Chapter 13 #2
His hands settled on my hips again. He lined himself up, the head of his cock catching at my entrance, and I rocked back against him.
“Fuck…” he murmured. “Desperate. You want me to knock you up, darlin’?”
"Yes."
"Say it right."
"I want—" I stopped. Breathed. "I want you to get me pregnant. Tonight."
"Why tonight?”
"Because I'm yours." The words came out certain, no hesitation. "Because he came here and tried to make me feel like a transaction and I'm not. I'm yours and this is ours and I want—I want there to be no question. I want it done."
That was all it took. He pushed in to the hilt.
Slow and unbroken, the bench holding me at exactly the angle that made it feel perfect.
He stilled.
"Feel that?" he said.
"Yes—"
"How deep."
"So deep—"
"That's where it's going." His hands spread across my hips, possessive and certain.
"Every drop. Right there. And then you're going to let that vibrator work you until your body takes me.
" He pulled back slow and drove forward and I cried out.
"You're going to get pregnant in this room tonight, Millie.
In my bedroom. In my house." Another stroke, deep and deliberate. "On my land."
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, please—"
"Please what?"
"Don't stop. Please don't stop, I want—"
"What do you want?”
"I want you to fill me up,” I gasped. "I wanna feel it. I want to keep every drop and I want it to take and I want—" my voice broke slightly. "I want to give you a baby. I want to give you an heir and I want Arlo to lose and I want to marry you in six months and I want—"
He drove forward hard and I gasped.
"Say that again," he said, rough.
"I want to marry you—"
He made a sound that wasn't quite words.
His rhythm broke open—still deep, still deliberate, but the control cracking at the edges—and his hand came around to find me and I jerked against the cuffs and he said stay still and I tried, I tried, I gripped the bench and held on and let him work me toward it.
"Come on," he said. Low and wrecked. "Come on, Millie. Let me feel it before I—"
I came.
Hard and clenching, the bench holding me in place so all I could do was feel it, my whole body seizing around him, and he drove deep one last time and buried himself and held.
The stillness was total.
His hands shook once against my hips.
Then nothing. Just heat and quiet and the ceiling fan and his palms pressing me flush, keeping the angle, keeping everything exactly where it needed to be.
"Don't move," he said.
"I'm not moving."
"Good." His hand spread flat across my lower back. "Stay right there."
He withdrew slowly, and I made an involuntary sound at the loss of him, but his hand pressed firmer against my back. "Stay still," he said. "I've got you."
I felt him reach for the cup. Felt him press it carefully into place, sealing everything in—all of it, exactly where it needed to be—and the deliberateness of it, the specific care he was taking, undid something in me all over again.
"There," he said quietly. "Not going anywhere."
Then I heard him open the box.
Then the vibe…it buzzed.
His hand smoothed over my lower back, holding me steady.
"Now…" he said, “twenty minutes is a long time, darlin’. You want me to stop if it gets to be too much? Or…do you want me to keep going, even if you beg?”
“Keep going,” I said immediately. “The cervical contractions—”
He pressed the vibe to my clit.
I let out a yelp, arching deeper, thrusting my pussy toward him.
"Twenty minutes," he said. "Clock's right there."
I lifted my head. The clock on the wall read 9:47.
"Eyes forward," he said, and pressed the vibe closer.
I dropped my head.
He kept it steady. Not moving it, not varying the pressure, just holding it exactly where it was while my whole body tried to climb away from it and the bench kept me exactly in place. My hips bucked and he put one hand flat on the small of my back.
"Stay still," he said. "You said twenty minutes."
"I know what I said—"
"Then stay still."
I gripped the bench and tried. My thighs were shaking already.
The cap held everything in place and I could feel it, the warmth and fullness of it, and the vibration was going straight through and I was climbing again embarrassingly fast, body already forgetting it had just come apart thirty seconds ago.
"Gage—"
"Four minutes," he said pleasantly.
"It hasn't been four minutes—"
"Look at the clock."
9:51. Four minutes. Sixteen to go. Sixteen minutes while I was already oversensitive and shaking and he sounded like a man watching paint dry.
"It's too much—"
"You told me to keep going even if you begged." He moved it fractionally, found a different angle, and I cried out into the dark. "Are you begging?"
"Yes," I gasped. "Please, Gage, please—"
"Please what?"
"Please—" I didn't even know what I was asking for. More. Less. Both. "I don't know, I don't—"
"I do." His free hand stroked down my spine. "I know exactly what you need. You need to lie there and take it and let your body do what it's supposed to do." The vibe shifted again, infinitesimally. "So that's what you're going to do."
I came again. Hard and clenching and desperate, my whole body seizing against the bench, and he kept the vibe exactly where it was and talked me through every second of it in that low steady voice.
"Good girl," he said. "That's it. Feel that? That's your body pulling it in deeper. That's exactly right." His palm pressed warm against my lower back. "Give me another one."
"I can't—"
"You can. Look at the clock."
I looked.
9:55.
"Thirteen more minutes, darlin'."
"Gage." His name came out wrecked. "I'm so—I'm already so sensitive, I can't—"
"You can." No negotiation in it. Just certainty. "You're going to give me every single one. Your body knows what to do even when your brain doesn't." He moved the vibe again and I whimpered. "There. See? It knows."
He was right. That was the worst part. My body didn't care that I was oversensitive, didn't care that I was shaking, didn't care about anything except the slow relentless build he was pulling out of me one wave at a time.
I stopped fighting it somewhere around the third one.
Just went loose against the bench, let the cuffs hold my wrists, let the padding hold my hips, let him hold everything else.
"There she is," he said, quiet and satisfied. "Good girl. Just like that."
The next one built from somewhere deeper, slower, and when it crested I didn't cry out. I just shook, long and continuous, his hand warm and steady on my back the entire time.
"That's the one," he murmured. "Feel that? Deep?"
"Yes," I managed. "Yes, deep—"
"That's where my baby is," he said. "Right where I put it. Your body's just making sure."
I was crying at some point. I didn't notice when it started.
Not from anything bad—from fullness, from too much feeling and nowhere to put it all, from twenty minutes on this bench in this room where he'd told me he wanted to marry me and I'd told him yes before I'd officially said yes and now this, him taking care of me down to the smallest detail like I was something worth the trouble.
"Almost," he said. "Look at the clock."
10:06.
"One more minute," he said. "Give me one more."
"Gage—" His name came out like a prayer.
"One more, Millie. You've been so good. One more."
I held on.
When it finally crested he turned the vibe off at the same moment, and the silence was enormous, and I shook through it with his hand pressed flat on my lower back and his voice low in my ear saying good, good, that's it, perfect, you're perfect.
The clock read 10:08.
He got me off the bench, both arms, carrying me the way he always did—like it was no effort, like I weighed nothing, like this was simply where I belonged. Laid me on the quilt. Came down beside me and pulled me in against his chest.
His hand found my stomach.
"Twenty-one minutes," he said, into my hair. "Just to be thorough."
I laughed. Exhausted and wrecked and completely, stupidly happy. "I knew you were going to say that."
"Mm." His thumb moved slow against my skin.
Outside the Hill Country was fully dark. Just crickets and the creek and the enormous quiet of twenty-four hundred acres that no one was taking from us.
"Gage," I said.
"Yeah."
"I think that worked."
His arm tightened around me. His hand pressed just slightly warmer against my belly.
"Yeah," he said. "Me too."