Page 72 of Fake Fiancée for Dad's Best Friend
Knowing my ravenous appetite, he doesn’t make me wait. He kisses the nape of my neck while squeezing my swelling breasts. And then he pushes my gown up and strokes my hips and my ass.
“Wow, we’ve got a Nile flooding down there, wife,” he teases me as if it’s even news.
I giggle. “Of course, husband. That’s why I’m so fertile.”
My original plan was to start having babies after I turned thirty, but thanks to my virile husband and my fertile Nile, I’m bearing my third child at twenty nine.
“You’re my goddess,” he murmurs while wading through my feminine river with his long finger.
“I need you, now, please!” I beg. “We need to hurry because the little ones will be up soon.”
I haven’t finished my sentence when he fills me to the hilt with his thick shaft. I let out a satisfying moan. Thank God for penises! I mean, Thank God for Alex, my billionaire boss and my sexy husband.
Our fake marriage seven years ago became real. Alex lived with me in Paris for a year before we moved back to the U.S. I’ve been working for Trend ever since then, although I mostly work at home because I’m also a full-time mom.
After the birth of Darlene, our first daughter, I also started a clothing line for little girls and named it after her.
“Aah!” I cry out my orgasm when my body spasms.
Alex grunts and comes soon after. He keeps thrusting as if it feels too good to stop.
“Thank God for pregnancy hormones,” he murmurs against my neck.
“Is that why you keep getting me pregnant?”
He laughs. “No, baby. The reason is that’s the only way I can live inside you every second, day and night.”
Oh, Go. I already want him again. I’m about to suggest just that when I feel a rapid succession of kicks, and we both laugh.
“Is he complaining?” I say.
“Probably.Hey, keep it down, Mom and Dad. I’m trying to get some sleep here!” Alex mimics a baby’s voice.
I giggle. “Sorry, little one. Mommy’s horny and it’s your fault!”
We’re still laughing when the doorknob turns and we quickly pull away from each other. Our six-year-old daughter Darlene and four-year-old son Andy run toward us.
While Andy jumps onto his daddy, Darlene grabs my arm and demands, “Mommy! Get up, please!”
“What’s the hurry?”
“I want to make a different dress for Barbie.”
“What’s wrong with the one we made the other day?”
“It isn’t pretty enough.”
“Okay,” I sigh and sit up. I was hoping I could work on a new design today.
After breakfast, Andy takes his drawing lesson with his daddy on the balcony while Darlene and I work on Barbie’s new clothes. My daughter has gotten my passion in fashion design.
“So, sweetheart, what kind of dress do you want Barbie to have?” I ask her.
“Mmm,” she thinks for a second. “A mermaid dress.”
“Okay. Why don’t you sketch it out so Mommy can draw the pattern?”
She does it quickly and draws a Barbie wearing a halter top and a long skirt that flares on the bottom.
