Page 42 of The Claiming Series: Collection 1
“So your heavily pregnant wife can ride you like a stallion,” she replies, her mouth tugging up in a wicked grin. “I reckon we’ve got,” she glances at theclock on the bedside table, “about ten minutes before Elsie finishes eating her cookie and drinking her milk.”
“Have you seen our daughter eat cookies?” I scoff. “I’ll give it five minutes, tops.”
“So, what are you waiting for?” Lily asks, giving me a sultry pout that has my cock straining against my pants.
“Angel, there’s not enough time to do what I want to do with you right now, but if you need to come, you know I’m always more than happy to oblige,” I growl, tugging her closer and sliding my hand inside her leggings.
Lily moans as I tease my finger along the seam of her pussy through her panties. They’re already wet with her juices, and I yank them aside, my probing fingers opening her up to find her hard little clit.
“Cal,” she moans, jerking uncontrollably as I circle her sensitive nub.
I back her up until her knees hit the bottom of the bed. She lies back, and I strip her leggings and panties down her legs before shouldering her thighs open and descending on her with my ravenous mouth. I lick her from her puckered little asshole toher clit, grazing the bundle of nerves with my teeth and then fucking her with my tongue.
“Oh, shit,” Lily groans, fisting her hands in the duvet at her sides and bucking her hips against me.
I bury my face in her wetness, eating her pussy relentlessly, encouraged by her throaty moans. When I slide a finger into her tight ass, she goes off like a firework. Turns out my naughty little angel loves a little butt play while I use my mouth and fingers to milk the last tremors of her orgasm from her until she falls limp and breathless on the bed.
Crawling up her body, I find her sweet lips for a deep kiss. I glance at the clock. “Two minutes. I think that may be some kind of record. Better, Angel?” I grin, rubbing her swollen belly.
“Mmmhmm,” she hums sleepily, stroking her hands through my hair.
“Why don’t you grab a little catnap while I make dinner,” I murmur, kissing her softly before tugging the blanket over her from the foot of the bed.
“Just five minutes,” she says drowsily. One eye pops open. “But I still want to do the whole riding you like a stallion thingtonight.”
“You know I’ll always give you what you want, Angel,” I chuckle, gazing down at her possessively.
She’s so fucking beautiful—even more so when she’s carrying our baby. I can’t wait to meet our little boy, and truth be known, I’m as impatient as she is. But he’s being a typical boy, and he’s not coming out until he’s good and ready.
I leave Lily dozing and head downstairs to find Elsie watching some cartoon on the TV, Groot curled up next to her.
“What’s for dinner, Daddy?” she asks, dragging her attention away from the screen.
“Spaghetti Bolognese, Princess. Wanna help?”
She nods her head enthusiastically. “Me love sketti bolnese!”
I chuckle at her pronunciation. “Come on then, squirt, you can weigh out the spaghetti and wash the mushrooms.”
I pluck her from the sofa and carry her to the kitchen, plopping her down on one of the breakfast stools at the large island.
“Will Daniel be here soon? I want to meet him,” Elsie says as I hand her the packet of spaghetti.
“Your baby brother will be here in a few days, Princess. He’s taking his time. He’s a little too warm and comfortable in Mommy’s tummy,” I reply, searching the cupboard for a saucepan.
“How will he get out?” she asks curiously. “Through Mommy’s belly button?”
I stifle my laugh. Trust my daughter to suddenly get curious about childbirth when Lily’s not around to run interference. I’m still trying to come up with a suitable answer when there’s a cry of pain from upstairs.
“Don’t move!” I instruct Elsie, taking the stairs three at a time and bursting into the bedroom.
Lily is standing at the side of the bed, a puddle of water on the hardwood floor at her feet, her face scrunched up in pain.
She looks at me with a smile that’s equal parts happy and nervous. “Baby’s coming.”
Daniel Rogen is born ten hours later, weighing eight pounds, ten ounces. He’s utterly perfect, with all ten fingers and toes and a mop of darkhair.
Lily gazes down at him lovingly as she nurses him in the hospital bed, his tiny fingers curled around her thumb.
