Page 39 of One Week With My Dad's Best Friend

He’s nearly three months old now, and we’re at Jade and Max’s house. They’re having a party for their second daughter, Belle. She turned one-year-old today.

“It’s all your fault, beautiful girl,” I say to my gorgeous niece, Ella. She is nearly four now and smiling in my arms. While Jade runs around and keeps her guests happy.

“You shouldn’t be lifting anything,” Anton growls in my ear.

I probably shouldn’t be.

It seems my body was ready to get pregnant the moment Anton and I started making love again after having Caleb. Because I’m six weeks pregnant with our second child.

Ella wants to go down the moment she sees the candles flicker with flames. “Let’s get some cake.”

Her little legs run to the table her mum is at.

Anton puts his arm around my shoulder, and I rest my head on his chest.

“We’ll go home soon,” he says. “You need to rest.”

He is so careful with everything about the baby. Though he isn’t so careful when he has me in bed.

Later that day, after breastfeeding Caleb, which is exhausting, because he latches onto my breast like a tick on a cow, never letting go. It gets so bad that sometimes I have to bottle-feed him, just for relief.

Anton loves those days.

The days he can feed him and not see me grimace with pain. And to be honest, I love watching those beautiful, tender moments he has with his son.

“I’m going to change him and put him to bed,” he says, taking a sleeping baby from my arms.

He fell asleep while feeding. I press my hand against the mattress to stand, trying not to wake him. But Anton takes him from my hands and carries him to his crib in the next room. Changing him before he gently lowers him inside his crib, then he switches on the baby monitor.

Finally, we can sleep.

Not that Anton is thinking of sleeping. He gives me a wicked grin as he closes the door and saunters to me.

Before I know it, his hand is on the back of my neck and he’s pulling me to him and crashing our lips together in a passionate kiss.

As his tongue dances with mine, his free hand reaches into my panties, cupping my pussy. He kisses my neck, along to my ear,kissing the spot underneath he knows I love, and whispers, “Can I taste you?”

I rub my hand over his hard cock, unzipping his jeans and taking out the rock hard dick, and I stroke over the silky length. “Only if I can taste you.”

He growls, dragging my clothes off until I am sitting on the bed in only my lacy white panties and matching bra.

I laugh as I dart to the back of the bed. My finger slips inside my panties and between my lips. The wetness is building, of course. That’s what he does to me.

I take my finger out and suck on it, giving him my innocent look. “Mmm.”

“That’s mine,” he growls, pushing his jeans off and throwing his clothes in a pile on the floor.

He crawls up the bed, taking hold of my ankles and dragging me underneath him. And pulling my underwear off, with no care that he might damage them.

He buys me that much lingerie. He no longer cares.

My husband is nearly thirty-six years old now, but he is still as horny as a teenager that is about to be laid for the first time.

He pushes my thighs apart, inhaling my scent as he parts me with his thumbs. His tongue licks along my slit. The sounds he makes are obscene.

He crawls past me and sits with his back to the headboard, patting his lap. “Ride me.”

“I was going to suck you.”

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