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My nipples are extremely sensitive lately, and I arch my back into his touch, wanting more.
“You like that?” he asks, uncovering the other one. Using both hands, he massages my nipples with just his thumbs, and I swear on my life, I’ll come like this if he keeps it up.
“These are puffier than I remember,” he remarks before dipping his head to take one into his mouth. “Fucking beautiful.”
Cam sucks on me, and my body jerks at the sensation, feeling it straight down to my core.
“Keep doing that,” I insist, holding the back of his head to my chest. His hands slide under my back and he holds me to him, feasting on me like I’m his last meal. He alternates between each breast, sucking and nipping and biting, and it isn’t long before I’m threatening to implode in his arms.
“Cam, I think—”
“You think you can come like this?” he asks, reading my mind. I nod frantically, not wanting him to stop for even a second. I reach for my clit, but he slaps my hand away.
“No cheating,” he says firmly before going back to work. He tweaks one nipple while he gives the other long, fat swipes of his tongue, and soon, the stimulation gets to be too much. My legs lock up, my core tightens, and my body breaks out into pinpricks as I come, long and hard, shaking, even after it’s over.
“That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Cam says, laying me flat again and then pulling my dress and panties off. My limbs are listless, my eyes heavy. I feel drugged and sated. Heavy, but somehow weightless.
Cam moves down my body, peppering open-mouthed kisses on my belly before dipping lower. He pushes my knees back and wastes no time diving between them.
“I missed this pussy,” he mumbles into me. There is no slow buildup. I’m thrust right back into ecstasy. My nipples tighten as he flicks at my clit with his tongue, and then he sucks it into his mouth. I gasp, my back rising from the bed, and he pulls back abruptly.
“I need to be inside you. I can’t wait anymore.”
Cam pulls off his hoodie and shirt in one swift move, then he shoves his jeans down his muscular thighs. He lowers his beautiful, colorfully inked body to mine, and then his huge thick cock is nudging against me, seeking entrance.
“Open up for me, Mollie,” he grunts, wedging his way inside. Cam grips my knees and pushes them to my chest as he starts to slide in and out. I watch the way the muscles in his arms flex and the way the veins strain in his neck as he controls my movements with his hands now on my hips. It’s different this time. Everything is hypersensitive. I can’t usually come from penetration alone, but I just orgasmed from nothing but him touching my nipples, so anything is possible.
His thrusts go from agonizingly slow to quick and powerful, and I have to drop my legs open, letting them fall on either side of him.
“I can hear how wet you are,” he grits out, and his eyes follow the sound, locking on to where we’re joined. He stares at my belly, and I start to feel self-conscious about it as his movements slow. But then, he smooths his big palms up my stomach, rubbing it reverently with wonder in his eyes.
“I can’t hold back,” he says, regret lacing his tone. “I have to come.”
I can’t find words, so I nod, the desperation in my eyes telling him that I’m there, too. He lowers himself onto his forearms, his ragged breaths heating my neck. He nuzzles into me, and I feel his scruff scrape against my neck, shoulder, and collarbone as he ruts into me. Our sex-slick skin slides against each other, and I cling to his muscular back, digging my nails in for leverage.
When my orgasm hits, it’s more powerful than the one before it—more powerful than any before it. Like no one’s ever been this deep inside me. Literally, and maybe even figuratively. It’s almost painful how hard I come, and I seem to endlessly clench and contract around him.
“Fuck yeah, Mollie. Milk it out of me.”
And then I feel him spilling into me as he shudders and jerks. He pulsates inside me, and he doesn’t make a move to pull away. He’s dead, sweaty weight on top of me. I’m trapped underneath two hundred pounds of tattooed flesh and muscle, but I’ve never felt safer in my life. Cam shifts his weight slightly, as if he could hurt the baby somehow, and I suddenly feel like crying. Again.
Cam pulls back to look at me. He brings his palm to the side of my head and strokes my eyebrow with his thumb. The crease between his eyes deepens, as he notices my glassy eyes, yet again, but he doesn’t say a word. Because I think he knows that it isn’t necessarily a sad cry. And maybe—just maybe—he’s feeling something similar.
“Are we having a boy or a girl?” Cam asks, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “My anatomy scan is next week. They check the heart, brain, spine, and other stuff, too.”
“I’m coming,” he states matter-of-factly. “What are you hoping for?”
“Healthy,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “That’d be nice.” I spent the first few weeks wishing that the test was somehow wrong. Then, at my first ultrasound, I fell in love and felt my first taste of mother’s guilt for ever wishing him or her away. I went from hoping it wasn’t true to being scared to death that something, like a miscarriage, will happen that will take this baby away from me. Funny how that works.
Cam’s quiet, probably not having considered the fact that something could go wrong, and I feel guilty for ever putting the thought into his head.
“I’ve been calling him or her Pinecone,” I admit, hoping to distract him from the way his thoughts must be going.
“Pinecone, huh?” The corner of his lip twitches into an almost-smile.
“Yes, Pinecone. This town is full of ’em.”
