Today is the day.
We’ve already had sex once. The kind that slams backs into walls and causes the bed to aggressively shake. I’m ready for a round two. Possibly even a three or a four. If I can control myself. The insatiable beast has to remain locked away, and I’ll need to stop when I have to stop.
He returns from the bathroom with a glass of water, taking small sips.
“I’ve overworked you?” I ask with a frown.
He gives me a look like really? Because I’m drinking water? His brow ticks upward a notch. “You think this is work for me?”
“You get all sweaty and out of breath so…yeah,” I mutter. “It can be work for me too though.” My words tumble out fast. “Lots of limber positions and…stuff.” Shut up, Lily.
I twist in the sheet and comforter, tangling up and being suffocated by the fabric. After a quick decision, I roll onto my belly, untwisting a bit. Now I’m in the perfect position for my favorite position. I prop myself on my elbows and peek back at Lo.
He’s watching me intently while he casually sips his water. Torture. Sheer torture.
“You just gonna stand there?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
I squint. “Are you teasing me or do you need some help…?” I flush. “You know…” I nod towards his cock, which doesn’t look like it needs any aid. Good job, Lil. I internally give myself a pity-pat on the shoulder.
“It’s me, love,” he says, sauntering to the dresser. He finishes off his water and sets the glass down. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to say what you mean.”
He nears the bed and climbs on top, the mattress rocking with his weight. His hands travel up my hips, and he easily flips me onto my back again. His eyes dance across my flushed face.
“So say what you mean,” Lo says in a soft voice, his warm breath tickling my flesh as his mouth descends towards my chest. He sucks gently on my nipple, teasing.
“Hmm…” My eyes flutter closed at the new sensation. I clutch the sheet underneath me. “Do you…want me to give you a hand job or a…a…” think, Lily! “…a blow job?” I open one eye and then both, smiling. Nailed it.
His tongue flicks the sensitive bud before he says, “No. But that’s adorable of you to ask.”
“Now your turn.” I nudge his leg with my foot.
His lips lift in amusement. “Lily Calloway, would you like me to give you a hand job?” Yes. His palm brushes over the tender spot between my thighs. A gasp catches in my throat. “Or head?” Double yes. He kisses a trail from my breast to my belly button and down, down, down.
I almost moan as his mouth reaches the best spot ever. But he stops just before he relieves any ache. He raises his head once more, awaiting my answer. I’d love to say yes to both, but I would love both of us to get off even more.
“Or,” I say with a shallow breath. “Option C.” I go to turn over again, but he grips my hipbones firmly, keeping me flat on my back. That didn’t work.
“Option D,” he combats. That sounds good. All I hear is Option Dick. My mind, I tell you. No one should be allowed to enter. I absorb each little movement he makes. Still kneeling, he snatches a pillow and stuffs it underneath my bottom.
He begins to peel off the sheets and comforter, exposing my na**d body. My heart drums with each passing second. I remember the days where I’d jump him right off the bat. Where I couldn’t control myself. But I take pleasure in this moment, in his self-assuredness and ability to please me so entirely.
I can lie here and watch and wait. It builds me to a better place.
His hand skims the length of my leg before he lifts both of them higher. Then he bends my knees, tucking my leg underneath his arm, grasping the other. My heart misses a beat as his pelvis fits perfectly against my entrance.
Missionary. Anal sex. Together, this has become way more intimate.
Slowly, he fills me, every inch of his hardness ignites fireworks inside my body. The most electric, sweltering sensations that I want to bask under night and day. When I’ve taken all of him, he leans forward and kisses me deeply.
I struggle to reciprocate, heady and dazed. “Lo,” I whimper against his lips.
“Relax, love,” he coaxes. And then he thrusts. Deep and rhythmic. I grip his hard biceps and focus on keeping my legs raised so he can go further. I inhale sporadically, short breaths that sound like gasps. One minute in, and I stop exhaling, my head dizzying with this bliss.
Lo pauses mid-thrust. “Breathe.”
I buck against him, trying to complete his cock’s travel. Lo drops one of my legs and grips my hip instead, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Breathe.”
Okay. Okay. I take a deep breath, my head less light than before and my chest not as constricted. Satisfied, he continues his course. His gaze carries this hypnotic intensity that pulls me under, amber swirls filled with lust and passion and want.
Cravings that mirror mine.
My nerves sing in euphoria, and then his hand finds my wetness, his fingers filling me even more. I moan into this bed, not able to keep eye contact anymore. The world is spinning. His movements in sync. His fingers. His cock. They pound, pound, pound. His breathing as ragged as mine. His mouth that falls open in pleasure.
He is ice. So cold it burns.
My moans escalate, uncontrollable.
And then the worst sound in the entire world breaches our bedroom.
Crying.
Babies crying.
My heart catapults. “Stopstopstop,” I slur together. My eyes flit to the baby monitor, the light blinking as the noises emit from the speakers. I frantically push him off, even though he’s already backing away.
In a panic, I jump off the bed and throw on one of Lo’s baggy crew-neck shirts. The black fabric falls just above my knees.
“Lil, calm down. He’s fine. He can cry for a bit and be okay,” Lo consoles.
No. I made a promise to never choose sex over him. This is my first real test. And I’m going to pass. “I’m going to check on him,” I say, tying my damp hair into a messy bun. “You can finish yourself off in the bathroom.”
Surprise shrouds his face. “Did you just tell me to masturbate?” Yeah, that happens never.
I don’t have time to answer him. I’m already on my way to the door. He sprints after me before I open it, and his hand catches hold of the wood, blocking me in.
“Lo,” I whine. I cringe at my voice.
“Take some breaths,” he tells me. “I don’t want you to panic every time this happens. Just relax, okay?”
Deep down, he must sense that this is more than just a baby crying. “I’m relaxed,” I say in a stiff voice.
“You have nothing to prove, Lil.”
A lump rises in my throat. “You don’t have to masturbate,” I tell him. “If you can wait for me, we can finish together later.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
I nod.
“If I open this door, will you promise to walk to the nursery and not run?”
“Promise.” I hold up my pinky, and instead of hooking his with mine, he kisses me on the lips. My heart thumps, and then he draws back, removing his hand from the door frame.
I gingerly walk down the hallway, all the while feeling his hot gaze on my back. When I slip into the nursery, I pick up my pace and dart to Moffy’s crib.
“Hey, shhh, it’s okay,” I whisper, lifting him in my arms. I check his diaper. Clean. And then I start the good ol’ pat-and-rock technique, attempting to calm down a six-week-old baby. He’s not supposed to be eating for another hour.