by Unknown
Bradley’s low-level moans buzzed against my pussy. He dug his fingers into my belly, really sinking them into the flesh that hadn’t yet returned to pre-motherhood tautness, and maybe never would. I grabbed at his hand and pulled it away, embarrassed at the rippled texture and the oceanic waves.
Without missing a beat, he replaced his hand with his mouth, planting deep, open kisses all over the breadth of my stretch-marked stomach.
“Babe, what…?”
He said nothing, just slipped a couple of fingers inside me while he made love to my skin. With his thumb on my clit I lost the power of speech. And in truth, the adoration he clearly felt for my big belly worked a magic on me that no words had.
I felt his mouth inching higher, traipsing wide paths over my skin. He peppered my breasts with sharp kisses while his hands became acquainted with all parts of the new me. He kissed my nipples with a tenderness that bordered on neglect.
“Oh boy, Tez. Our little girl’s been working you hard, huh?”
“You can try them if you want. You might get a little more than you bargain for, though.”
He kissed each one again, and smiled. “Aw, I’m not gonna steal from Abbie. I’d have to share my beer with her to make it fair.”
“Turkey.”
He silenced me with a deep kiss that curled my toes. I devoured him, every part of him, from the remnants of his aftershave to the scratching of his already-there stubble. From the weight of his body on me to the lightness of his touch inside me.
He pulled back and just looked at me for a moment. I could feel tears in my eyes, and was surprised to see them in his, too. I slipped my hand against his neck. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“What for?”
“For being so scared for so long.”
He moved my hand down to his chest. “You feel my heart? I’m petrified.”
“You’re scared? What of?”
A few heavy tears landed on my lips and I swallowed them. I don’t know if they were mine or Bradley’s.
“Hurting you.”
“Trust me, babe.” I dropped into a stage whisper. “I’m not a virgin.”
“Not like that. Turkey.” He held up his hand again, the one with the little scars on it. “I’m a man. I’m a doer. A protector.”
I kissed his hand, kissed all the little marks I’d made. “You are. You do.”
He pressed his fingers to my cheek, ran them slowly down my body, coming to rest on my hip.
“I know it was all happening to you. The pain was yours, the vulnerability, the anger. But there’s still pain for a man. To see the woman you love more than life itself, tearing at the bedsheets, clawing at the world, because she’s hurting so bad and there’s nothing you can do about it. It wouldn’t be one-tenth of what you felt. But it’s the greatest pain I’ve ever known.”
“Oh, babe.” I reached down and stroked him, though he was as hard as I’d ever seen him. I pulled on him lightly, just drawing him in, guiding him home.
Suddenly, he was right there. One little push and he’d fill me.
I moved my hand out of harm’s way and pulled at him with my feet. He slipped easily into me and I gave his shoulder some little marks to match the ones on his hand.
“Oh, babe…I’ve missed this. So fucking much.”
I could sense him holding back, as if his strength would somehow hurt me. Now…or in nine months’ time.
“Babe, stop.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I want this. Hell, I need this. But not this way.” I pushed him over on his back and rolled up on top.
I grabbed his wrists, held his hands down beside his head, draping my breasts all over his face. When I’m a mommy, I feel like my life is out of control, like every moment is a challenge. But in that moment, astride my bull-strong husband and directing the play, I was the alpha. The driver. This, I could do.
Anchored in place, I ground my hips over Bradley’s, took his cock deep inside me. His face sizzled with intensity and want, and it made me ride him even harder. He nipped at my heavy breasts and bunted at my wide hips. He pushed up with his hands but couldn’t break my grip.
I bit into my lip as I squeezed his body with my thighs. The waves of pleasure that arced from my clit seemed to reach deeper and wider than they had before pregnancy. As if the pounding of my contractions had beaten down walls, opened new channels within me.
Bradley’s breath came in short, punching blows, and I knew he was close to coming. The desire on his face turned to beautiful pain as the heat of his climax burst inside me.
