Owen
OWEN
The little moans of pleasure she makes as I massage her scalp go straight to my balls, forcing my cock to stand to attention, so fucking tall it rubs against the top of my jeans. Her eyes are closed, and it allows me to trail my gaze over her perfect little body.
If I thought Laya was beautiful before motherhood, now she’s a goddess who deserves me worshipping at her feet, begging to taste her.
Her hips are fuller, more womanly. Enough for me to hold on to while I fuck her from behind, and her tits are heavy. A bead of milk drips from them, and my mouth waters to taste it. How warm would it be when it reaches my tongue? The idea of her being full of milk for my child has my cock leaking in need. I can’t help but to imagine what she looked like pregnant, full of my son, and I hate myself for not being there, not working quicker to ensure it.
A burst of excitement at the thought of filling her with another baby rushes through me with such power, I gasp in surprise. I want that; I want that so fucking bad, and I will make it happen.
“You feel so good,” she whispers, and her soft, seductive tone causes my cock to ache painfully.
Jesus, fuck.
How the hell am I going to get through washing her without some form of relief?
I rinse her hair, and she snaps her eyes open. Those beautiful green orbs that render me powerless lock onto my lips, and I have an overwhelming urge to grab her head and push my tongue into her mouth. “?”
My heart hammers, willing me to take what I want.
“Hmm?”
“Romero, he’s crying.”
I jolt, and like I’ve been pulled from a daydream, Romero’s cries fill my ears. Before I know what I’m doing, I drop the sponge and stand. “Finish up here. I’ll go grab him.”
“He’s probably ready for a feeding,” she calls as I rush toward the bedroom like my ass is on fire.
Ready for his feeding? A heavy sigh leaves me, and I shake my head. Great. Another form of torture coming right up.
The moment I set eyes on Romero, every bit of tension leaves my body. His startling green eyes make me fall in love with him instantly, and a pain slices through my chest as I realize this little guy staring back at me with excitable kicking legs may not be my son by blood, but he should have been, and nobody will tell me any different; they’re mine, both of them.
“Come on, buddy. Are you ready for a feeding?” I scoop a hand under his head and the other under his little butt. Nobody needs to know I’ve been taking notes from Shaw these past few months, determined to be as hands on as possible. To be everything they need. I’ve read every goddamn book on babies I could get my hands on.
Securing him safely against my chest, I smile when his heart beats against mine, and when I press a kiss against his soft hair, I grin at how much he’s like his momma.
“Is he okay?”
Laya leans against the doorframe, a towel wrapped around her, and her wet hair hangs loosely over her shoulders as if she rushed to check on us. She holds the hairbrush in her hand, and the familiar need to care for her and be everything she needs has me pointing toward the bed.
Her eyes narrow. “On the bed, Laya. You can feed him while I brush your hair.”
She glances at the hairbrush, and my lips twitch to hold back the chuckle at how adorable she looks right now. “You’re going to brush my hair?”
“I am, baby girl. Now, get your ass on the bed like a good girl and feed our boy.”
She rears back on my words. Her lips pull into a fine line, but she remains silent and moves toward the bed, and I follow behind.
“You’re going to watch me feed him?”
Her words come out breathless, and it sends a wave of want through me, but Romero fusses, and I clear my throat. “I am. Open the towel to feed him and give me the damn brush.” I hold my hand out, and she pushes it into my palm while I somehow manage to maneuver Romero into her open arms. Then she slips the towel down, and I position myself to sit behind her. I grip her hips and pull her closer so her back is almost flush against my chest. Her gasp of surprise sends a flash of arousal through me, and I work my way through her tangled hair as delicately as possible while willing my cock to go down.
“Never done this before.” I chuckle awkwardly.
“Me neither,” she says, and I know she’s referring to the prick, and it gives me more reason to want to care for her and give her everything she deserves but never had.
We sit in near silence as I stroke over her hair with the brush, the sight of a bead of milk sliding down her has my cock standing to full attention, and I know she can feel me, and the thought only adds to my heightened state of arousal.
Jesus Christ, I could come from brushing her hair.
“You fuck anyone else?” I can’t help the words that spill from my lips, nor do I care to take them back. I need to know what I’m up against, and while the thought of her with someone else ate away at me, it was my deserved, all of it. A punishment for the way I treated her, another sign of how undeserving I am of such beauty, yet I refuse to miss out a second time.
This time, we will make it work at whatever cost.
When I think she isn’t going to answer, she surprises me. “No. I’ve only slept with my husband and you. Does that make you happy?”
Her tone is flat, not her usual snarky self, but it’s not how she says it that pisses me off, it’s her words.
“No.” I bend to whisper in her ear. “He isn’t your husband anymore. Don’t refer to him as such.”
She freezes, and a trail of goose bumps spreads over her delicate body, then a choked sound leaves her lips, but I don’t have it in me to take the words back. No matter how harsh they are, they’re the truth. The sooner she realizes it, the better.
I turn my attention toward our son, peering over her shoulder to see him watching me with as much intrigue as I am him. His small mouth works against Laya while he feeds and witnessing the action has my heart racing. “You’re fucking sensational, Laya.”
She tilts her head to face me, and the air is knocked from my lungs. How could I have ever let her go?