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His gaze flits from his erection to me. “Come here, sweetheart.”
My hands fall to my sides, and I approach him. He knows how to get me off better than sometimes I even do. Swiftly, he uses both of his hands to clutch my hips and he lifts me to the table. I’m standing. He pushes on the small of my back until I’m in line with his head. While he’s sitting at a slight angle, he has the perfect height to kiss me between the legs.
The sensation nearly buckles my knees. I clutch his hair, and he clutches my ass, his tongue doing wonders to me. I cry, open-mouthed and out of breath. I watch how his right hand returns to his cock. Oh God.
His tongue does something—I cry so loud that I cover my mouth with my hand. Holy shit.
“I can’t…” I’m blinded. Ahhhh…oh my God!!
One of the faster times that I’ve come, he effortlessly changes positions, transitioning me to my back on the table. Before I even blink. Before I’ve even descended from this mountain. His fingers stroke my heat, building me. Building me.
I buck up, legs wrestling beneath him. He has one knee on the table, hovered above me, and he jacks off. Oh… I can’t close my mouth.
I stare him up and down, dying in pleasure. “Ryke,” I cry. His masculinity thunders above me, and I’d watch this beautiful storm morning, noon, and night.
Dear God, give him to me always.
I ache for him to fill me, and my back keeps arching to reciprocate all the nerve-splitting sensations. I rake my nails down his arms. He teases my clit.
I light up, eyes rolling back. Fuck. Fuck.
“Dais,” he groans, his ass flexing as he rocks forward, craving to be inside me. He spits in his palm again, no lube. We didn’t bring out lube.
“Am I wet?” I ask in a short breath, practically panting. I can’t catch my breath like him. My shoulders grind into the stiff wooden table.
“Yeah. Don’t fucking worry about that, Dais.” I see his glistening fingers, even though he never put them inside of me. He rubs his erection only two times more, not coming yet. Then he lifts me in his arms, setting me on the deck, and he kisses me with such hunger that my body pulls into his. I walk backwards while he walks forwards.
My spine hits the railing.
He hikes one of my legs around his waist, his cock pressed against me. I dizzy, and he pauses for a moment so I can take a few strong inhales. He watches me closely, his brows rising at me, my own eyes glazed.
“Holy…” shit. I pant.
Rain pelts his shoulders and soaks his hair. “How do those fucking orgasms feel, Calloway?”
I smile. “Very, very euphoric.” He’s still the only one who can make me come, and I’d never try with anyone else. “Tell my husband thanks?”
His body up against mine, he says, “I’d rather give you another one and push my fucking cock inside of you.”
Oh my God.
I pulse, but my gaze drifts towards the window. If Sulli wakes up, she’d see his ass and one of my legs wrapped around him.
“Hey,” Ryke says lowly, his hand suddenly on my cheek. His brows furrow. “What’s fucking wrong?”
I hold onto his waist. “Sulli…windows…”
“Don’t fucking think about it.”
I hope that his body will distract me, but not even the constant sight of his erection keeps me from peeking over his shoulder. Towards the window.
Ryke spins me around, and I clutch the railing while he stands behind me. He spreads my legs open a little wider with his foot. We don’t fuck in this position often, so he has to help angle me. Pulling my hips backwards, stretching out my torso so I’m not standing straight up.
I crane my neck over my shoulder, but only to look at him. Ryke pushes his erection right up against my opening, and I tighten in expectancy, body thrumming.
He’s about to fuck me from behind, not in the ass. A moan catches my throat even before he pushes in, our gazes locking. I find the breath to say, “What an animal, that Ryke Meadows.”
Ryke literally has my hips in his grasp, his expression just a thousand times I’m going to fuck you, sweetheart.
This primal position builds heat all around us, though I have a difficult time watching us unless he videotapes the act. Which we don’t do anymore.
I strain my neck as much as possible, wanting to see. He slowly, inch-by-inch, fills me with his cock. I gasp, a cry stuck. I grip the railing harder, and my head falls. He thrusts against my ass, the friction wild. I tremble, and not long, he brings me up, clasping my face. He kisses me while he fucks me from behind.
