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The sensations overtake me, crashing over me like a wave in the ocean. Warm and salty. Irresistible. I hear him groan with satisfaction as his hands grip my thighs, pulling me closer to his loving mouth.
The climax builds inside of me, swelling like a firework just about to go off when he suddenly retreats, shifting his body on the side of the bed. I am momentarily weightless as he picks me up and turns me over, laying me down flat with my hips in the air. I submit completely, helpless as a doll, trusting and happy. He slides inside of me, taking me in one long, tentative thrust. Burying his body inside mine up to the hilt, we rock together, each giving the other exactly what we need to find that magical connection, that space without words of explanation, something that is both science—I am sure—and magic—I am even more sure.
It’s only us, just this moment for us as I pulse and quake beneath his weight, taking every inch of his throbbing manhood, opening myself to swallow him up. His fingers slide over my skin, pinching and kneading me in all my sensitive spaces until I am overwhelmed with sensation, past the point of no return.
As always, we climax together, our bodies working as a single body, achieving that perfect union that I could have only ever dreamed about before.
Panting, his weight almost crushes me before Sturgill leans slightly to the side, kissing the back of my neck lazily, our musk filling the air.
“See?” he whispers. “See how good it is when you let somebody else take the reins for a minute?”
“It’s very good,” I agree sleepily, forgetting all about my to-do list. “Very, very good.”
“You taste even sweeter every day,” he sighs, gathering me in his strong arms and crushing me to him. “I don’t think I could ever tire of tasting you.”
“Sweeter, you say?” I ask, smiling. “Do I taste different, maybe?”
After a pause, he picks his head up and leans forward, shifting our bodies so that I can meet his clear, green eyes. A lock of his hair brushes the tops of his eyebrows as he inspects me, looking at my eyes, his fingers checking my pulse.
“Are you examining me?” I ask.
Smiling, he sits up. The morning light that lances through the window bathes him in a gold haze, and I catch my lips between my teeth, fighting to keep from moaning. I could just eat him up, he is so beautiful. Broad shoulders, strong muscles, and solid. Just like a man should be. Practically made of granite, yet soft for me. And hard for me.
“Your nipples…” he begins, then twists his mouth in a sideways grin.
“Yes?” I ask innocently as I arch my back for him. “What about them?”
There is a gleam in his eyes as he leans forward, taking a mouthful of my right breast, sucking noisily at it.
“Sturgill!” I laugh, pushing his shoulders as he sucks even harder. “That’s enough! I give!”
Finally he releases me with a noisy pop, letting my breast jiggle as it settles back into place.
“I just want to get as much of you as I can before they get too sensitive,” he grins.
I smile, because I know he knows. Of course he does. He knows everything about me. I am sure that he subconsciously knew I was pregnant again probably before I did.
“So you’re happy?” I ask him carefully. “It’s not too soon?”
His arms close around me, cradling me in his strength. I’m weightless and buoyant as he picks me up and holds me close, keeping me where not even gravity can get to me.
“Joanna, you never need to worry about a thing. This is the best news you could ever give me. I’m as happy as a man ever can be.”
Extended Epilogue
Sturgill
I smile at Mrs. Hetherington, who is clearly hoping for me to offer her the lady treatment.
“I’m sorry to say I don’t do those anymore.” I ruffle some papers into her file, not really wanting to see her reaction.
“You don’t? Oh I’m sorry,” she answers, sounding flustered. “I just thought since I’m…”
I let her trail off without jumping in to fill in an answer. A regular? A client of your father’s? Whatever she was going to say, I don’t need to change my policy. I just can’t do it anymore. Somehow, since Joanna and me, it doesn’t feel right, no matter how dispassionate I am about it and how much I believe in the necessity of it. Women need to have release—everyone does. But for men, they’ve got that thing in hand since they’re little. But now, all my ministrations of those kind are for Joanna and Joanna alone.
And besides, patients have options.
“Yes, I understand Mrs. Hetherington,” I say warmly. “That’s why I have a new line of devices where you can take care of such matters in the privacy of your own home.” I turn toward the front. “Jen,” I call. “Can you please show Mrs. Hetherington the new line?”