I followed right after, my orgasm erupting with a power that astonished me, but that I finally understood. Because, yeah, childbirth had been hell, but I’d beaten it. It was no longer some formless monster hiding around that next corner. It was something I could do. And knowing I had that strength made me feel sexier than any lingerie ever could.
I fell into Bradley’s arms, my hair sticking to my face. Neither of us had the breath to speak, nor the words to say.
As if on cue, Abbie began to cry again. I lifted my head and groaned, but Bradley steered me back down off his body and onto the bed.
“I got this, Tez.”
He slipped off the bed, pulled on some shorts and left the room. I knew the moment he arrived at Abbie’s door, simply by the squealing giggle she let loose.
“Hello, Gabby Abbie. How’s my little wonder? Oh, you’re a hungry little thing, huh?”
He laid her down on the bed beside me and she latched on like there was no tomorrow. Bradley sat and watched us, his smiling face glinting with a sheen of tears.
“God, you’re perfect. Both of you.”
I held my hand out to him, and he kissed my fingers.
“You know, Tez, I bet Ray would give you your job back in a flash. If you want it.”
I pulled him down so his body and mine shielded Abbie from the world. “No, babe. Everything I want is right here.”
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh.” I stroked Abbie’s impossibly soft hair. “This…this, I can do.”
Part IV
Sommer Marsden
Coupling—being a couple—is a hard thing to define. It’s great, it’s hard, it’s wonderful, it’s daunting. It’s not all good, but it is all worth it. I think that’s how I look at it. Being one half of a whole (and that is how I think of us. One unit.) can often be frustrating beyond belief. But, if you flip it over (already it’s sounding dirty), it can often be the most amazing thing you will ever experience.
My husband—“the man” to those of you who read me regularly—is my best friend. That’s a huge part of being a couple, if you ask me. He’s my lover, my partner, my friend, my teacher, often he’s the only person on the face of the planet who can understand where I’m coming from…and still love me.
I’m sure there are days that the urge to kill me—or at the very least, duct tape my mouth shut—is nearly overwhelming. And I have similar days, I won’t lie. I think that’s pretty damn normal, because marriage, even wonderful ones (17 years and counting as I write this), can be hard to maintain. It takes a lot of work and a lot of love and a lot of…really knowing each other.
Put that last component in the bedroom and you have a recipe for awesome. I have discovered and developed *ahem* interests since I met the man that I never had before I met him. Things that I once would have socked a man for suggesting we do, turn me on with him. There have been many firsts since we met and I’m sure there will be many more. And that’s saying something since I was 23 when I married him and he was 30. We were not, by far, virgins. But like I said, firsts—we’ve had ‘em. Which is all that matters to me.
I’ve discovered a lot about myself inside and outside the bedroom thanks to him. Every day, I continue to discover, which is really all you can ask for in a relationship.
Am I the same person I was when I married him? Nope. Is he the exact same man I married? Nope. Do I love him? More than I can describe with words, and words ar
e what I do all day every day.
What amazes me most is how we’ve grown together and how the unit we formed so many years ago seems to keep shifting and evolving and yet never waivers. It just gets better…because we work at it. Lots of sex helps, but damn, so does lots of talking and lots of laughing and lots of patience. And did I mention sex? I did. Oh. Sorry. But it is super important. ;)
Rug Burns
By Sommer Marsden
“Looking good, Mac,” he said, playfully. Slipping the long handle of the paint roller extension beneath the lip of my gray shorts, Hampton whistled. “Sweet ass.”
“Focus,” I growled. But I tried not to smile. “We have to finish this today. I really can’t sleep on that pull-out bed another night. My back is in knots. My ass is in a kink. My neck feels like a mule spent the night kicking me.”
I continued to smear the navy blue paint in sweeping arcs across the wall. My roller needed to be redipped, and I hung my head. Exhausted. Defeated. Who the fuck had wanted to paint? Oh, yeah. Me.
“Buck up Mackenzie. Don’t be defeated,” he called in his best Terminator voice. His Arnold accent was the worst in history but never failed to make me smile.
