Page 52 of In Another Time

He didn’t need any more than that. I felt the thick head of his dick press against my entrance, then slam into me in one powerful thrust. I gasped, biting my lip as he filled me to the hilt.

“Fuck, Lennox,” he groaned, gripping my hips like he was holding on for dear life. “Still tight as fuck.”

He started to move, slow at first, deep strokes that dragged along every nerve ending, making me shudder. Then he picked up the pace, hips slapping against my ass, his balls bouncing off my clit with each thrust.

“Yesss,” I moaned, fingernails scratching up my desk. “Right there, Omir. Right there.”

“Look at you.” He grunted.

I threw my head back as he pounded into me, each stroke harder, faster, deeper. The sound of our bodies clapping echoed in the office, filthy and raw. His hand slid around and found my clit, rubbing fast circles as he fucked me, and I almost collapsed.

“Omir—I’m gonna cum again?—”

“Let go, baby. Let that shit go.”

I cried out, my pussy tightening around him like a fist, my legs trembling as my second orgasm tore through me. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop. If anything, he started to lose control—his rhythm getting rougher, his breaths coming faster.

“Where do you want it?” he growled, voice ragged. “Tell me.”

I moaned, dizzy with need. “Inside me. Fuck—inside.”

He let out a deep groan, his thrusts turning savage. “You sure?”

“Yes—please. Fill me up.”

His fingers dug into my hips as he buried himself one last time, deep and hard. He let out a low, guttural moan as he came, his dick pulsing inside me, spilling into me in thick, hot waves.

We stayed like that, bodies pressed together, chests heaving—until the storm passed. Omir leaned forward, kissing my shoulder, my neck, the side of my face. “I fucking love you,” he whispered, voice rough, hand sliding across my stomach like he was claiming every inch of me.

I turned my head, meeting his lips, tasting myself on his tongue. “I love you too.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel like I was chasing something. I felt home.

OMIR

“Yo! Chill with that box—it’s marked ‘fragile,’ not ‘toss this shit like it owes you money!’” I barked across the room, watching a mover practically launch a box onto the entryway rug.

Dude flinched, mumbled something like “My bad, boss,” and adjusted his grip.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, glancing around our new home. Boxes stacked like Tetris in the hallway. Furniture half-assembled. Baby gear everywhere. It looked like chaos—but it felt like peace. We’d done it.

Eighteen months ago, none of this was guaranteed. Back then, we were just two people trying to find our way back to each other. Now? We were a family. Two kids deep, his and hers sinks, and matching bathrobes.

The house smelled like new beginnings—fresh paint and soft jasmine from one of Lennox’s candles. Sunlight poured through the bay windows we both said yes to the second we stepped foot in here. We didn’t even care about the price tag. It felt like ours the moment we saw it.

“Omir!”

I turned to the front porch just in time to see her struggling to carry two car seats, one in each hand, diaper bag slung across her shoulder, hair twisted up in a messy bun. And God, she was still beautiful as hell.

“I told you to wait for me,” I said, jogging over and grabbing both carriers before she dropped a child.

“I did. You were too busy yelling and pretending you’re the box police.”

I laughed and kissed her forehead. “You good?”

She exhaled, heavy and dramatic. “I’m starving, I can’t feel my arms, and if I don’t find that blender in the next hour so I can make a virgin piña colada, I might snap.”

“I’ll find the blender, woman. You go sit down and feed my babies.”

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