Chapter 17
Gio
Over the years, I’d learned—by virtue of having anything within reach chucked at my head—not to rush my wife while she was getting ready for a formal event.
Apparently, perfection took time.
And damn if I wasn’t staring at it right now from where I stood, propped against the doorframe leading into our ensuite bathroom. Rory was a pain in my ass one hundred percent of the time, but she was hands-down the most stunning woman I’d ever laid eyes on.
A part of me hated that I couldn’t resist her curves, which had grown even more mouthwatering due to the weight gain associated with having reached her third trimester.
My palms itched to grab giant handfuls of her ass from behind, spread her open, and thrust home before she even knew what was happening.
Her cunt was always so fucking wet, warm, and tight. Hell, there were times when I woke up in the middle of the night, having made a mess of the sheets like a preteen boy just dreaming about the feel of it molded around my dick.
The same dick that was throbbing now as I gazed upon my wife’s creamy backside, the bare globes swaying from side to side as she bent over the vanity, fussing with her makeup.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing there, transfixed by the sight of her wearing nothing but a black lace bra and matching thong, when she finally caught sight of me in the mirror.
Blue eyes widened in the reflective glass before Rory spun around.
The front view was even more incredible than the one from behind, and my groan couldn’t be contained. From this angle, I could see the giant swell of her stomach, her pale skin stretched taut over where my son was growing.
Knowing I’d planted my seed inside her made me fucking feral, and if there was a way to knock her up again while she was still pregnant, I would do it.
At this rate, she’d be lucky if I gave her the requisite six weeks to recover from birth before I was filling her to the brim with my cum to give our boy a sibling.
She’d denied me for far too long, and now we needed to make up for lost time. Neither of us was getting any younger.
“Been waiting long?” Rory arched an eyebrow, almost daring me to make a comment about her drawn-out preparations for the evening’s event.
Stuffing both hands in the pockets of my tuxedo pants, I shook my head. “Not at all.”
Her hum told me she didn’t believe me for a minute.
Turning back to face the mirror, she kept her eyes on me as she spoke, swiping mascara over her lashes.
“I’m not quite ready. I still have to curl and style my hair, then rub cocoa butter over every inch of my skin before I can even think about choosing the right jewelry and shoes to complement my dress. Could take hours.”
The quirk of her lips gave away that she was goading me, hoping to spark frustration.
Too bad for her, the only frustration I currently felt was sexual.
I’d kept my hands to myself since the preterm labor incident and was dying to get inside her. Now that she’d reached twenty-eight weeks and there had been no other issues, I was finally comfortable making a move.
“That’s okay.” Shoving off the wall, I stalked closer, satisfaction surging in my veins when her breathing hitched, and the pulse point at the base of her throat began to flutter wildly. “Because I need to eat.”
After a thick swallow, she asked, “E-eat?”
“Mm-hmm.” I shucked my tuxedo jacket, folding it over the vanity chair to my right before removing my cuff links and rolling up my shirt sleeves.
Each shallow inhale caused her breasts to heave, practically spilling over the lace cups of her bra. “There will be food at the party.”
I hauled her flush, the feel of her hard belly between us making my dick throb painfully. Leaning in, I rasped huskily in her ear. “What I’m hungry for won’t be available.” I bit down on the lobe, relishing her moan.
“What’s that?” Her nails dug into my shoulders.
“The most delicious cunt I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.” I cupped between her legs. The thin scrap of lace there was soaked completely through.
Her head fell back when I teased the material aside, dragging my fingers through her slick slit before rubbing maddeningly slow circles around her clit that brought her pleasure but wouldn’t be enough to get her off.
“Gio.” My name fell from her lips like a prayer.
With my free hand, I tugged down the lace cup of her bra, exposing one breast. Damn, was it my imagination, or were they getting bigger by the day?
Testing the weight of it, I groaned. Definitely heavier.
Mesmerized, I couldn’t tear my gaze away, as my thumb brushed over the stiff peak. Her nipples had gotten larger and darker too.
“I fucking love your tits now that you’re pregnant. They’re so full and overflowing my hands.”
