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“Our kind of love is the kind of love people create art about,” she tells me. “It’s messy and confusing. Splashes of color and smears of black. It’s deep and meaningful, and if people will just take a moment to truly see it for what it is, they will understand it. Not just understand it, but feel it. A love like ours can’t be ignored.”
Reaching up, I grip her dainty neck and draw her to me. Her stomach is big between us and I’ve never been so happy. My lips brush against hers, and I smile.
“We never had a chance to ignore it,” I agree.
She kisses me deeply, her hips rocking against me. Then she pulls away. “No, love followed us, beat down our door, and forced its way in.” She winks. The irony is not lost on me.
“Meow,” Punky Brewster cries from the floor.
Cerys giggles, and I flip off my cat. “Privacy, Punky. We’ve talked about this.”
When I saw the stray black cat a few months ago near our flat with red paint stuck in its fur, I knew I had to get her. Cerys had to leave her four cats with her dad until we get properly settled in Venice, so I knew she was sad. Punky cheered her right up.
Cerys rocks harder against me, her tits bouncing, and I’m stunned by her beauty. We get lost in our own little world, and soon we crash. But at least we crash together. With my cum running out of her, my wife slides off my cock and curls up against me. Our son moves in her belly, pressing against my ribs, and I smile.
He’s a cuddle man, it would seem.
Just like his daddy.
THE END
