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My laugh is strangled. “Absolutely not.”
Because I don’t want to teach her this. I want Lane to respond to my touch completely naturally, following her instincts instead of some made-up script. I want this to bereal.
When I notch at her entrance, Lane stiffens slightly. Nerves. That’s understandable.
“Relax.” I kiss her until she melts beneath me again, sinking boneless into the mattress, and then I reach between us to rub at her clit until she’s slick and quivering, wetter than the weather outside.
“Please,” she whispers.
Only then do I sink into her body.
Slowly, gently. Letting Lane stretch and adjust. Letting her breathe and moan and claw at my back, kicking at my calves with her heels as she gets impatient and urges me on.
In. Out.
We move together slowly at first—grappling tight, kissing hard. Her channel is hot and tight and so perfectly wet that I slide in and out easily, never mind that it’s her first time.
In. Out.
Lane bucks her hips and grips fistfuls of my hair. My teeth scrape her bottom lip, and I taste the coppery bloom of blood, but she doesn’t mind. She groans and pulls me deeper.
Time passes, but it could be minutes or hours. Rain lashes the closed window, and it’s dark outside, but we’re cocooned here in this muggy warmth. The room smells like sex, and wet noises sound where our bodies meet, and it’s earthy and perfect and real.
“A–Ambrose!”
I gather Lane close and fuck her deeper. “I’m here.”
I’ll always be here. Lane Rhodes ismine, and I’m hers. The planets are back in alignment.
When the tremors start in her body, radiating out from her core, I send up a prayer of thanks to the mysteries of the universe. When Lane clamps down on me and comes for real, her head tossed back on the pillows and my thumb on her clit, I grit my teeth and hold on just long enough to feel her relax again, breathing hard.
Sweat slides down my back, and the room spins.
“Should I—”
“No.” Lane’s words are fuzzy, thick, but her eyes are clear when they meet mine. “Keep going.”
Christ alive.
Heart pounding, I wedge myself as deep as I can go—then, ears ringing, pleasure stabbing my belly like a knife… I fill my girl to the brim.
* * *
Five years later
Two academics living in one house was always a recipe for chaos. Lane and I regularly leave scientific journals on top of the refrigerator or lodged between sofa cushions, and we both prefer pondering the great scientific questions to figuring out a grocery list. But we make it work, and it’s just as well, because three months ago, we added even more chaos to the mix.
“Morning,” I say, kissing my wife on the forehead where she sits in our comfiest armchair, the baby nestled against her chest. Lane slipped out of bed while I was showering for work at the college, and now she’s hushing our son as grumbles and mouths at her nipple.
Breakfast all round, then. “Are you hungry?”
Lane beams up at me like I’m her personal angel. “Starving.”
Well, that won’t do. We’ve always tried to keep things equal in this household, what with both of us working in the Physics department at the college, and when I try to spoil Lane too much, she won’t let me. But since she got pregnant, I’m getting away with more and more: loads of laundry done in the background, meals cooked, dishes washed.
Thank god. This woman just casually createdlife, damn it. The least I can do is take extra care of her and our son.
Ten minutes later, I set a plate with a bacon sandwich on the side table by Lane’s elbow, along with a glass of orange juice.
