He did as he promised, reaching for a pillow—still nestled inside me, getting into an odd angle that made me arch and sigh and clench. His chest rumbled, satisfied, as he tucked the pillow under my hips so they were elevated.
Only then did he pull out.
But…that didn’t mean he was done.
I gasped when I felt him gather up the arousal that had leaked out of me and push it back in—deep as he could, his fingers thrusting inside me toward my cervix. I stretched myarms out and gripped the sheets, pushing against his fingers, fucking myself on them.
Then he was actually finished.
Laying down beside me…kissing my throat.
“You want me to stay or go?” he whispered.
I turned my head on the pillow and looked at him.
He was propped on one elbow, watching me in the low light, his hair a mess and his jaw loose in a way I hadn't seen it before. He looked younger like this. Still older than me—still devastatingly, inconveniently older than me—but softer.
More human.
I wanted him to stay so badly I almost said it directly.
I did not say it directly.
"I mean," I said, "shouldn't we try a few more times tonight? To be thorough?"
Something shifted in his face.
"Thorough," he said.
"The contract doesn't specify a daily limit."
"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."
"And it seems like—statistically speaking—more attempts would increase the probability of?—"
"Millie."
"—successful conception, so really it's just?—"
"Millie."
"What."
"Do youwant meto stay?"
I pressed my face into the pillow briefly. Then I turned back and looked at him.
"If you think you've got another few rounds in you," I said.
His eyes did something. Slow and dark and warm all at once.
"For you?" he said.
"That was the question, yes."
He looked at me for a moment. That flat certain look, except it wasn't flat at all right now, hadn't been flat since the first second in the bedroom. Something moved across his face that he didn't try to hide.
"At least a few," he said.
