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I drag the skirt of my dress up and spread my legs for him.
He bites off a few choice words and then lowers himself, to suckle at my clit, spurring aftershocks to ripple through my core. More of his cum dribbles out of me with the spasms, and he leans back and watches.
“So fucking pretty.” He throws a fresh pair of jeans on the roof of the car, rips open a packet of wet wipes, and cleans me up so carefully and gently, I feel precious. He presses a kiss to my pussy, and then pushes my dress higher, to stroke the little pouch of leftover belly I have from Curty that’s perfectly framed by the black straps of my lingerie. It won’t be too long before I’m expanding again, and I’d love to don this strappy contraction for him then, while his baby is more obvious, so I can wear that bump with pride.
Quin presses a soft kiss to the Cesarean scar on my belly and lifts his slightly haunted eyes to meet my gaze. “I’m going to be with you for every fucking moment this time,” he promises, before helping me out of the car.
“You’ve always been with me in spirit,” I assure him, pressing a kiss over his heart.
Now that I’m standing, more of his cum is seeping from my pussy. I slide my thighs together, as he’s reinstating the bodice of my dress for me, and he pauses, watching me twist and squirm. “Show me,” he says again, his voice filled with something akin to reverence.
I lift my dress, and he crouches down, grunting softly at the sight of his semen smeared all over my inner thighs. He leans in and flicks his tongue between my swollen pussy lips, just touching my sensitive clit before he draws back. “Will it annoy you to stay like this?”
I shake my head. “You should leave me like this every day.”
He rises again, watching me smile as he takes off his boots, sheds his soaked jeans, and pulls the new ones up but doesn’t button them. “It’d be my pleasure,” he rumbles. He doesn’t break eye contact, as he pulls wipes from the pack in sharp, rough movements. He uses them to clean his beard and some of the mess from his soaked pubes, butnothis beautiful, big, hard-again cock. That, he shoves, still shining, inside his clean jeans.
“You’re not going to wash that thing?” I ask, amused.
With his focus still on me, Quin drops to put his boots back on. “I’ve waited a long time for Kira Corazon Grant to leave her mark on my cock again. I’m not cleaning it until you make me.”
My cheeks flush with warmth. “Well, aren’t you an adorably sweet and filthy motherfucker?”
Quin grins. “Yes, I am, recently fucked mother of my children.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, as I smirk. “So the whole seatbelt thing was foreplay? You packed fresh jeans and wipes, so it’s obvious you planned on getting lucky during the drive.”
“I hoped,” he replies with a grin, and bends to kiss the tip of my nose. He grabs my hand and leads me toward the entrance to the Monty Bros purpose-built, underground bunker. “C’mon. You can watch from the security hub, until it’s time for your cameo.”
He pats my ass and gets me settled in the big, comfy master-controller chair, in front of all the screens, before stroking under my chin, seizing it in his grasp, and stealing my breath with another hungry kiss.
When he breaks away, he’s beaming at me so bright, even his eyes are smiling. He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him look, and I hope he’s always hungry for me.
I’m never going to stop wanting to feed that smile. I blow him a kiss and send him on his way, because I know everyone is eager to get on with the show.
I watch the main screen, as the older Montgomery brothers stand around Jack’s bed in a staged hospital scene.
Quin enters, and the others praise him for finally getting there, because Jack just woke up, and the doctor’s been walking him through his diagnosis. Apparently, it’s a brain tumor — the medical professionals have identified a mass, but they’re waiting on the final scan results to confirm how they’ll need to proceed.
The man in the white coat rambles on, and I’m pretty sure he’s a real doctor, because he’s saying all the right things like he knows what he’s talking about.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Jack argues, looking at his children, and then at the drip in his arm. “I feel fine.”
“That’s likely because of the pain relief and fluids, easing the postictal headaches and confusion — the kind of symptoms most people experience after having a seizure. Your body probably feels as if you’ve been put through the wringer. Muscles you never knew you had will have been strained from the intensity of your spasms. Do you need something, to make you more comfortable?”
Jack winces while trying to sit up more.
I zoom in, to enjoy the pain on his face, and then pan out again, so I can see everyone’s faces while they finally exact their glorious revenge.
Daisy rushes to help Jack get more comfortable, and he lets her. He must be feeling pretty tenderized, after some of the guys’ more enthusiastic physical manipulation of his body, while he was unconscious. Darius literally made Jack kick his own ass, among other things.
“I’m fine,” Jack grunts again, shooing Daisy away once he’s in a better position.
“Then why did you pass out and flop around on the floor, old man?” Quin asks, almost sounding bored. “Listen to the fucking professionals and look at the evidence. Your memory has been shit, you fucked up the Minty Deal like a bumbling idiot, you invented a fuckingDisneylandbirthda—”
“I did notscrewthe Minty deal,” Jack roars.
“Oh yeah? Tell me how it went, then,” Quin counters, gesturing for him to share with the group.