I can barely stand straight, light bursting in my brain.
Fifteen minutes in, the fullness brushes against every nerve. I’m melted in his arms, and he holds me against his chest and drives deeper. I cry and cry, all sounds of pleasure, and he grunts into my neck, “Fuck…Dais. Fuck.”
And then…
Knock. Knock.
“Daddy! Mommy!”
Knock Knock.
I freeze, just hitting a climax that sputters out faster than the other two. I glance over my shoulder, our three-year-old at the door with her stuffed starfish, lightly rapping the door. She stares right at us.
“Ryke…” I have no clue what to do. Sulli can see his naked body up against mine like we’re two animals mating on National Geographic.
Ryke is already looking over his shoulder, then back to me. “Hey, she won’t remember any of this, Calloway. Fucking relax.”
I must look horrified.
He tries to cheer me up by messing my hair, but it’s too damp to ruffle. I just fixate on his words: she won’t remember any of this. She’s too young. It eases my shoulders. Ryke gently pulls out of me, and I relocate the rest of my senses.
“I’ll see what she wants.”
Before I go, Ryke kisses my lips and asks, “You feel okay?”
He means physically after sex. “I just had five million orgasms. I think I’m better than okay.”
“Five fucking million?”
“I know you’re jealous of my husband, but he’s just that good at sex.” I wag my brows, migrating away from him, and he looks like all he wants is to pull me back into his arms.
I slip into the house and crouch down to Sulli, Ryke pulling on his boxer-briefs much farther away from us. “Hey there. Why aren’t you in bed?”
She rubs her tired eyes with a fist. “I saw that you were gone, and…and I got scared.” She peeks curiously behind me. “What were you and Daddy…” She yawns and forgets that question. I could find a way to answer, but I’m glad I don’t have to.
I nudge her arm with mine. “You know who will always protect you, even while you’re sleeping, even when Daddy and I aren’t around?”
“Who?” she asks.
“Coconut.”
Sulli spins around and stands on her tiptoes, peering up at the white husky. She lies content at the foot of the bed, observing us, constantly alert, a smile in her big blue eyes as though to say I love you all too.
Without another word, Sulli braves this foreign place and crawls back into bed, hanging onto the familiar animal. Coconut welcomes her with a lick to the cheek.
I know life is different with a baby. The little things and the bigger things, but I smile at every new moment, every crazy second. I wouldn’t trade a thing.
{ 24 }
October 2021
Dalton Elementary
Philadelphia
LOREN HALE
Career Day.
Moffy needed to bring one of us to school, just to speak about our job field in front of his classmates and other parents. In prep school, I plagiarized papers, refused to do presentations (even if they were worth half of my grade), and I cheated on exams by slipping answers up the sleeve of my shirt.
I’m not exactly the person you want to show off to your teacher or the person you want speaking in a room full of children. Lily and public speaking—they don’t go well together either. She trips over her words and starts sweating.
To see who’d attend Career Day, we did the mature thing and played rock-paper-scissors.
I lost.
So I’m sitting in the tiniest plastic chair, a line of them pushed against the wall for parents. We all wait our turn.
If you told me at twenty—ten goddamn years ago—that I’d be here, today, giving a speech to my six-year-old’s kindergarten class, I’d have laughed at you. Then I would’ve reminded you that I’d never have a child and subject them to a life of pain and misery.
To a life with me.
My old self is sitting apathetically in the back of the classroom, wishing this day would end. While I sit up at the front and wish today would last just a little longer.
Paper ghosts dangle from the ceiling. Painted pumpkins taped to the windows. A bowl of candy corn sits on the teacher’s desk. It just reminds me that my thirtieth birthday and Halloween will be here soon.
I’m sandwiched between a doctor in blue scrubs and a stockbroker in a suit. I wear jeans and a black V-neck shirt. This might be a private school, all the parents upper-class, but it’s clear that I’m the odd one out.
