Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GARRETT
I t had been two weeks since I convinced my wife to move in with me. Xavier thought she was still staying at Candyce’s, but one week after she crashed back into my life, Maren was in the spare bedroom on the opposite side of the hall from my room.
If I had my way, she’d be in my bed, but I didn’t want to push her. Plus, I had a feeling she still kept something from me, or a part of her she was afraid I wouldn’t like. Which was insane, because every damn day, I discovered one more thing driving me crazy with the need to be inside her. Filling her, over and over. Her belly, and the thought of our baby, made me so fucking hard that my showers were becoming a double feature every morning.
The first week in my house, Maren avoided me, and with training camp rearing up, I wasn’t around as much. But then, the next Monday she was craving fried rice. Easy enough. I picked some up on my way home, and when she opened the door, eyes all lit up, it was all I could do to not feed her myself, and then bend her over the fucking table and lick her until she came. Then fuck her until we were both breathless.
But I was a patient man. I didn’t get to where I was focusing on the immediate gains.
Tonight, however, I had a plan.
The garage door shut, keeping out the heat. At six months, Maren hated the humidity and fuck, she was so damn adorable when she complained about it. My electricity bill notwithstanding, she had the inside temp set to 68 degrees, and usually wore one of my fury hoodies with a pair of leggings.
I set my keys on the island, along with the takeout bags, and a few other surprises. Yesterday, before Sebastian and the rookie took to the training field, I overheard him telling Simmons about some foot cream he used to massage his very pregnant fiancee’s feet. I picked some up, along with a candle and herbal tea, and planned on making Maren very relaxed because she looked like she wanted to jump out of her skin the last few days.
Tray loaded with fried rice, a few egg rolls, lemonade, and chicken with broccoli along with about twenty packets of Asian spicy mustard, I tucked the DVD under one arm. The brown bag’s handle from the lotion boutique place Sebastian mentioned hung from my forearm, the brown twine handle cutting off my circulation, but I didn’t care. Down the stairs I went, careful not to let anything slide off the tray or crash to the carpet.
I set up everything in the theatre, and went in search of my wife.
My wife. I never thought those words would be so fucking sexy, and that I’d want them to be true. I teased Maren about changing her last name a few days ago, and she’d run out of the room, mumbling about meeting Candyce for lunch.
This time, I wasn’t letting her get away. I bounded up from the lower level theatre room, to the main level, then took the stairs two at a time to the second level of the house.
As I neared Maren’s room, I could make out the sound of her crying. Panic overtook me, and I ran to her door, not bothering to knock. Bursting in, I yelled, probably louder than I should have, “Maren? Baby, what’s wrong?”
She jumped up from the bed, eyes wet, like she had been trying to hold in tears. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. One of my hoodies over her frame, her belly becoming more prominent every day. Sitting next to her, feeling the baby kick was something I’d never get used to. I went over and took her in my arms. “Sweet girl, talk to me.”
Maren sniffled and buried her face in the crook of my shoulder, and inhaled. It was something she did, not as often as I’d like, but it usually calmed her down when she started to worry about Xavier and her parents finding out. We had decided to wait until they came to town for the Fury’s first game, rather than over the phone. Or rather, Maren had begged me. She would be almost seven and a half months along by then, and it was only four weeks away.
She shook her head.
Finger under her chin, I forced her to look up at me. Her bottom lip trembled. “Tell me so I can fix it.”
She sucked in a breath. “I tried to sort the baby clothes, because the baby book says I’m supposed to be nesting, and I realized we didn’t even have any names picked out, and I’m not sure I even like yellow anymore, but green seems so dark, and then- I’m so fat!” she wailed.
“Oh, silly sweet girl. We have at least three months for names, you love yellow, and you are not fat.”
“My bras don’t fit, and all I can wear are your hoodies,” she sobbed.
I wrapped my arms around her again, holding her tightly against me, and kissed the top of her head. “Then we go shopping tomorrow. And your tits look fucking fabulous. You have no idea how much I fucking love the way your body looks right now. Coming home to you in my hoodies is better than any fantasy I’ve had. And trust me, Wife. I’ve had quite a few.”
She stilled. “You have?” Maren whispered.
“Absofuckinglutely.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’,” I teased. “Now, come downstairs, because I have a surprise for you. Or two. Maybe three.”
“You do?”
“I’d never lie, wife.”
Her eyes clouded over for a brief second. “Hey, no more tears for the rest of the night. Unless you sit on my lap, and snuggle up so I can take care of you.”
“You are too good to me, Husband.”
“Someone has to be. And I did take your virginity then knock you up on our fake wedding night, so I’m trying to make up for all that.”
