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“Tate,” falls from her lips like a hopeless prayer she never expects to be answered and answering it is a calling I could never ignore.
Blistering pulsations persistently bathe my dick forcing it to swell to the brink of pleasurable pain. One low, back breaking hiss is all that occurs before I’m pushing her down into the scalding surges, refusing to leave even the tiniest portion of the territory unscorched. She whines and wiggles at the overwhelming amount of pressure provoking me to fling myself forward to wind my arm around her. Violent kicking of my cock continues as my mouth travels and teases the skin along the nape of her neck only stopping when my shaft finally starts to soften.
At that point, I gingerly slip out of my piece of my paradise, purring a command at the same time I cup her dripping pussy. “Fág é seo anseo.”
The naughty action gives away the context of the instruction that’s spoken in Irish, yet the flare of excitement in her hooded stare indicates she’s just as into the idea as I am.
Probably not in actuality.
To her it’s most likely just kinky talk to be written off the second our clothes are back on – given that she’s still on the pill despite our agreement to continue sans the Trojan after our STD free clean conversation – but to me?
I mean it every fucking time I say it.
I have from the first time I said it.
I want Harper to carry my child.
Our child.
I wanna see her stomach get round from growing something we made, the literal embodiment of our love and our future mixed together in the ultimate nature. I wanna see her curves change and be the one to worship them as they do in between telling her she’s just as fucking beautiful as she’s always been. I wanna hold her hand during breathing exercises and swallow my groans of agony in the delivery room when she dislocates my fingers, which I won’t mind because it’ll be the least, I can fucking do to comfort her in such a critical time. And I wanna hold the beautiful creation we’ve made. Kiss it on the forehead. Kiss her. Kiss her more and start the whole damn process of expanding our family all over again.
Our world.
That’s the shite I want most of all.
To always be an ours.
To be a forever.
Too bad those aren’t the declarations you make to a woman you’ve only been seeing for two weeks.
Two glorious weeks filled with driving around the state at odd hours just to enjoy scenic views, watching old films like Blue Hawaii and Reservoir Dogs, skinny dipping in the lake at three a.m., and enjoying breakfast at historical diners filled with so much breathtaking history it’s impossible to leave without purchasing a touristy piece of it.
Our matching Bomber Restaurant shirts are probably my favorite thing so far.
She ties hers in the back to make it a crop top to workout in.
And then the only thing getting worked out is her over the edge of the couch by my cock.
This much shagging I imagine is normal for the beginning of a relationship.
But wanting to propose probably isn’t.
Doesn’t make me wanna do it any less, though.
“Maidin mhaith.” I greet in Irish prior to delivering a warm kiss on her cheek and working my way out of her queen-sized bed. “Sleep well, beautiful?”
Harper relocates herself to rest against her light gray padded headboard while replying, “I always do when I’m in bed with you.”
The faintest blush touches my cheeks as I reach for my boxers and slip them on.
Gotta give my woman that.
She knows exactly how to make a guy feel like he owns the world rather than owes it.
I swear to those in the great beyond that I have never stood taller or felt so bloody attractive in my entire fucking life.
Compliments are both verbally given and physically shown from her on a regular basis.
