One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3)(70)
But then.
Then he pumps his hips, his hard cock moving inside me, over and over and over again. So deep. So slow. So rhythmic and utterly intentional. I grip the sheets as he strokes the spot he’s memorized for the past several weeks, the spot that he’s tended to and serviced all in the name of sex.
But this. What we’re doing here and now—it’s more than sex.
Josh stops kissing me and stares into my eyes as he says, “I want to watch you come, baby.”
“Yes,” I whisper, my body trembling in his arms as my hoarse voice gasps for air.
His eyes move down my body. “You’re beautiful like this.”
“Yes,” I moan, my climb building from his words and eyes on me.
“Your body, your mind, your heart. All of it is so fucking beautiful.”
My tummy flips at his guttural words of devotion, my entire body spasming into shock as his eyes redden around the edges. He gazes down the front of me. At my belly.
Tears spring to my eyes. “Josh?”
What’s going on? Where’s his head? What’s he thinking?
I need to hear his full heart and for him to say the words I’ve longed to hear him say. “Josh, what is it?”
“Nothing,” he murmurs, biting his lip. His hand tightens on my leg as he stares at my belly longer, almost like he’s seeing it for the first time. “I just…I want to feel…”
His voice trails off, and I hold my breath when his hand moves to my stomach. He strokes the bump, his hand warm and large on my well-established pregnancy. His fingers run over the smooth, taut skin like he’s reading Braille. Like he’s committing every bump to memory. My heart could burst at the sensation. The emotions spill out of me as I waffle my fingers over his, and our two hands embrace this baby together for the first time. A staggered breath expels from my lips, and Josh’s breathing picks up as he rocks inside me and runs his hands over me, all of me.
“Baby,” he groans, his face flinching. “I need you to come. I need you to come now.”
He slides his hand down the curve of my belly between my legs and circles my clit swiftly. My eyes slam shut as instant fireworks shoot off every one of my nerve endings.
“Look at me, baby,” he commands, and I open my eyes and bite my lip.
“Josh,” I cry, and he presses his mouth over mine to muffle my screams of pleasure.
“Lynsey,” he murmurs into my lips, kissing me like he can’t get enough.
And then he pulses inside me, his release hot and heavy as his entire body shakes. He moves his hand to clutch my stomach as he empties everything he has inside me.
“I want you to sleep like this,” he says, his voice deep and soothing.
“What?”
He sits up so he can look me into the eyes. “I want you to lay here with me inside you…with my cum marking you as mine…just for a while.”
I stare at him, marveling over this new act of possessiveness he’s never shown me before. “What is going on with you?”
He gets a sad look on his face, and without pulling out of me, he lowers to his pillow and releases a shaky breath that sounds like he’s been holding it this entire time. “Just lay like this with me for a while, baby.”
Baby. I repeat the word in my mind over and over, and that one term of endearment gives me hope that I’ve told myself I couldn’t have all these weeks.
But I was a fool.
I was a fool when I tried to tell myself I could handle a sex-only relationship. I was a fool when I tried not to notice all the mornings I’d wake up to find him watching me sleep. I was a fool when I ignored the butterflies in my belly when he kissed me goodbye before going to work. And I was a fool for acting like I haven’t been picturing a family with this man from the moment I found out I was pregnant and completely in love with his child.
God, I’m a fool.
And this man is going to break my heart.
It’s the middle of the night when my eyes pop open to a strange sensation on the palm of my hand. Did my arm fall asleep, and it’s the needle-prick sensation?
I shake my head and force myself to come to.
I’m completely wrapped around Lynsey as her naked back presses against my naked front. Neither of us have moved since the way we fell asleep after making love—including my hand on her belly.
A belly we created together.
The strange sensation happens again. I shift to sit up on my elbow and glance at Lynsey whose deep breaths indicate she’s still fast asleep. My eyes move from her face shining in the moonlight to the action happening beneath my palm.
The baby is…moving. Or kicking. Or hell, maybe even doing flips because the flutters happening right now are some serious Cirque du Soleil acts for such a tiny little thing.
My fingers widen, warmth flooding through me as I feel my child move for the first time. That warmth is almost immediately overshadowed by regret. I should have experienced this sooner. With Lynsey.
Damn, she’s been so good with all of this. She’s completely embraced this interruption into her life and every step of this process—even at the expense of looking crazy. And she does look fucking crazy with her prenatal yoga poses or when she’s reading dirty novels out loud to the baby.
Lately, however, I’ve been lingering in the doorway, eavesdropping as she connects with the little peanut and marveling at just how easy it is for her. How easy any of this is for her.