She gave me another look. “You’ve more than made up for it. In fact, I'd say you were spoiling me. And you don’t have to take me shopping-”
I silenced her with a finger to her lips. Her tongue darted out, and I let out a growl. “Wife.” Her cheeks flushed, her breath quickening. Pupils dilating.
And here’s where I felt like a fucking creep. From my research on pregnant women, I knew Maren had to be horny as fuck, and maybe a few nights I’d stood outside her door, listening to her make herself come. Fighting the urge to break down the damn door and help her by making her come all over my face, then filling her sweet pussy until she was a blissful mess.
But I didn’t.
“Sorry, hormones,” she mumbled, and plastered a smile on her face. “You mentioned a surprise?”
“Surprises.”
As we headed downstairs to the theatre, she grinned. “Oh, multiple.”
I smirked at her over my shoulder, holding her hand the entire time. “My specialty.”
That earned me an eye roll. “Such an ego.”
I shrugged. “I did get the Fury a Super Bowl ring my first year out.”
“And so humble!” she laughed. Fuck, I loved that sound almost as much as when she came on my cock.
This girl was going to be the death of me. The amount of blood leaving my brain to head to the other part that desperately wanted to make her come again was dangerous. I led her into the theatre room hoping she wouldn't notice my raging erection. Or maybe hoping she would. But when she gasped and burst into tears, I worried I’d fucked up. “Did they fuck up the order-off!” the wind knocked out of me as Maren threw her arms around me, crying.
“It’s perfect.”
In front of the huge loveseat recliner sat her favorite takeout, a huge cup of lemonade and a bottle ready for refills, dark chocolate sea salt caramels, and her favorite movie, the empty case because I’d already loaded into the player. “Now, eat. And if you’re a good girl,” my lips twitched as she licked her lips, the innocent gesture reminding my cock what it was missing in real life, “I’ll even give you,” I dropped my voice, “a foot rub.”
Her hand flew to her chest and she gasped. Her eyes sparkled. “Why, sir, I may just swoon.”
“Oh, you’ll do much more than swoon.” I gestured for her to sit, and handed her a takeout carton and a fork. “You'll be praying to me again.”
“Such an ego. From a foot rub.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? My touch anywhere on you is magic, Wife.”
Two cartons of fried rice, a half gallon of lemonade and an hour later, the sounds coming from my sweet girl’s lips made me not regret propping her feet up on a pillow that covered my very evident erection. If she kept making noises while I rubbed her feet, I might come in my shorts. Fuck. Me. “told you.”
Her eyes fluttered as her lips parted on another moan of pleasure. “Fine, husband. Your touch is everything I’ve wanted and more,” she teased. I tickled the bottom of her foot. “Hey! Don’t stop.”
“At least you’re consistent, wife,” I murmured.
“What does that mean?” she asked, eyes still closed as Olivia Newton John and Gene Kelly sang and tapped danced their way through another cheesy song. But if it made Maren happy, I’d suffer. My brain went into overdrive, thinking of all the delicious ways I could pay her back with my tongue. If only.
“You begged and pleaded the night I fucked you senseless.”
She snorted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do from the way you’re blushing,” I grinned.
Her eyes snapped open. “I did not! Am not!” she sputtered, flustered. “It was the alcohol. And getting married.”
“Oh, I definitely think you liked having your husband be the first to take your pussy. And your mouth, Wife.” I continued to massage the sole of her foot. Loving how pliant yet defiant she was, her feeble attempts to deny what we both knew, adorable. But it only stirred the need to see how far I could push her until she admitted she wanted me. Her thighs rubbed together as she shifted slightly. Her cheeks were flushed. And if I lifted my hoodie she claimed as her own, I’d find her nipples hard and begging for attention.
“Garrett,” she whimpered.
“Yes, Wife?”
“You can’t say things li-”
“I can, And I did.”
“But…”
“But, what? If you think I don’t think about that night every fucking day, every morning, night, you’d be lying. And I know you do, sweet girl. Because nothing that fucking amazing is easy to forget. You are not easy to forget. The way you came all over my cock? How tight and perfect your pussy felt, like it was made to take me? Knowing I bred you that night?” Her eyes stayed locked on mine as she let out a breath that bordered on a needy whimper. “And right now, all I can think about is filling you over and over with my cum until it leaks down your thighs. Rub it all over your fucking tits. Fuck,” I growled. “Tell me you don’t think about me. Us. Every night, in our room, across the hall. That you don't touch yourself, imagining my tongue, Fingers. Cock. Making you scream. Fall apart. Tell me, and I’ll stop. Tell me, Wife, that you don’t want me to touch you and see how wet you are for me, right now. That your panties aren’t soaked.”
Lips parted, pupils dilated, and her legs rubbing together.
“I can’t…” she whispered.
