45. Michael #2
I withdrew my fingers and replaced them with my cock in one long, deliberate thrust. She took every inch on a shuddering moan, back bowing, head falling to the pillow as the bed springs sang beneath us.
I fucked her slow at first, savoring the drag, the clutch, the way her body fluttered around me like it had forgotten how perfectly we fit and was remembering all at once.
Every roll of my hips pushed a whimper from her throat.
I kept one hand on her breast, kneading, pinching, feeling the weight of it, while the other anchored her hip so I could sink deeper, deeper, until I was seated so fully inside her I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.
“Michael—” A sob this time, raw and overwhelmed.
I turned her face to mine and kissed her, swallowing the sound, tasting tears and want and everything we’d lost and found again. She kissed me back like she was drowning and I was air.
Faster now. Harder. The headboard tapped the wall in a steady, urgent beat. Her thighs trembled; her pussy clenched in delicious spasms.
“Come for me, Kate,” I rasped against her mouth. “Let me feel my wife come all over my cock.”
That did it. She shattered—silent at first, then a low, keening cry muffled against my shoulder as she pulsed around me, milking me, dragging me under with her.
I buried myself deep and let go, spilling inside her in thick, endless waves, hips jerking, breath ragged, her name a prayer against her skin.
We stayed locked together, shaking, sweat cooling, hearts hammering in tandem.
I pressed my lips to the damp hair at her temple.
“I’m home,” I whispered.
She turned in my arms, eyes shining in the dark, fingers tracing my jaw like she still couldn’t believe I was flesh and bone.
“Don’t leave again,” she said, voice small but fierce.
“Never,” I swore, and kissed her slow and deep and filthy, already hard again inside her.
The bed creaked once more as I rolled her beneath me.
This time, I made love to my wife like dawn would never come.
Morning slid into the room on pale gold light, soft and lazy, the kind that makes everything feel suspended in honey.
Kate was still curled against me, her back to my chest, my arm heavy over the swell of her waist. I’d woken up hard, aching, the length of my cock nestled along the slick seam of her sex where we’d stayed joined most of the night.
She shifted in her sleep, just a small roll of her hips, and I felt her flutter around me, still full of me, still dripping.
I pressed my mouth to the warm curve where her neck met her shoulder and tasted salt and us.
“Morning, wife,” I murmured, voice gravel-rough.
She made a sleepy, needy sound and pushed back, taking me a fraction deeper. My hand slid up her body, slow, reverent, until I cupped one swollen breast. It overflowed my palm now, heavy and tender, nipple dark and tight against my thumb. I circled it once, twice, felt her breath hitch.
“Michael…” Dreamy, half-drunk on sleep and want.
I rolled us gently so she lay on her side, one of her thighs hooked back over mine, opening her completely.
I stayed buried inside her, thick and pulsing, but didn’t move yet.
Just held her like that, one hand cradling her breast, the other splayed over the soft curve of her belly, feeling the life we’d made shift faintly beneath my palm.
Then I started to move: long, unhurried strokes, dragging out slow enough that every inch of me gliding through her slick heat felt obscene. The wet sound of us filled the quiet room, filthy and perfect.
“Feel that?” I rasped against her throat, lips brushing the frantic beat of her pulse. “That’s my cock owning this sweet, little pussy. Been too fucking long since I woke up inside my wife.”
She whimpered, fingers clutching the sheets.
I squeezed her breast, rolled the nipple between my fingers until she arched hard. “These tits,” I growled, “so full for me now. Gonna keep them that way. Gonna keep you full of me, Kate. Every morning. Every night.”
My hips rolled deeper, grinding against her ass on every thrust, the head of my cock kissing the mouth of her womb. She was trembling, thighs shaking, breath coming in soft, desperate pants.
“You’re gonna take every drop again,” I whispered, teeth scraping her skin. “Gonna fuck you so slow and deep you feel me for days. Gonna breed this tight cunt until you’re dripping down your thighs and still begging for more.”
She cried out, a broken, beautiful sound, and I felt her start to unravel.
“That’s it,” I praised, voice ragged. “Come all over your husband’s cock, baby. Milk me. Show me who this pussy belongs to.”
Her walls clamped down hard, fluttering, squeezing, and I lost the last of my control. I drove in one final time, buried to the root, and came with a guttural growl against her throat.
“Kate—fuck—Kate?—”
I spilled in thick, endless pulses, hips jerking, cock throbbing as I flooded her again. She shattered with me, back bowing, a silent scream caught behind her teeth as her pussy clenched and released in long, greedy pulls, drawing everything I had deeper.
