Page 71 of Mismatched

She glances down and exhales. Then spends a minute trying to rearrange and tuck herself in. It doesn’t work. The cups are clearly way over capacity.

“Here. Let me help you with that.” My voice comes out husky and she pauses, eyes darkening as I approach. Which is... new. I slip my arms around her, fumbling for a stupid number of seconds with the tiny metal clasps. But all at once they come apart, and her breasts spring free like they were just bursting to be released, both nipples already fully erect. “God, Lydia.” I swallow hard. My wife has always had beautiful curves. Her breasts are, hands down, my favorite part of her body. But they must have grown at least two sizes since the last time I saw them, and with the rest of her unchanged, she looks... nearly pornographic.

She blushes beautifully under my gaze, and I sink to my knees, forgetting whatever else we were talking about. I’m a man worshipping at the temple of his wife’s impossibly pregnant tits. Somewhere in the cerebral part of my mind, I knew this would happen eventually. Lots of things about her body will change. But my more primal brain was completely caught off guard. I reach out with both hands, dying to squeeze them, take them into my mouth, but I pause, glancing at her face.

“Can I . . . ?”

Her eyelids flutter, and she wraps her arms around herself, pressing the pale globes together until my mouth is bone dry. Her voice comes out needy. “I uh... I wish you would.”

I look up in surprise. I’ve worked hard to cultivate my wife’s sexual desire recently. It has never come easily, but once I learned it could be teased out, that she would come around and return my touch after she was aroused, things became more straightforward. However, I can’t remember it ever happening on its own.

Almost like sex had been on her mind before this moment.

As we each draw our next breaths, I take her tits by the handful. Squeeze them lightly together, gauging with a near-painful shot to my dick, how much more they fill and spill out of my hands now. I run my tongue between them, then trace lightly over her skin, circling one very erect nipple.

She groans, pressing her thighs lightly together.

“Is this okay?” I ask, just to be sure. Because I want to trust what I see and feel, but because of our history, I’m also scared.

“Yes,” she says, with a faint but undeniable hint of... lust.

I look at her face, considering. “Is this what you meant when you said you feel ‘different’?”

“I—yes.” She blushes deeper, her voice reedy. “It’s actually been kind of distracting.”

Oh. God.

“I want to know more.” I blow gently across her nipple before pulling it into my mouth.

“Oh,” she murmurs, and with that my cock is fully hard, pressing uncomfortably against the inside of my jeans. “I—all day, I’ve been feeling kind of?—”

She breaks off, and I recognize the reluctance in her voice. The hushed, chaste tone she always uses when we talk about sex.

I pull back, releasing her taut nipple with a pop, staring up at her as she gasps. “Lydia?” I ask, desperate for verbal confirmation. To assure myself this is not just happening in my head. “Have you been at work all day... wanting to be fucked?”

Electricity bolts through me as her face turns a deep, dark red.

“No,” she says primly. “That’s not what I?—”

I take her other nipple into my mouth, and she doesn’t finish her sentence. “That’s a long day,” I say once I let go, running my fingers between her legs. She’s in a thin pair of leggings, and when I brush along her crotch, I’m pretty sure both our eyes widen. “Lydia. You’re so wet for me.”

Her thighs clench hard in response, clamping down and trapping my hand. So I go with it, pressing my palm into the soaked fabric against her pussy. In seven years of marriage, I have never seen my wife actually... horny. She tears my shirt over my head, carnal urge flowing off her in waves, and it seems obvious there’s only one thing to do.

Her thighs release, and I move to her waistband, sliding her leggings down. When she’s fully naked, standing before me flushed and wanting, I place a kiss below her navel.

But as I pull back, staring at the part of her body where everything is centered, I pause. And it’s like someone dumps a bucket of cold water on my head.

“Fuck.”

I pull back, stumbling away from her, running into the bed. Uncertainty seeps back into her posture, and she tries to cover herself with her arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—we can’t,” I say, biting into my lip, my cock hard, my balls so tight, I have to breathe through the pain of doing nothing about it.

“But I want to,” she says firmly, taking a step toward me, reaching up to squeeze her own tits like she needs it. And now I know what it’s like to be the butt of a joke to the universe.

“Fuck, Lydia, I do too,” I growl, eyes fixed on the floor. “I want nothing more than to toss you on the bed and fuck you senseless. But the nurse said?—”

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