Page 69 of Blueline Baby

She looks down at me. “Come... where?”

“On my face, baby. Climb on.”

Her lips part but she doesn’t say no. What she does is flush pink from her cheeks all the way down to the neckline of the jersey and press her thighs together.

“You actually want that,” she says, almost a question.

“Months, Chloe. I’ve been dreaming about it for months, and it’s going to be the greatest thing ever.”

“I’ll suffocate you.”

“Good. That’s the dream.” I pat my chest. “I check two-hundred-pound men into the boards for a living. I can survive my own wife. Get up here.”

“I cannot believe—” she starts, but she’s climbing onto the mattress anyway which tells me everything her mouth won’t. She plants one knee by my head, then the other, and hovers there with both hands braced on the headboard like it’s going to save her from this. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You look unbelievable. Best seat in the house down here. I mean it.”

Before I pull her down, I spread my hand across the curve of her stomach and press my mouth to it, then I hook both hands over the tops of her thighs. “Okay. Quit hovering. You’re not gonna break me.”

“If I accidentally kill you, I’m telling everyone you died happy.”

I pull her down the rest of the way and seal my mouth over her pussy. Whatever complaint she had lined up next turns into a sharp gasp. I hum against her clit, thrilled with myself, and her thighs start to tremble on either side of my head and when I look up at her she’s already got her lip between her teeth and her head tipped back.

Which is when I find the one fatal flaw in my otherwise perfect plan.

I can’t talk. Not a word. Every filthy thing I had lined up to say to her is gone, because my mouth is busy.

She figures it out fast. She starts to laugh.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she says, breathless and delighted with herself. “You can’t say anything. I finally found your off switch.”

I dig my fingers into her hips and drag her down harder against my mouth, and whatever she was going to gloat about next comes out as a broken moan instead. Point made.

It doesn’t take long before she’s squirming for a different reason. Her hands come off the headboard and push at my forehead, trying to lift herself off me.

“Wait. Wait, I’m crushing you, I feel like⁠—”

I pull back far enough to talk, my hands resting on her thighs. She could be off me in half a second if she wanted to but her hips are still moving. She doesn’t want to.

“You feel like you’re about to come all over my face. That’s what’s happening.” I press a slow kiss to her, in no hurry at all. “You’re not hurting me. You’re not even close. The only thing you’re doing wrong is holding back on me.”

“I’m not holding back.”

“Chloe. Look at me.” She does. She’s flushed red all the way down her neck. “I love this. I will do this for hours if that’s what it takes. All damn night. I’ve got nowhere else to be for the rest of my life. I want my wife, in my jersey, coming on my face, and I’m not getting talked out of it. So quit trying to be polite and sit your ass back down.”

She stares down at me. Then she makes a small sound, half protest and half something else, and she stops fighting my hands and slowly lowers herself again.

And now there aren’t any words left in her at all. Sharp gasps. Little whines. A moan every time I get my tongue exactly right. I work one hand up under the jersey and find her nipple, pinching and tugging, and she jolts and rocks down harder, faster, riding my mouth with zero hesitation now, taking what she needs and not asking permission for a second of it.

I feel the moment she lets go. She comes so hard, and so wet, that for one alarming half-second I think her water broke. It did not. I’ve been to enough of the appointments to know better, and she’s not due till spring. It’s just my wife drenching me, coming apart on my mouth, easily the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I go right back to work, licking her through every aftershock until she’s shaking and shoving at my forehead for real this time.

I let her go and she half-falls sideways onto the mattress, my jersey twisted up around her ribs, one arm flung over her eyes. I prop myself up on an elbow to look at her. I don’t think I’ve ever been this satisfied with a single decision in my life.

“So,” I say. “Was that worth it? Because I could do that again.”

She doesn’t move the arm covering her face. “Please don’t start talking now.”

“I didn’t say one word the entire time. Not one. That’s the most restraint I’ve shown in my whole life and nobody is ever going to believe me.”