When I squatted down to get more paint, he slipped his bare toe beneath my shorts this time, lifting. I swatted at his hand. “Stop. You can’t possibly be flirting with me.”
“Flirting?” he gasped. His big arms flexed as he rolled the paint on in even lines. He was so much more graceful than yours truly when it came to doing this stuff. “I am not flirting.”
He glanced down and grinned at me. My heart crimped up in my chest. Even after all these years that grin of his did funny things to my stomach. Did instantaneous and naughty things between my thighs.
I squirmed, not so sure I wanted to stand up at the moment. A glance at our bed showed it still nearly buckling under boxes and boxes of stuff we needed to get out of the way to paint.
I sighed. “I’m glad you’re not flirting.” I rested my roller in the paint pan and sat back for a minute, crossing my legs criss-cross applesauce style.
“I’m begging,” he growled and propped the extension roller against the already blue wall. “I’m pleading. I’m…desperate,” he ground out and dropped to his knees, coming at me like a big animal.
I snorted laughter, but seeing that movement, hearing that tone, my skin prickled into goose bumps and a warm rush of fluid escaped me, making me overtly aware of my now plump and slickening nether lips. My god, he was turning me on. And then some. I’d officially lost my mind.
“Stop,” I said, but it came out in a whisper. I put up a half-hearted palm to keep him at bay. Hampton immediately crashed right into my open hand and forced my arm back. He crushed to the front of me, buckling me under his weight and driving me onto my back on the carpet. Only the edges of the room were draped in plastic and where I sat the tarp had gotten shoved aside.
“The carpet!” I gasped.
“The carpet!” he echoed, mocking me. His lips found my throat. He dragged his teeth lightly over my pulse, making me jump at the sensation. I went warm all over, especially between my thighs where a steady pulse of arousal now beat.
“Ham—“
He kissed me silent, big warm hands shoving up under the edges of my shorts to cup my bottom. I was bare underneath. I mean, how much does a person need to dress to paint walls and get dirty?
Get dirty…I laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about being…” I shook my head.
He waggled his fingers against my naked flesh and his blue eyes went dark and he smiled at me. It was a big bad wolf smile. It made my blood thump wildly. “You appear to be…” His fingers climbed higher, rerouted and slid around to find the moist folds of my nether lips. I couldn’t suppress a sigh. “Naked under these tiny shorts. And a bit aroused.”
“I’m fine.” I lied.
“You’re lying.” Hampton dipped his head, hiding his eyes from me, and bit my nipple through my faded white tee. It was a thousand years old and had the now washed out slogan PEACE across the breasts. He bit me right on the C and a shiver worked through me, my pussy clenching tight around nothing. I found myself wishing he’d put that finger inside me.
Instead, he bit me again and gently rubbed the tip of his finger over my swollen clitoris. I moved my hips up to meet him and Hampton chuckled. “Fine, eh?”
“We have painting to do,” I managed, but his fingers did what I’d wished. One finger, two fingers, drove into me with enough force to make me lift my hips a little to accept him. The movement slammed his palm against my clit and I found myself bearing down to get more friction. I held my breath, moving my hips as he flexed his fingers.
“I think we have fucking to do first.”
“But…tacky paint. Weird patterns will get on the walls. Streaks. Um…” I was losing my stream of thought because Hampton was pulling my tee up and my bra down. His mouth settled, hot and wet on my nipple. When he sucked, I felt the draw and tug echo in my pussy. “I—”
He cut me off with a nip to the tip of my breast. I started, squirming beneath him as he pushed me firmly to the carpet. “Stop moving, Mac.”
“No,” I sighed as he added a third finger to the mix. I had to put up a good show, didn’t I?
I didn’t fight him when he tugged my shirt off and popped the front clasp of my bra to remove it. I wasn’t very good and protesting, it seemed. He skimmed his hands along my skin and down my arms softly. He squeezed my hands and stared me down as I looked up at him. I could sit up if I wanted to, and yet…I didn’t.
