn this play dough red, we have to put another six drops,” Adam says, plunging the dropper into the bottle of red food coloring again. “Six and four is how many?”
Mila scrunches up her face in confusion.
Adam puts the dropper back into the bottle and turns to face Mila. “You know how to figure out how many drops you need?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay, let’s try it like this. Knock knock.”
She smiles. “Who’s there?”
“Adam.”
She looks at him sideways as if this is a trick. “Adam who?”
“Adam together and what do you get?”
I shake my head. “You are the King of Dad Jokes,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee that’s probably been sitting here for hours. I don’t even bother heating it up in the microwave. I just guzzle it down black and cold, because I like my coffee as unadulterated as possible. If Adam heard me say that aloud, he’d probably say he likes everything as adult-rated as possible.
I finish my cold coffee and begin fixing the three of us some lunch. After we’ve eaten, I put Mila down for her afternoon nap while Adam heads out to pick Kaia up from school. I open his suitcase on top of the bed, where he left it for me, and I’m hit with a strong puff of smoke-scented air. I cough a little as I sort through his clothing so I can start doing laundry.
I don’t normally care if Adam smokes weed. I know it’s his thing. It helps him relax. When I’m not pregnant, I like to have a glass of wine or a beer once in a while. But he’s the one who told me he doesn’t want anything standing in the way of winning the championship this year. If he’s going to spend months away from home while I’m pregnant with twins, he shouldn’t be spending that time smoking away his shot at the title.
I grab the baby monitor and the basket of colored clothes, then I head downstairs to the laundry room. As I stuff the clothes into the washer, something catches my eye through the doorway leading into the unfinished addition.
The laundry room at the back of the house is the gateway to the addition, which will eventually be a new master bedroom with an en suite and French doors leading out onto a backyard deck. The deck will wrap around the entire back of the house, so we’ll be able to walk out the French doors of our bedroom, across the deck, and through the back door leading into the kitchen. Our master bedroom upstairs will be Kaia’s room, and the twins will move into Kaia’s old bedroom.
As I step into the unfinished space, I realize the walls, which were swathed in plain, unpainted plaster yesterday, are now covered in a soft, pale green. Sea moss. That’s the name of the color Adam and I picked out for the bedroom. Did he paint the bedroom while I was sleeping?
And just like that, my anger over the smell on his clothes vanishes like smoke.
By eight p.m., the laundry is all folded and put away, Kaia’s homework is done, and the girls are showered and tucked away in their beds. Adam does his nightly ritual of pulling both cars into the garage, then he walks into the bedroom looking utterly exhausted.
I grab his hand as he softly closes the door behind him. “It’s time for you to relax now.”
He smiles as he watches me lock the door and allows me to pull him toward the bed. “I like where you’re going with this.”
Before he can sit down, I help him out of his T-shirt and cargo shorts. I flash him a seductive smile as I lay my hands flat on the warm, smooth skin of his chest. His mouth hovers over mine as I tilt my head and look into his gorgeous green eyes. He’s only five inches taller than me, but he towers over me in every way. His power. His presence. His heat. He radiates strength and masculinity and pure, unadulterated perfection. And he’s all mine.
“I’m going to do whatever it takes to help you win that championship,” I whisper, my hand sliding down just below his navel. “When you leave for Portugal, I’m going to have my mom come and stay with me, so you don’t have to worry about me being alone.”
I slide my hand down the length of his hardening cock. Even through the fabric of his boxer briefs, I can feel it becoming more engorged and solid by the second.
His eyelids flutter with pleasure. “Oh, yeah. That will make me feel better. Thanks, baby.”
When I can feel he’s fully erect, I gently push his shoulders back for him to lie down, then I climb on top of him to straddle his hips.
“My belly will be too big to do this soon, so I’m going to take advantage of you tonight. Is that okay?” I ask, peeling off my pajama shirt but leaving my panties on.
He laughs as he laces his fingers through mine to hold me steady. “I don’t know. I might need to use the safe word tonight.”
I rub my pussy over his hard cock and the friction of the fabric between us makes my clit warm and primed. “If I hear you say that word, I’m only going to go harder,” I reply, sliding my hips back and forth over his firm length.
“Oh, fuck,” he hisses, letting go of my hands so he can grab my waist. “You’re gonna make me come in my boxers. Beetlejuice.”
“Do not say that word again,” I reply forcefully as I continue to grind myself against him.
Adam had the brilliant idea of creating a safe word, in case things ever got too rough or uncomfortable in the bedroom for either of us. And of course, being Adam he had to choose a ridiculous word. Saying Beetlejuice once means to slow down. Twice means “I’m warning you.” And three times means “Stop it now, fucker.”
He tightens his hold on my waist. “I swear to fucking God, I’m gonna come in my boxers,” he says through gritted teeth. “Beetlejuice.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn him, not even bothering to slow down. “It’s been two weeks. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you tonight.”
He presses his lips together, but I can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or if he’s trying not to say the word. Squeezing his eyes shut, he begins shaking his head. “I can’t. I can’t—fuuuuuuuuuucking Goddamn motherfucking Beetlejuice.”
I quickly slide off him so I’m kneeling at his side, then I pull down his boxers to free his thick cock. As soon as I take him into my mouth, his cum shoots out, the bitter warmth sliding down the back of my throat. I bob my head as his cock throbs with each ejaculation. When I’m certain he’s done, I reach for the glass of water on the nightstand to
wash it all down.
Setting the glass down, I turn back to him, smiling at the blissful look on his face. “Fuck Beetlejuice.”
“I’d rather fuck you,” he says breathlessly as he reaches up to grab my breast. “Your boobs did get bigger. I guess your body’s getting ready to feed two babies at once.” He licks his lips as he pinches my nipple. “How about you feed one tonight? Take your panties off and come sit on my face.”
I slide out of my underwear and toss them somewhere behind me. He watches me with a ravenous look in his eyes as I crawl across the bed toward him.
“That’s it, baby. Come to Daddy.”
I bite my lip as I sit up on my knees and swing one leg over his chest until I’m straddling his face with my back toward the headboard. From this position, with my pussy hovering just inches above his face, I watch his dick inflate so fast it practically smacks his abdomen. If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d probably laugh. This position always makes me a little scared that I’m going to suffocate him. But I’m even more anxious now that I’ve gained so much weight. Glancing back at him over my shoulder, though, it’s obvious he is not the least bit intimidated by the new round fullness of my hips.
I lean forward a bit, resting my hand on the mattress and wrapping my other hand around his cock. Getting a firm grip, I lower myself slowly onto his face. His tongue is firm and hot as he swipes it over my clit. I try not to move my hips for a while as I continue pumping my fist on his cock. But every flick of his tongue makes me hungrier for the orgasm I’ve been craving since he left for California two weeks ago.
