Page 57 of Red Flag Bull

I release her binds and gather her into my arms before she collapses on the cum-splattered floor. I carry her through to the bedroom, not giving a fuck about the mess we make.

“You did so good, beautiful,” I whisper as she lies limp beside me. “I’m so proud of you.”

I pull her right up against me and smile when she purrs in her sleep. My gaze drifts to her canvases — on easels and leaning against walls — all around our bedroom. There’s paint everywhere, all of it brightly colored, and each of her paintings is filled with the kinds of feelings she never had a chance to express in her old life.

She has a specialty, for sure. I don’t know how she bends the paint to her will like she does, but her talent in capturing the expression of pure joy on children’s faces is undeniable — as if she spent her years studying happy kids — and I’m so excited for the opportunity for her to see those kinds of expressions beaming back at her from our children. Will she paint them, too?

I can already imagine their portraits, lining the hallways.

“You’re free now, Princess. Free and loved. And full of potential. You’re going to be everything your mother wasn’t. Amazing and fucking wonderful. Our kids are going to love you, and I’m going to have to learn photography or something, so I can capture your smiling face right next to theirs.”

22

MANDI

Time flies.

Things are happening so fast, I’m getting ahead of myself and falling behind, all at the same time.

With the tap of the keyboard, the black-and-white image on the screen freezes on a perfect view of our baby.

The sound of his heartbeat fills the room, and mine picks up, as if trying to match his pace.

He’s real.

At least we’re pretty sure he’s a he. Eyeballing the grainy images isn’t enough to give a definitive result this early on, but our obstetrician seems to think the angle of the little Tic-Tac-sized blip that would indicate his gender is dominantly male in and decently developed, for a thirteen week old fetus, and Jason looks pretty smug about that.

There’s no denying where the kid got his girth genes. Especially since Jason has attempted to discreetly adjust his cock twice since we got here. Only he’s not discreet about it, because there’s no hiding the size of the bulge in his jeans.

I glare at him, while the doctor puts his wand away and the room fills with silence again. The doctor wipes some goop from my belly, lowers my gown, takes one look at my face, and gulps.

Jason asks — or rather tells — him to give us a moment, in private in a tone that makes the guy scurry, and I swat at his arm the second we’re alone. “Would you quit getting hard in the doctor’s office? What is wrong with you?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you weren’t so fucking gorgeous, I wouldn’t. You know I love the sight of your bred little body,” he says, lifting my very unsexy medical gown up to expose me again. “What else am I going to do when you’re getting all lubed up and your blessed fertile insides are being broadcast on a screen, for me to see? It’s like a double-feature movie of my favorite fucking things.” He gestures at my belly and the image on the screen.

I cross my arms with a huff and try really hard not to love how relentless his adoration is for my developing baby bump.

I swear, I’m bigger at this stage than I was the last two times I was this pregnant. I grew a significant amount in the past week, and I had two nightmares about blowing up like a balloon and floating away by the time I’m full-term, because even Jason couldn’t hold onto my strings.

The doctor assured me it’s normal to show sooner with each pregnancy, though, so now I’m not worried. Which means I’m only feeling fruitful and sexy, and that’s a real problem.

Jason isn’t kidding. He gets a major kick out of seeing and touching my growing belly, and he has been fucking insatiable.

I’ve never felt hotter in all my life, and it’s driving me crazy. The spike in my libido is so… inconvenient.

Jason slowly circles my bellybutton with his finger. “I don’t think you’re allowed to be mad at me for loving you,” he says. “Do you want me to distract you and help you vent some of your crankiness by arguing about baby names again?”

He bends to press his face to my bump, and then he scuffs my sensitive skin with his beard as he hums and kisses me. “How about Chuck? Or Norris?“

I give him a death glare. “We are not naming our baby after Walker, Texas Ranger. And if you don’t get your dick under control, I’ll revoke your rights to add any other names to our list.”

He shoves his hand inside his jeans and strokes his cock, making it even bigger. “Am I a bad husband if I’m turned on by my wife?”

“No,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.

“Is it bad if our doctor knows I love my wife?”

I sigh and stare at the monitor. “No.”

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