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“Gladly. Don’t forget to use extra shower gel.” I take my son and stick my tongue out at her.
While Ronni showers, I change the babies and place them in their bassinettes. Next, I strip the bed and put on clean sheets. By the time Ronni returns smelling like her normal lemony self, I’m leaning against the headboard with the boys nestled in the crooks of my arms. We’re playing with their crinkle book. Torin loves staring at the black-and-white images. Tristan loves the squeaker.
She lays next to us and nuzzles Tristan’s belly. “This is so nice,” she mumbles. Her eyes close. Soon she’s lightly dozing.
Torin starts to cry. Tristan joins him. I gather them close and head to the living room so Ronni doesn’t wake up. I seem to have the magic touch. They always fall asleep when I rock them in a repetitive swooping motion. I return to our bedroom and place them in their cradles.
Cycle complete.
I look over at my beautiful wife. She’s such a vision, so she is.
Her robe is untied. She’s still naked underneath. I take a moment to simply admire her. My Mae’s so self-conscious about her body these days, any nudity is a rare gift. Her breasts are luscious. Full. With big, rosy nipples from breast feeding. The scar from her C-section is hardly visible in her bikini line. Her obsession with fancy silicone treatments has worked a treat to heal it.
My dick hardens when she relaxes into deeper rest. Her knee is bent, allowing a wee glimpse of her pink pussy. I love that she hasn’t shaved since giving birth. As sexy as it is when she’s hairless, the wispy, reddish hairs framing her clit turn me on something fierce. What I’d give to lean over and breathe in her musk. Have a little taste.
Except, these babies are no joke. There’s no way I’ll disturb her rest.
Instead, I unbutton my jeans and shove my hand into my boxer briefs. Fist my cock. Squeeze the tip and stroke. Slow at first.Aye. Then, a bit faster.
Ayyyyyyye.
My right hand and my dick have become best friends these past months. My pace increases until I’m close. My hips buck. A zing takes root at the base of my spine when I hear my phone ringing in the kitchen. Ronni’s eyes blink open and widen when she notices what I’m doing.
Caught.
“Are you going to answer that or finish?” She smirks. Skims her hand down her torso and rubs her clit with her finger.
Holy bleedin’ hell. I’m too far gone to stop. “Ah, Mae. Oh, shite.” I erupt in an arc that splatters her tits, chest, and chin.
Ronni laughs and wipes it off with the hem of her robe. “That wassoooohot.”
“Let me make you come too, love.” I reach for her.
“I’m okay. Not quite ready yet.” She closes her robe and ties it. “You should really answer your phone. Someone’s clearly trying to reach you.”
I hadn’t even noticed that my phone was ringing again. “Aye.” I reluctantly trudge out to the kitchen and answer.
“Connor!” my ma cries into the phone. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? Yer da’s at the hospital. He’s had a stroke. They’re not positive he’s going to make it. Seamus says you need to come straightaway, so you do.”
Jaysus.
Ma is hysterical, but I manage to find out the basics. When we hang up, I initiate a group video chat with my brothers to fill in the gaps. It’s not looking hopeful. Devastated, I return to the bedroom. Ronni’s waiting. My strong, take-charge woman kicks into high gear when I let her know what’s happening. Together, we hurriedly come up with our own game plan and set it into motion.
What a whirlwind mindfuck of a day.
I cuddle my wife close and shut my eyes. Ronni and I have been to both heaven and hell and back again. Multiple times. My father’s dire health condition is just another thing we’ll navigate on our voyage.
Unfortunately, we have no choice but to abandon our blissful Irish hideaway sooner than we’d planned.
The thing is?
This is true life. Ronni’s my feckin’ soulmate. There’s no one on this planet I’d rather have by my side.
The good. The bad. The known. The unknown. The triumph. The joy. The tragedy. The sorrow.
Together, we’re stronger.
Now that we have our kids?