“I know, sweet girl.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do…this. Because I…we…”
“We? We what? We can’t fuck? I can’t claim the woman pregnant with my baby, come inside her, on her, over and over? Can’t make her feel so good she’ll actually marry me?”
Maren’s bottom lip trembled. “I can’t.”
My stomach dropped. “Marry me?”
A jerky nod.
“Why not?” She mumbled something so low I couldn’t make out the words. “Maren.” Her eyes darted back up to me. “Why not? Tell me.”
“Because we already are!” she said, trying to disentangle herself and stand up, but I held onto her.
“What do you mean, we are?” A tear slid down her cheek, and she shook her head. “Maren,” I repeated, my tone giving no quarter. “Words. Use them.” I locked my arms over her thighs, holding steadfast. “What do you mean, we are ?”
“We’re married,” she whispered, avoiding my face. If she hadn’t been, she’d see the shock, maybe a little anger, then the fucking satisfaction that she was fucking mine. “I had to do a background check for my…job, that I no longer have. They found out I was married, asked if I wanted to legally change my name because it would be easier than sorting things out later. Beneficiary, health insurance…if you’re married, they have you join…both. Enroll?” Her brows knit together, fingers wringing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know who you were, Garrett! As crazy as that sounds, I haven’t been to or watched a football game since Xavier’s Senior year. Then I Googled you once I knew your last name-”
“Your last name, too, Wife.”
“-and then I realized I was pregnant a few weeks later, but I didn’t want you to think I was a gold digger or whatever, so I-”
“Hey, hey,” I said in a calm tone. “I know you’re not, sweet girl. I’d never fucking think that. Is that why you-”
“Stopped texting? Yep. Because it’s not something you tell someone via text. Or a phone call. I know, I had your number, but still. And then I told my parents and Xavier, and they wanted me to move home, but I refused. Moving here, close to Xav, was the compromise. I didn’t tell them who you were, but at least if I was here, I could tell you, and let you decide what you wanted- if you wanted to-”
“Wanted to be married to you, sweet girl?”
“I’m not,” she hiccuped, as tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I’m not sweet. I lied-”
“No, you didn’t tell me. You never said we weren’t.”
“That’s just as bad, Garrett! Ugh, these hormones!!”
“Do you want to be married to me, Wife?”
Her eyes widened. Then she bit her lip and nodded, shut her eyes and sucked in a breath.
The smirk that spread across my face as she finally realized I had moved the pillow from my lap and had parted her knees. Crawled up her body, hovering until I reached her mouth. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you, Maren, and I’ll stop. But, if you do, know I’m going to fuck you right here, then carry you to our bedroom, and do it all over again. Slower. Faster. And love the way my wife looks with my cum filling her. Covering her tits.” She gasped, her knees falling apart. I slipped one hand under the waistband of her leggings and growled, my fingers soaked with her arousal.
“Hormones.”
“And…”
“Yes. Please.”
I claimed her mouth, and she arched into my touch, my fingers sliding her arousal around her clit until she panted into my mouth. Thumb pressed against her bundle of nerves, I slid one, then two fingers into her eager pussy, pumping, and teasing her while my tongue fucked her mouth until she shattered. Soaking my fingers. I pulled them out and held her stare as I licked her taste from them. “Now, you’re going to take your husband’s cock like a good girl and come all over it. I’m going to stretch that pussy and fill it.” Making quick work of her leggings, I tossed them on the floor and pushed up the hoodie until her tits were bared to me. I growled in approval. She reached for my shorts, and together we worked them down, but not all the way off. My cock sprang free.
“I forgot how big you are, husband,” she gasped as I angled myself at her entrance.
“Don’t lie, sweet girl.”
“Fine, I thought about it-” she mewled as I inched inside, and swallowed thickly as I slowly sheathed myself inside her. “A lot.”
“Good girl. Fuck, I love seeing how well you take your husband’s cock.” I ran my hand over the swell of her belly, a primal need to come inside her raging a war with wanting to be gentle.
“Fuck me, please. I…I need it. Please-”
I stilled in her, watching her eyes widened as I stretched pussy with my cock. As wet as she was, it still took effort. From the way she writhed and arched her back, she needed this as much as I did. “Please, who?”
“Please, my husband.”
“FUUUUCCCCKKK!” I cursed, hearing her say that unleashing the animal fully, and I pumped in and out her, alternating between watching her face fall into bliss, and my cock pumping in and out of her swollen sex.
She let out a yell, and soaked both of us, and I came right then, spilling my seed inside my wife, over and over, until I could breathe normally.
“Fuck,” I breathed, sweeping my fingers along my wife’s face with a smirk. “I like fucking you, sweet girl.”
She giggled. “I like when you fuck me, husband.”