Page 60 of Better Daddy
I delight in the sounds she makes and the way she tastes.
I remember every little thing, as if I could have forgotten. How did I lie in bed next to this woman, have a life with this woman, and not do this every moment she asked? How could I have let her doubt that she was the very air I sought, the joy I lived for, and the pleasure I needed?
Whimpering, she plucks at my waistband.
“Wait,” I mutter, grasping her wrist.
Her eyes fly open and she breaks into a mischievous grin. “You worried I’ll ruin your pajamas?”
I can’t help but smile. It’s been so fucking long since my wife and I fooled around. But it’s been even longer since we smiled during it. Since we laughed with one another.
That knowledge has me grasping her hands and holding them still, afraid I’ll fuck this all up. “We should take this slow, sweetheart. Kissing you is enough.”
Sloane huffs. “But what if it’s not enough for me? What if I need this? What if I tell you—” She inhales sharply, surveying my face, a war raging behind her eyes, like she’s trying to decide just how honest she wants to be.
“Tell me. You can tell me anything,” I plead with her. I’m truly not above begging.
“As much as I missed you,” she admits, her voice going soft. “I’ve missed me even more.” She rolls her tongue over her lip. “I need to feel like me again. I need to know that you aren’t just doing this—” She huffs like she’s annoyed that she doesn’t know how to properly express herself.
I squeeze her wrists quickly and then release them, giving her complete control.
When she settles her palms against my chest, likely feeling my pounding heart, a thrill shoots through me. Maybe it’s my nerves that give her strength. Or maybe it’s the way I look at her. I hope she can see just how badly I yearn for her. That she can sense the complete and utter desire I have for her every thought.
“I need to know it’s not just because I’m pregnant. I need to feel like us again. I don’t want to just do this for the kids. Yes, I’m glad you want to be a better daddy, but I also need you to be a better partner.My partner. My husband. Be my husband, Sully. Show me I’m yours.”
“You are mine,” I growl as an innate understanding of preciselywhat my wife needs takes over. I lift her into my arms, feeling like fucking Hercules. Like I can do anything.
She squeals as I carry her toward the bedroom. Maybe it’s not our bedroom, not like the one at home, and maybe we’ve been sharing it with our child, but tonight it’s ours. Tonight it’s just her and me, and it’s time I remind her that until my dying breath, no matter what the circumstance, her and me is what I want it to be.
“This outfit is ridiculous,” she says as she tugs on the bloody elf costume I was roped into wearing.
I settle her on the bed and pull the ugly top over my head. As I toss it, I stride for the door to lock it. There are too many people in this house, and I have no interest in being interrupted tonight.
“Don’t plan on wearing it for long.” I turn back and, smirking, slide the ridiculous pants down and fist my hard cock.
“Yes,” she hisses, her eyes zeroed in on my dick.
That look alone is enough to make it pulse and my spine tingle.
She kicks at the covers and pushes herself back, like she’s settling in for the little show I’m providing. She gave me one hell of a performance last week in the doctor’s office. Mine isn’t nearly as sexy, but I take my time, drag it out.
“Get over here.” Her voice is needy, desperate.
God damn, I love that she’s the one begging for once. I’ll gladly beg, and I’ll put in the work to get her back, but it’s good to know she’s just as desperate for this. Just as desperate for me.
With intention, I walk toward her, slowly stroking my length, holding myself in an excruciating limbo. I want to live in this moment. In this point in time when Sloane looks at me like I’m the answer to her every wish. Like nothing else in this world could satisfy her.
It’s the way she’s looked at me since we were stupid, naïve twenty-two-year-old law school students. Even then, she made me want to be better. She’s always made me want to be better. To deserve her. To earn her. Tonight is no different.
I prop my knee on the bed beside her, onlyto wobble when the pregnancy pillow is in my way. I growl, annoyed that she even needs it. When she was pregnant with T.J., that thing spent more time on the floor than anywhere else. Back then, all my wife needed at night was my body. All she craved was me.
“I’m taking back my spot,” I say as I push it over.
Eyes flashing, she kicks it to the floor. “I hate that thing.”
I pause, studying her. “What?”
Face lowering a fraction, like she’s avoiding eye contact, she says, “I never liked it. Not when I was pregnant with T.J. and not this time. But I haven’t had you.” She shrugs, finally dragging her eyes up to meet mine.
