Page 86 of Salty Pickle

But he knows, just as he’s known everything this whole day. He takes my hands and kisses his way back up the globe of my belly, crawling over me.

“You have your shirt on!” I cry, snatching at it to pull it over his head.

“I was busy,” he says, grinning over me as he tosses the shirt away from the bed.

I want to touch him, everything. Those muscled shoulders, that honed chest, the tight belly. I can’t get very far before I encounter the limit of my belly, so I shift to my side. He lands beside me on the bed, and now it’s much easier. I can reach all of him, and I do, pushing his shorts out of the way until he’s out and in my hands.

His head drops back as I reacquaint myself with him, long and hard and hot. I get familiar again with the length and breadth, the fat tip and thick veins.

“We don’t have to penetrate if it makes you worry,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“Are you kidding?” I say. “The one time I can’t get pregnant. You bet I’m taking advantage of that!”

“Do you want me to wear a condom, anyway?”

I don’t pause in my attention, but I think it over. “This would be a terrible time for an STD. How prolific have you been since New Year’s?”

He hesitates, and I think it’s because the number is so high. Yeah, condom it is.

But then he says, “I haven’t, actually.”

I let go of him and sit up. “What? Why?”

He props his head on his hand to face me. We lie side by side in the faint light. “I haven’t been in a very good place since then. Since before then.”

I run my hand down his arm, bumping along his muscles and the turn of his elbow. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He rolls onto his back and covers his face with one arm. “I don’t do that.”

There’s a whiff of his salty self in the words, but I won’t let him go there.

“Then let’s not talk about it.” I sit on my knees and drag his shorts down his legs. “Can the mother of your baby talk dirty, or would that ruin everything?”

His laugh is rumble. “I think it’s incredibly hot.”

I straddle him and lean down until I’m inches from his face, my belly pressing against his. “Then shut your damn mouth and fuck me.”

26

COURT

Fuuuuuuck. Those words coming out of sweet farmgirl, big-bellied Lucy almost make me shoot my load. My whole body shakes for a second, and she laughs. Laughs!

“You’re so easy, Court Armstrong. Sit back while I have my way with you.”

And then she’s on me, sliding down my shaft until our bodies rest against each other. I’m deep inside her.

Fuuuuuuuuck.

Looking up at her is like a dream. Her honey-brown hair falls forward, all dry and curling on the ends. Her breasts loom over me in a temptation I absolutely cannot resist, so I lift up in an ab crunch to take one in my mouth.

But I fall back only moments later, when she rises over me and slides back down in exquisite, maddening slowness.

Her arms are propped on the pillow on either side of my head. Her belly rests on mine no matter where she is in the rise and fall of her hips.

I figure it’s best to let her set this pace since I don’t know what’s comfortable for her this late in her pregnancy.

She closes her eyes, a content smile on her lips. She’s happy here.

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