"You need to wait," he said. "You haven't been waiting long enough."
I had been waiting for approximately my entire life. I told him so. He laughed—that low, brief exhale—and pressed two fingers inside me and held them still.
"There," he said. "That better?"
It wasn't. It was worse and it was perfect and I told him that too, and he did something with his fingers that made me sob against the padding.
"You're so wet," he said, almost to himself. His fingers worked slow, spreading, and I felt myself clench around nothing every time he pulled back. "Every time. Three days and your pussy still gets this wet for me this fast."
"Please—"
"I'm going to fill you up," he said. Conversational. Like he was telling me the weather. "Going to put my cock in you and keep it there until you've taken every drop. You understand?" His thumb found my clit and pressed and I cried out. "Answer me."
"Yes—"
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I understand, I want—Gage,please?—"
He pushed inside.
I came immediately, clenching around him before he'd even finished the stroke, my whole body arching against the bench'spadding. He stopped. Held. Pressed his palm flat across my lower back and waited me out.
"Again," he said, when I'd stopped shaking.
"I just?—"
"I know." He pulled back and drove forward. "Again. Want to feel you come on my cock before I give you what you need."
"What I—" I lost it when he did it again. "What Ineed?—?"
"My come," he said simply. "Deep as I can get it. That's what you need." His hips rolled and I gasped. "That's what's going to give us our baby."
I came again so hard I bit the padding.
He held himself deep when he finished, one hand splayed across my lower back, the other pressed warm and certain against my belly. Keeping me in place. Keeping everything exactly where he'd decided it was going to stay.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Stay just like that."
I wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to.
The wedge pillow changed the angle.
I hadn't known about angles. I'd thought angles were something people talked about in magazines, theoretical, and then he'd arranged me on that wedge and pushed inside and hit something so deep and specific that I made a sound I'd never heard come out of my own body before.
"There," he said. Satisfied. Like he'd located something he'd suspected was there.
"What—" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Right there." He rolled his hips, deliberate, and found it again. And again. "That's where I want to be. That's where it's going to take."
"Gage—"
"You feel that?" He pressed deeper, held. "Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes—" The word came out wrecked. "God, yes?—"
"That's where my baby's going to be." His hand slid around to spread across my lower stomach, pressing slightly, and I felt him through the pressure from both sides and made a sound that was almost embarrassing. "Right here. Already might be." His hips pulled back and drove forward and I grabbed the quilt. "But we're going to make sure."
