He took that too.
Epilogue
Catching Up
Five years later…
Forearms in the bed, my husband’s big hands spanning my h*ps lifting them up, my knees were inches off the bed, I’d pushed my thighs back and pressed their insides to the outsides of his as I took his driving cock.
If he wanted to take me from behind, he was so tall, his legs so long, this was how we had to do it unless he stood by the side of the bed.
I liked it, like, a lot. That power, the reminder of how big he was, the strength that was at his command. It was a huge, freaking turn on.
I was close, God, I was close, I slid an arm out in front of me, under the pillows, pressing my hand into the headboard, I tilted my ass up half an inch to get more, held on tighter with my thighs and pressed into my hand to give me leverage to push back.
Ty pulled out and dropped me to my knees.
My head shot back and my neck twisted, my mouth opening to protest but he was leaning over me, his arms circling, one at my belly, one slanting across my chest. He pulled me up on my knees and one hand immediately went to my breast, fingers rolling my nipple, the other hand moved instantly downward, finger rolling my clit.
My head fell back, colliding with him, I turned it and begged. “Want your c**k back, baby.”
He didn’t respond. He never responded. He just kept doing what he wanted to do.
And it felt way nice.
Still.
My h*ps moved with his hand, my hand moved to cover his at my breast, my other one curled behind me and wrapped around his cock.
“Honey,” I breathed.
He didn’t stop.
I started stroking, gripping hard, pulling, sliding, moving fast.
Ty growled in his throat.
I tipped my head back to see what I could of his face but didn’t get the chance, his mouth came down on mine and his tongue darted in and out, matching my strokes on his cock.
I gripped harder and moved faster, as did my h*ps and his tongue.
There I was again, God, so close. I reached for it and my hand gripped tight but stopped as he gave it to me and it was so good, my entire body shook with it.
Then I was on my back, my husband on top of me, driving deep, grunting with each stroke, his hands at my h*ps yanking me down as he thrust up. I had nearly all of his weight. I was hazy from a really f**king good orgasm that hindered my breathing and his weight hindered it more. I didn’t care. This happened, not often, only when I wound Ty up. Therefore, I liked it, snapping his control. And he never did it long; he only did it when he was close.
And he was close.
Then he was there.
I felt it, watched it, listened to it and loved it.
He’d shoved my knees up high at his sides and I pressed them in and wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he shifted his weight to a forearm in the bed, the other arm moving to curl around my lower back as his h*ps continued to move. He was gliding. He did this too, and often, taking me gentle after he took me hard.
I liked that too.
When our breath settled and while he was still gliding, I turned my head, found his ear with my lips and whispered, “I’m pregnant.”
His body stilled, mid-glide, half-in, half-out.
Then he slid fully in and stayed there but lifted his head and caught my eyes.
“Seriously?” he rumbled.
I grinned. “Seriously.”
“Babe, we’ve been tryin’ for like, two days.”
I bit my lip not to giggle, succeeded, let it go and informed him, “More like a month.”
His eyes drifted over my head and he muttered, “Feels like two days.”
“It’s been a month, hubby.”
It hadn’t. It had been six weeks but I decided not to say that.
His eyes came back to mine. “Jesus. Your f**kin’ womb’s more fertile than the heartland.”
I felt my body shake but quelled my verbal laughter.
“Maybe it’s your swimmers,” I suggested, my voice shaking with laughter I hadn’t unleashed. “Maybe they have Mr. Humongo’s superpowers.”
Ty didn’t find anything funny. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. Instead, he bent his neck back, looked at the ceiling and said an audible prayer.
“Please, God, this time, give me a f**kin’ son.”
My body shook more.
“I’m not sure God likes the word f**k, honey,” I told him and his head dropped.
“He knows me, He’s answered my prayers before and trust me, mama, he doesn’t give a shit.”
I burst out laughing.
Ty pulled out slowly, rolled mostly off me, got up on an elbow in the bed, his long, heavy legs tangled with mine, body pressed the length of me, hand at my belly, eyes watching me laugh.
I turned slightly to him as my laughter waned and sought to assure him, “I feel it; this one’s a boy.”
“You said that last time. You were wrong,” he reminded me.
“I really feel it coming through strong, Ty. He’s speaking to me,” I promised him.
“Babe, you said that the first time. You were wrong then too.”
I decided to be quiet since he was not lying.
Ty wasn’t quiet.
“Lex, Lella’s four and a half and I had to paint the living room last weekend because she got in your fingernail polish and painted her fingernails, her fingers, her hands, her toes, her toenails, her calves, her belly and a three foot square space of wall with that shit.”
I bit my lip because he was still not lying.
He wasn’t done.
“And Vivian’s two and a half and she was screamin’ just last night ‘cause she got hold of one of your hoops and was trying to shove that f**ker through her earlobe. She was in pain but, f**k me, she didn’t quit. My baby girl was determined and she didn’t care if it ended in carnage.”
My body started shaking again because he was still not lying.
He wasn’t finished.
“And she pitches a fit every time she sees a game on television.”
I pressed my lips together hard and rolled into him, wrapping my arm around his waist and holding tight, my body still shaking because he was still not lying.
“I need another dick in this house and soon before the whole f**kin’ place is painted pink and I slip on a glitter pen and break my neck.”
I swallowed laughter and promised him, “You won’t slip on a glitter pen.”
“I will, you don’t quit buyin’ that shit for Lell. How many does she have now, a thousand?”
It was more like nine hundred and twenty-five. But I decided not to quibble and instead change the subject.