Her face flushes, and I have a pretty good idea how she feels about him.
“It’s fine. Dad didn’t like Jon either,” says Delia.
“I did,” says Jensen. “He was just old.”
Everybody looks at him.
“Anyway,” Delia says. “Just let the idea grow on him, and he’ll come around to it.”
“The number of times I’m roasted in my own home, that I pay for, is what’s appalling,” says Jensen.
“Oof,” Delia interjects, running a hand over her stomach.
“You all good?” I ask. “You’re pretty close to your due date.”
She nods, breathing in and out slowly. “I’m fine, but these Braxton Hicks have had me up all night. Feels like somebody’s cinching me up, can’t breathe.”
“Nothing else?”
“No, I’m fine, Mom. Not in labor,” she says, giving me a look.
Jensen sinks down on my other side, a hand on my thigh. “She’s alright, darling.”
“Says the man who’s never done this.”
“You’ve got a point.”
Delia laughs, rolling her eyes. Julie-Mae’s timer goes off, and she starts shooing everybody back so she can open the oven. Pretty soon, everybody’s got a coffee and a muffin, and we’re all gathered around the table, just like old times again.
After a while, Jensen gets up to set his cup in the sink. “Now, you all clear out, or you’re about to witness something really appalling.”
They do, leaving us alone in the kitchen. Jensen has that look in his eyes, the one where I end up underneath him. Rising, I move quickly from the kitchen and make a quick sprint up the stairs. He’s on my heels with all the energy of when we first met. His fingers catch my skirt, but I sidestep him, ducking into the bedroom.
I try to shut the door. He forces it open, snatching me around the waist and pulling me back against him.
“Bad girl,” he whispers into my neck.
Breathing hard, I wriggle my ass back against his groin. He’s hard, ready to go, like he always is when he plays with me. Abruptly, he lifts me off my feet and slings me onto my back on the bed, reaching for his belt. My hands move fast, ripping off all my clothes by the time he’s got his pants undone. He grips my thigh, pulling me close. I gasp, head falling back as his cock slides inside me, thick and filling me just the way I crave.
He bends in, kissing me briefly. My hands dig under his shirt, pulling up over his head. Nails dragging over his tattooed chest, I lift my mouth to his throat and bite.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans.
His spine does a little whiplash movement, thrusting his cock so deep in me, it aches. I lurch, taking the brunt of it against my spread thighs. His jaw tightens, hips dipping in a series of slow, shallow thrusts. The head of his cock strokes that spot just inside, sending delicious tingles through my body and making my stomach swoop like I’ve tumbled over a cliff.
Abruptly, he flips me onto his lap and sinks back into the headboard. Usually when we do this, it’s rough, pretty dirty. But today, he slows it down by gripping my hips, lifting me a little, and easing me onto his cock. We both inhale sharply as he bottoms out. I rock back and forth, adjusting. His palm drags up my thigh, tracing patterns on my side.
“You pretty well adjusted for me, baby?” he asks.
I nod, giving a little shiver. He feels so good, big and filling me to the brim. The corner of his mouth turns up as his hand tightens, moving with the rocking motion of my body. His free hand moves between my thighs, brushing where we connect, encircling his cock with his fingers so he can feel the way he stretches my pussy.
“You like that, baby,” he says.
Not a question—he knows.
I nod, lids heavy. “I love that.”
Gently, gathering the arousal from between us, he eases his middle finger in, working it slowly so he doesn’t hurt me. The added fullness is heaven, pressure in all the right places. The tip curls, finding that sensitive place and caressing gently. The sensation is slow at first. Then, it’s bright and overwhelming, a hot pleasure and a growing need to release.