I stayed inside her, arms locked tight, face buried in her hair, feeling every aftershock ripple through her body and into mine.
Minutes passed like that. Just the sound of our breathing, the wet heat where we were still joined, the slow drag of my thumb across her nipple.
Finally I pressed a soft kiss beneath her ear.
“I love you,” I whispered, raw and reverent. “Love you so much it fucking hurts.”
She turned her head just enough to catch my mouth in a slow, lingering kiss.
“Stay inside me,” she breathed against my lips. “Just a little longer.”
So I did.
We stayed tangled in the morning light, my cock softening slowly inside her, her body trembling around me, neither of us willing to let the moment end.
Outside, the world could wait.
In here, I had my wife.
And I wasn’t going anywhere ever again.
Finally we showered.
Steam curled around us as the water pounded over our shoulders.
I had her in my arms again — warm, soft, alive — after months of living like a ghost.
I thought I’d die from the feel of her alone.
Then she pulled back, just a little, her hand sliding down between us.
Her eyes lifted to mine — wide, nervous, shining.
“Michael… we made a baby.”
Her voice trembled.
“Our baby.”
She took my hand with both of hers and pressed it against the gentle swell of her stomach.
Not big.
Barely there.
But enough.
Enough to break me open.
I shuddered, breath catching in my throat.
My knees almost buckled.
I didn’t say anything.
Couldn’t.
Her skin was warm under the spray, her heartbeat fast against my palm.
I’d imagined this — a hundred times, maybe a thousand — but standing here, touching the proof?
It felt holy.
My jaw opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
The only words that came out were a whisper of devastation.
“How am I supposed to tell her…”
I stared at the tile behind her like it could save me.
“How am I going to tell you… that I fathered two babies? One the way I wanted—with you—and one with Krystal?”
She froze.
“This is so fucked up,” I whispered.
“I’m so fucked up.”
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
So I pulled her into me, holding her tight under the hot spray while water and tears mixed on both of our faces.
I kissed her wet hair, her temple, the side of her face.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured into her skin. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
When the water went lukewarm, I turned it off, grabbed a towel, and dried her gently — like she’d break if I used too much pressure.
I put her in one of Brett’s old flannels, grabbed another for myself, and led her downstairs into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” I asked automatically.
She gave a soft, shaky laugh. “Actually… morning sickness has opinions now. I’m on peppermint tea with honey.”
Something in my chest twisted.
She really was pregnant.
My Kate.
Already mothering.
Already glowing.
I set water to boil and stared at her like she might disappear.
“I need protein,” she joked softly, touching her stomach. “But toast is all I can keep down.”
“You have a doctor?” I asked.
She bit her lip. “Drew?—”
“Don’t,” I growled. “Don’t fucking say it.”
“He’s a friend,” she said sharply. Then softened. “He hooked me up with a doctor. Vitamins. Ultrasounds.”
She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small envelope.
My fingers trembled when she handed it to me.
Inside—a grainy, blurry shape.
Small.
Perfect.
Alive.
My child.
My fist went through Brett’s drywall before I could stop it.
The silence after was crushing.
She stepped toward me, unsure.
I stepped toward her, terrified I’d scare her, but she curled into my chest like she always did.
We sat outside on the back deck as morning crept over the trees.
Birds chirped.
The world kept spinning, even if ours was on fire.
“Baby,” I said quietly, reaching into my jacket. “I brought something for you.”
I pulled out the black velvet box.
Her breath caught.
“This was always for you,” I said, voice rough. “Before anything went sideways. Before Vegas. Before Krystal. Before everything.”
I opened it.
The ring caught the morning light — the one that was always meant to be on her finger, the one I’d kept in my pocket like armor.
“Kate,” I said, “you’re my wife. My real wife. But no more lies. No more secrets. We swore that.”
Her eyes filled.
She didn’t touch the ring.
She just stared at me.
So I told her everything…
Krystal killing Kaim.
Roman covering it up.
The council demanding an heir.
The threat hanging over every one of our heads.
The fertility clinic.
Krystal’s pregnancy.
The entire nightmare.
When I finished…
Kate broke.
She sobbed into her hands, shoulders shaking, her body folding in on itself.
“My husband having a baby with someone else,” she choked. “And I’m having yours too.”
I knelt at her feet and pulled her into my arms.
Held her while she cried into my shoulder.
“Kate, listen to me,” I whispered fiercely. “Our baby will never be hers. She’s signing over all rights. That child will be mine—and ours.”
She shook her head, tears everywhere. “But how—how can I raise?—”