Ducking down, I pulled the one I’d been toying with into my mouth. Rory’s fingers weaved through my hair, holding me to her breast and silently begging for more. Releasing the taut bud with a loud pop, I peeked up to find her staring down at me, her blue eyes clouded over with lust.
Using the tip of my tongue, I traced around her areola. “I can’t wait to drink from these when your milk comes in.”
Shocked by my words, my wife gasped loudly.
“Tell me you want that too,” I commanded. “Tell me you want me to drain these tits every day for so long as your supply lasts.”
Not breaking eye contact, she hissed, “Yes.”
I rewarded her by shoving two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right so that she let out a throaty groan, her hips bucking against my hand, frantically in search of release.
“Gio, I need—”
“I know, baby,” I cooed against her skin.
But instead of giving her more, I pulled out of her warmth.
Rory whined in protest, panic that I was about to leave her hanging filling her brilliant blue eyes. Perhaps as a punishment for going out of her way to make us late tonight. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time I used orgasm denial as a form of discipline.
Luckily for her, that wasn’t my plan tonight.
Anchoring my hold on her hips, I lifted her onto the vanity, not giving a fuck when beauty products clattered to the floor around us.
Glass shattering registered through my muted hearing, and then the intoxicating scent of my wife’s perfume permeated the air, thick enough to choke on, but all it did was make me even harder, my cock leaking in my slacks.
I dropped to my knees, pushing her thighs wide. The only thing blocking my view of paradise was a tiny triangle of black lace.
“Hope you have another pair of these,” I remarked, not giving any more warning before ripping the fabric from her body to reveal her glistening pussy.
“Gio!” she cried, but her outrage quickly vanished when my tongue dragged through her soaked folds.
My eyes about damn near rolled into the back of my head at the first taste of her. If I were on death row and offered a last meal, I would ask to eat Rory’s cunt. It was my favorite fucking thing in this world. No question.
I propped her heels onto the edge of the counter, opening her up even wider before burying my face between her legs. Her arousal clung to my skin, leaking down my chin to soak into the fabric of my shirt.
Rory whined from above when all I gave her were long, slow licks, intent on savoring the experience, because the truth was, if tonight took a turn, it might be the last time I got the chance to enjoy it.
When it became clear I would never get my fill, I gave her what she needed, circling her clit with the hard point of my tongue. Her sigh floated toward the ceiling, chased by moans as I upped the pace.
My cock pressed insistently against my fly, desperate to get in on the action, but I knew if I gave in to temptation, I would abandon this evening’s plans, electing to fuck my wife into oblivion instead.
That didn’t mean I had to deprive myself of a release, though.
In fact, a little post-nut clarity might actually prove to be an advantage when walking into a situation that required my mind to be at its sharpest, with our survival on the line.
Undoing my belt, I wrenched down my fly, releasing my aching length.
Giving it a firm squeeze, I groaned, the pressure in my balls already nearing the point of no return.
Then nails raked a path against my scalp, and the sharp sting almost threw me over the edge.
Nothing got me off quite like a bit of pain added to my pleasure, something my wife was acutely aware of.
I growled against her slick flesh, adding my fingers to the mix, pumping in and out of her tight heat while I tugged violently on my dick.
It would be a race to see who finished first, and at this rate—plunged face-first into nirvana, a punishing grip on my shaft—I’d lay good odds that I would find myself decorating the tile floor with my cum before Rory soaked me with her release.
“Fuck. Don’t stop,” Rory all but sobbed.
Doubling my efforts, I gave her everything I had, clenching all my muscles to keep from coming.
Come on, baby. Give it to me.
In an act of pure desperation, I bit down hard on her clit, and she finally exploded. A primal scream was torn from her chest as she bucked wildly against my face, her mound repeatedly crashing into my nose hard enough to make it bleed.
She was just coming down from the intensity of her orgasm when my balls tightened.
Rising to my feet, I fisted my cock to the point of pain, which was what set me off, and ecstasy flooded my nervous system a split second before cum shot wildly from the tip, the white ropes of it painting Rory’s belly with the most breathtaking art I’d ever seen.
Fully emptied, I collapsed forward, bracing myself with one hand on the vanity beside Rory’s hip. My forehead fell to her breasts, my panting breaths fanning across the ripe swells as the vibrations from her contented hums buzzed against my ear.