Page 120 of What if It's Us

She shrugs innocently but I know she’s feeling anything but innocent right now. “What can I say? You in dad mode must be my new kink.”

Fuuuck yes.

I blink and then toss the wrench aside with a dramatic sigh before I wrap my arms around her and scoot us back against the couch.

“Okay. Crib can fucking wait. Babies aren’t sleeping in it for a few months anyway, right?”

Marlee sighs and wraps her arms around my neck. “See? You’re already thinking like a dad. Such a smart beautiful man.”

I reach up and bring her lips to mine in a slow, deep kiss, taking my time tasting her and reveling in the feel of her new curvy body against mine. Different from the first time we were intimate but no less sexy. Pregnant with my children and wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts, she’s a goddamn knockout.

She grinds her hips on my cock and my composure cracks like thin ice on a pond. I palm her ass, marveling at the added softness, the redistribution of her, that shockingly turns me on even more. I push into her, cock straining against the denim barrier, and she whimpers, a desperate little sound that has me ready to commit actual violence against the pants in my way.

Her hands are in my hair, her lips all up on my jaw, leaving wet, trailing bites right up to the corner of my mouth.

“I want you, Ledger. Need you.” She palms my cock underneath her and whispers, totally unhinged, “Show me what this baby-maker can really do.”

“Jesus, Mar,” I breathe and run a hand between her legs, over the cotton of her underwear, testing just how slick she is. She shivers and presses into my palm, her whole body a livewire. “So wet…just for me?”

“Mmm.” She smiles. “All for you.”

“Want me to carry you to the bedroom?”

She shakes her head. “Too far,” she pants. “Can’t wait.” Her hands are already working the button of my jeans. She’s trembling with a messy kind of urgency, the kind that I can’t help but match. I slide my hand under her shirt, letting my palm skim her stomach, then her breasts, warm and swollen, nipples already hard for me. She gasps and arches against the touch.

This is new territory for us, the heat of passion replacing the need and desire for conception. This is my literal dream come true. Marlee Remington in my arms asking to be pleasured. Begging to be satisfied. Every undulation and curve of her body is etched into my memory as if it were a well-loved book. She’s as familiar to me as the grooves and lines of an ice rink. I use both hands carefully at first, then more insistent when she moans into my neck. The air is thick with the scent of new furniture and sweat and her, and I’m drunk off of it. Half the bolts for the crib are digging into my thigh, the blanket underneath us bunching up, but none of it matters.

She yanks at my boxers and laughs breathlessly when my cock springs free. “You were not kidding.”

“I never lie about anything dick-related,” I say, and she laughs again, wraps one fist around me, and God, there’ssomething about the way she handles my body, almost clinical, a little clumsy, delightfully new.

She could hold my cock every minute of every goddamn day and never let go and I would never tire of the hold she has over me.

She straddles me fully and I help her get my cock lined up, running my hand along the inside of her thigh, slow as a prayer. She’s so wet I think I might die just from the anticipation, and when she sinks down on me, I fight a losing battle to keep my eyes from rolling back.

“Fuck, Marlee,” I grunt.

She kisses me hard enough to leave her taste on my tongue for a week and then she rides me, unhurried but hungry. The kind of rhythm that says she needs to drag this out and also could finish in thirty seconds if I so much as look at her the wrong way. Her hands come up under her breasts, holding them almost reverently, and I can’t help but look at the way they move, the way her whole body is different and yet the same as every time I’ve seen her. She’s glowing, she’s fucking radiant, and she smiles down at me with this half-wicked, half-adoring look like I’m the last dessert at the party and she’s the only one hungry enough to finish it.

“Ledger,” she squeals, her voice winding up higher than I’m used to, and she rocks her hips in a circle that makes me see literal constellations. “You good?”

“Not even a little bit,” I gasp. She laughs, slow and throaty, and leans in so her forehead is pressed to mine. We move together, my hands on her ass, her hands on my face, every inch of us trying to get closer than skin allows. There’s a newness to it, a difference, like every nerve is being rewired for the reality of us now, and it’s making me fucking feral. The sound of our breathing fills the room, heavy and erratic. The soft rustlingof the blanket beneath us echoes our movements, a sensual background to our desperate gasps and moans.

I watch her with a crazed hunger as she creates the beautiful work of art that she is right in front of me. Her flushed cheeks, her hair falling wild, lips parted with the most honest of sounds I’ve ever heard her make. I brush her hands away so I can take her breasts in my palms, feel the heat and weight of them, the way her heartbeat thrums through the soft skin. I suck one nipple into my mouth and she shudders violently, nails digging into my shoulders, back arching so her belly presses tightly to my chest.

I let her ride me however she wants, let her find her own tempo, and it’s absolutely filthy the way she chases it, rolling her hips, lifting and dropping, clenching around me like she never wants to let me go. She bites my lower lip when she’s close, almost angry with it, and I can feel her pulsing on my cock, feel it building inside her, all hot and frantic.

“Ledger,” she gasps, and I almost lose it at the sound of my own name coming from her mouth, all tangled up with need and love and that same bone-deep hunger I have for her. I throttle myself down, grip her hips hard enough to leave marks, and thrust once, twice, three times, deep inside her until my balls tighten and I can’t hold back any longer.

“Mother fuck, Mar,” I pant as I begin to shake. “So, fucking good.”

“Oh…God!”

“Yes! Fuck, babe. I’m going to come. Right fucking now,” I say and then I let go inside her, filling her until we both shake.

She sobs out a broken sound, half laugh, half something holy, and her body tightens around me, every muscle locked up, every ounce of her concentration on fracturing right there in my arms. I hold her through it, let her ride it out, let her leave scratchesdown my back and sounds in my ears that I’ll want to remember until I die.

We collapse together, her damp forehead in my neck, my arms wrapped around her so tight she could easily let go and melt right into my bones. The aftershocks ripple through both of us, the room full of spent energy, half-assembled furniture, and something softer I can’t even name.

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