When I'm With You

“Please,” I beg, muffled against his hand.

He looks up from the nipple he had been teasing, and he must sense how high my need is for him because the next second, he’s holding my legs up by the back of my knees and pushing into my body with one powerful thrust.

I whimper, rolling my lips together and biting down on the flesh to keep from screaming as he pounds into me with deep, rough, measured drives. Of course, when he pulls out, grabs my hips, and flips me over, I let out a loud yelp. That yelp turns into a scream of ecstasy when he slaps my ass while pushing back into me, even deeper than before.

His balls slap against my aching clit as he continues to push into me; swiveling his hips each time, he bottoms out and only lets go of my hips to smack my ass.

The painful smart of his palm mixing and mingling with the frenzied rush of pleasure he’s creating every time he hits that spot deep inside my body becomes overwhelming in its power. My fingers hurt from the grip I have on our sheets, and I start rocking back to slam into his hips, welcoming each thrust he makes. We both let out grunts and cries as we climb the peak, ready to tumble over the edge of what promises to be one hell of a powerful climax.

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight, baby. I can feel you hugging and pulling me deeper. You want me to fuck you harder?”

I make, what I hope, is a sound of agreement. I know words aren’t going to cut it, not when I feel like I’m about to burst into a million tiny pieces.

“Hold on,” he rumbles, tightening his hold on my hips with his fingers digging into the soft skin as he starts to piston into my body rapidly.

“Yes! Oh God, yes!”

He grows impossibly hard inside me, and the second his hand lifts off my hips to give me another one of those smacks that I love, I detonate. When he feels my walls start to flutter, he pushes in deep and even through the haze of my orgasm, I feel the delicious hot rush of him emptying inside me.

Hours later, after a quick late-night bottle to Quinnly and one delicious coupling, I rest my head on his sweaty chest and sigh contently.

“You know, I think I’m going to enjoy this whole practicing for another baby thing.”

He huffs. “No practicing, baby. My baby is already in there.”

I roll my eyes and curl into him more. “Whatever.”

His chest moves and the arm around me tightens. “Go to sleep, mama.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

FOUR YEARS, SEVEN MONTHS, AND TWO DAYS LATER

“QUINNIE, BABY, WHERE IS MOMMY’S makeup bag?”

She turns and looks at me over her shoulder with a face that is so much like her father’s, it’s almost like looking in the mirror, and shrugs. Her chestnut ringlets dance around her face with the motion.

“Right dare,” Brooklynn, our four-year-old, says and points at her sister. Her sweet little lips turn into a sassy grin before she sticks her tongue out at her big sister.

“Brookie!” Quinnly shouts and finally turns so I can see what she was trying her hardest to hide.

My mouth falls open as I look at the mess she’s created.

“I made a princess.”

Kaylee, our two-year-old, gives a little clap and looks back and forth between her two sisters and me with the happiest of expressions on her face.

I have no idea how Quinnly managed to cover so much of her baby sister, but I’m fairly confident some splattering of various colors covers every bit of her. My makeup bag is wide open in front of her with just about every item that was inside of it spread in Kaylee’s lap.

“I see, Quinnie.”

She beams, looking quite proud of herself.

“Kaykay,” I coo, bending to pick up my messy daughter. “Want to take a bubble bath before Daddy gets home? He’s going to want his princess all clean so he can give you tons of kisses.”