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My fucking mouth watered. I yanked at his underwear angrily, freeing his cock so he let out a hiss of pleasure.
“This is because I am pregnant and full of hormones not entirely under my control,” I explained, straddling him.
Kip’s hands landed on my hips, steadying me.
His cock was already hard when I brushed myself against it.
“I need to be fucked,” I said, breathing heavily. “That’s all this is.”
“Okay, babe,” Kip said, hands going to my newly engorged tits.
I let out a gasp when his fingers found my nipples, which were sensitive as all fuck currently. A nice change from the pain I felt from merely letting the fabric of my tee brush over them.
“Don’t call me babe,” I hissed, reaching down to position his cock against where I was soaking wet and fucking desperate.
Then I seated myself fully. No fucking around. No foreplay. I sure as shit didn’t need it. And I didn’t need any time for me to second-guess my decision, for reason to come back. I did not reason. I needed an orgasm.
I almost came right then and there. It wasn’t like I’d been depriving myself sexually. I was getting my money’s worth from my vibrator, which was top-of-the-line. But I was left lacking. I needed this. Needed fullness.
“This is because you have a cock,” I breathed, riding him. “Because you’re handy. Because I’m unfortunate enough to be married to you.”
Kip grasped my hips, letting me dictate the rhythm. “Whatever you say,” he replied, his voice thick, deep, impossibly masculine, and impossibly sexy.
“No more talking.” I smooshed my finger against his lips and kept riding him, my body electrified.
“Okay, Fiona,” he gritted out, cords in his neck tight, his eyes wild with hunger. With pleasure.
“That’s talking,” I growled, my voice no longer sounding like my own.
Then the first wave took over. Pleasure. Unbearable, beautiful, world-shattering pleasure. My body was more sensitive, more responsive, more alive than it had been… ever.
I gave in to it, gave in to him, letting myself fall off the edge of the cliff, giving myself to Kip.
He let out a strangled roar a handful of seconds—minutes?—later, communicating he was giving himself to me too.
My body sagged against his, my limbs leaden as I let go of all the tension I’d been holding in for months.
But I didn’t get a moment of respite.
Kip, it seemed, was done letting me take charge. He lifted me up and onto my side—impressive and smooth since I barely noticed it happening. To be fair, I was in a post-orgasm haze. He probably could’ve loaded me into a sheep truck and sent me off to Mexico and I barely would’ve noticed.
He situated me on my side, slipping inside again, still hard. I gasped at the new angle, the way it electrified my sensitive nerve endings.
“You think I’m done with you?” Kip growled against my neck.
He slammed into me, hand on my breast, tweaking my nipple.
I cried out.
“Oh, babe, we’re far from fuckin’ done,” he promised. “I’ve got a lot to make up for. And if I remember correctly, my wife has a greedy pussy.”
Kip did remember correctly. And he did all that was promised.
He made up for a whole fucking lot.
Almost everything.
Almost.
