Page 52 of Dibs
Quinn kisses Vincent, and then we disappear into the cold, late February afternoon for a late brunch and some much-needed girl time. While eating tres leches cake after a Mexican brunch, I unblocked Sean’s number from my phone. Not because I want to talk to him, but if he has an emergency with the baby, I don't want to be far away.
At the end of the afternoon, Quinn dismisses Sean. She tells him he passed her initial test but still has a long way to go. I’d never seen him look happier.
He waves to me from the doorway as Quinn practically closes the door in his face, and I hold back a laugh.
That’s when Quinn lets me hold Vincent. In my arms, he makes cooing noises and looks up at me adorably; his thin little lips so perfectly kissable, I don’t know how Quinn doesn’t just peck them all day long. How does she get anything done?
As I stare down at him, I can’t wait to have my baby in my arms. We’ve discussed names, and I think we’ve landed on Emery Lillian for a girl and Sullivan Chase for a boy. While I’m hoping for a little Emery, a Sully would make me just as happy.
When I finally turn little Vincent back to his momma, I sigh and stand. “I should probably get home to my husband. He’stexting impatiently. Acting like he thinks he can knock me up twice.”
We both laugh. “Girl, go. Get some. One of us should.”
With a hug, we part, and I drive back to the home that was once Deacon’s and is now ours, and I ask him, “You coming?” as I shuck my clothes and walk up the stairs. He nearly trips over his own feet, leaving the couch and running up after me.
“How was your day?” Deacon calls from behind me.
“Vincent is perfect. Sean apologized. He’s in therapy. I don’t want to talk about Sean right now, though,” I tell him as I throw the covers back and fold them along the bottom of the bed. They only get in the way.
“Legs open, baby,” Deacon commands me, so I move the pillows and lie flat on my back, thighs parted obscenely as he covers my body with his. The sensation of his muscular, naked body pressing into mine is heady and thickens the air between us as I inhale shakily.
He traces his hands up my calves while kissing my stomach that’s carrying our child. Eventually, his hands stop on my hips, and he presses his face to my stomach.
“I hope you’re asleep for this,” Deacon tells our baby. His slow, soft kisses drift around my body and then down between my legs, kissing my pussy fully, moving his lips around my mound and upper thighs, tickling and teasing. It’s so much better when he makes me wait and beg.
Because I will beg.
After Deacon has kissed every inch of my thighs, hips, and belly, the tip of his tongue follows the path his lips had, and my legs start to close around his head as he licks down through my inner lips. I’m already ready to combust.
He pushes the top of my body back against the bed and whispers, “Be still, love. Let me taste you.”
I cry out for him as he licks me again, warmth spreading through my body as I moan with pleasure and try to stay still for him.
“You’re so delicious. Wonderful. Mine,” Deacon says with a smile. “I could eat you like this every day and not get enough.”
I feel my hips lift wantonly, and he grabs them and holds me to his mouth, pressing his tongue into me in earnest. I reach out but find nothing to hold on to except the bedsheets as he rocks his face against me, and my hips meet his movements.
“Yes!” I call out, spots appearing behind my tightly closed eyes. When Deacon begins to rub that sensitive spot at the apex of my thighs, I throw my head back and cry out. This torture is delicate but oh-so-intense, and I need more. More. I think I even whisper, “More.”
His mouth moves up to gently lap at my throbbing bud, and I fill the quiet bedroom with loud, long moans while he continues to love me with his tongue. Deacon looks up at me, and the eye contact makes me shiver.
When he adds two fingers to the delicate torture, I nearly hit the ceiling, closing my eyes to the pleasure, the world just sunlight and black spots, my body no longer in my possession as I spiral into a merciless orgasm. I hear myself cry out for Deacon, beg for god, then scream out some broken “Yeses” as he never stops moving his tongue or fingers. I allow myself to be taken over by Deacon Ambrose, my husband and father of my child, welcoming him into my body over and over again. He controls the pace, and me, entirely.
“Good job, love. Come again,” Deacon whispers before he sucks me into his warm mouth and lashes me with his tongue.
I press my hands to my eyes, finding them wet with tears, and then I move to grip his golden hair and tug it. Deacon moans nearly as loudly as I do, loving all the pleasure he’s giving me,and knowing his is next. The muscles in my whole body tighten and contort as my belly rises, and I shove closer to his mouth.
Eventually, I push Deacon onto his back and straddle his hips, reaching down to hold his length, and then I slide down onto it, taking him home into my body.
“You fit just right,” I groan, still somehow surprised by how wonderful making love with Deacon feels.
“Like a puzzle piece,” Deacon manages to say as he stills within me and lets me control the pace. He lifts to lick one of my nipples, surrounding it with his lips as he sucks. I lean closer to him, desperate for the attention. He hasn’t been able to touch my breasts since I first got pregnant; they had been so sore! Maybe the worst of that is behind me now.
I begin to rock against Deacon, finding a motion that works perfectly. He lets me control the rhythm for a while, my head thrown back as I moan continuously, more blissed out with every in-and-out motion I create with my hips.
“I need you to stop being gentle and fuck me the way I need,” I demand as Deacon’s face contorts from holding back.
My words free him. He flips me over, settles between my thighs, and presses deep inside me as he kisses me, his open mouth taking, taking, taking. He sucks my lips, then my tongue, while holding himself up on his elbows to thrust rhythmically, hard, deep. I reach down, grab his ass, and pull him even tighter and more fully into me. He hits a spot within me that sends me reeling over the edge, as I shriek, “Oh mygod!”
