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I caught her hip, doing it gently and then running my hand over the swell in her belly when she stopped.
“Forget something?” I asked her.
“No, I got the food and her special eye drops, plus a bed and the scratching post thing,” she replied.
I bit back a laugh. “No, you don’t walk into this house without kissing your husband,” I stated, hand still on her stomach.
Fiona screwed up her nose. “You don’t make the rules in this house, mate,” she shot at me.
My cock stirred. She knew I fucking hated it when she called me ‘mate,’ and now she did it on purpose to rile me. Because Fiona knew that riling me meant she was getting fucked. And my wife was only getting hungrier for my cock with every day that went on. Her growing stomach meant I had to get inventive, which I was more than willing to do. I also had to make sure I didn’t have my hand on her stomach when I was seconds from coming. Feeling my daughter kick my hand while I was fucking my wife was a surefire way to fuck up a hard-on.
I leaned in to kiss Fiona before she said anything else.
She responded to the kiss immediately, like she always did, no matter how pissed off she was.
“I’ll be making some more rules once I get this cat’s shit from your car,” I informed her, cock already hard.
Fiona’s eyelids fluttered. “You’re not the boss of me.”
I grinned. “We’ll see if you say that in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes later…
“Who’s the boss of you, baby?” I grunted as I pounded into my wife’s velvet pussy.
Her cheeks were flushed with arousal and fury, her eyes on fire as she glared at me. “Fuck you.”
My cock pulsed inside her. “Who’s the boss of you?” I repeated.
She kept her lips pursed shut.
I stopped moving.
She let out a groan.
“Who’s the boss of you, Fiona?” I asked for the last time.
She continued scowling at me for a handful of seconds. “You’re the boss of me, husband,” she shot back, anger lacing her tone.
“Good girl,” I murmured.
“Now fuck me,” she demanded.
And I did what my wife ordered.
Because she was the boss.
twenty-one
Partners
fiona
My days workingat the café were numbered. Even now my hours had drastically reduced. But I still hung out there as often as I could.
Especially since there was an abundance of pastries, cakes, and all the delightful sugary food I could stomach, which was an impressive amount.
My body was changing rapidly now as I was officially in the third trimester. All my checkups and tests had been going wonderfully—all of them attended by Kip. I had plenty of reasons not to worry. In fact, an argument could be made that I barely hadanyreason to worry. But that wasn’t how that shit worked.