“No,” I said again, just for show. I grinned at him and he grinned back.
“Yes,” he cajoled. He slipped his lips along my shoulder and my clavicle. When he found my nipple with his teeth, tugging out taut so that I hissed, he thrust deep again with his fingers. My pussy clenched up tight around his probing digits and I moved my hips just enough to trigger soft warm places deep inside me that needed it.
An almost-orgasm tightened me up around him and he grinned.
“Say no, again, Mac.”
“No,” I said, not meaning it at all.
His lips came down on my lips. A rough, demanding kiss that was all bullying flicks of his tongue and sharp nips of his teeth. My cunt flickered around his fingers. I moaned, giving into it all. I needed this, the stress release was welcome.
“Do it,” I pleaded. And Hampton knew what.
He kissed me once more and chuckled. “What, oh what, would you do if I said no?” But he didn’t. He covered my throat with his free hand. The heavy mitt of his palm and fingers trapped my pulse and I felt the blood whooshing and thumping in my head.
The trust was humbling, the arousal all encompassing. I have never trusted or loved easily, with him I’d found I did both. He curled his fingers just a bit more so that I felt the slowing drag of my breath in my lungs. Just a bit more effort needed to draw a deep breath than should be present. His fingers in my cunt curled in unison. The internal yang to the yin of the fingers on my throat.
I came, gasping for air as he continued to thrust his fingers deep inside my wet recesses.
Me asking him to do that never failed to get him off. Work him up.
“On your belly,” he growled, when the final spasm passed. But Hampton was past the point of waiting. Even as he said it, he flipped me on my stomach and I pushed up on my knees and elbows for him.
“Good girl.” I heard the zipper of his busted out painting jeans complain. The soft whisper of well-worn denim hitting the floor. The heat of him pressed up close behind me as he got into position. I hung my head as he swept the head of his cock up and down the slick split of my sex. He nudged inside of me—just the tip—just enough to make me hold my breath.
He palmed my ass, calluses dragging across my flesh, working a shimmer of sensation up my spine. Hampton moved forward slowly, driving into me with agonizing laziness. His cock, parting and filling me as he moved at a sn
ail’s pace just to make me crazy. He knew what drove me nuts—both good and bad—and used it to his advantage.
“Jesus…please,” I whispered, my hair swishing against the carpet. My elbows slid as he grabbed my hips roughly and thrust deep. I gasped at the friction, both inside and out.
“Ouch,” I sighed.
“Shall I stop?” He rocked his hips from side to side, his cock pressing deep inside on magical places that lit me up from my very center. The repeated pressure on my G-spot had me on the verge of coming, my limbs heavy with pleasure. My head light with anticipation.
“No, no, don’t stop. I’m fine.”
“You love it,” he chuckled and smacked my ass hard enough that I bucked.
He was right, I did love it. And he damn well knew it.
I pushed my forearms to the floor, resting my head on top. Every time the thrust, he drove me forward a bit. I inched my way toward the sheeted plastic even though Hampton had my hips in his tight grip. His fingers bit into my skin and I felt my pulse banging beneath the restriction. I’d have a purple fingerprint or two to show for our mid-day fun.
I pushed my ass back, moved just so, trying so hard to entice him into doing it again. I didn’t like to ask for things aloud. Not even with Hampton. But he knew that and sometimes he made me.
I wiggled again, driving myself back against his cock, impaling myself on his length. I pushed my bottom into his hands to try and trigger another blissful sharp blow.
It didn’t work. He was on to me.
“Got ants in your pants?”
“Please,” I said, wistfully.
“Please, what, Mac? You’ve had such a stressful week. What is it that you need from me?”
“Do it again,” I said so softly I barely heard myself.
He’d stilled. His big body not moving at all but for a small rocking back and forth motion that inched me closer and closer to coming without actually triggering an orgasm. Hampton covered me with his body, draping himself along my back and cupping my breasts with his hot hands.