Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Trey
Best Day Of My Life – American Authors
My phone chimes in my pocket, stealing my attention from my wife.
I glance down, swiping the screen open, and a smile pulls at my mouth.
Appointment reminder: Obstetric ultrasound – 11:30 AM.
I get what an ultrasound is, but the fuck is Obstetric? Sounds like something a gymnast would do when they warm up?
Pregnant work out?
I huff out a breath, shaking my head slightly as I look down at Sera, taking her in where she stands, flushed from her run, hair pulled back, eyes bright.
“Guess who has an appointment with a doctor to look at all her lady bits?”
“You?” Sam snorts, patting me on the shoulder, and heading inside.
“What time?” Sera asks, saving Sam from my witty retort, at least for the time being.
“We’ve got a few hours. Appointment’s late morning.”
Something flickers across her face, and I step closer, brushing my thumb along her jaw.
“We’ll eat first. Take our time.”
Keep it normal.
Bro, normal has been shit. It’s been dying, coming back from the dead, cult leaders, sex tapes, and abductions…let’s go with better than. Let’s go with fucking boring. Boring is nice…in small doses.
Think about the color beige.
I reach out to the universe, calling for the mundane. I imagine a boring nine-to-five job. Blowjobs on birthdays. Pumpkin spice lattes.
Fuck you, I love pumpkin spice lattes, you fucking heathen.
I glance past Sera toward the house, my thoughts settling on the task of a very beige morning.
Armed guards and convoys are… not beige.
I am fucking bored of the word beige already.
I’ll drive.
No armored convoy up front. No suffocating presence. Just us in the car like it’s any other couple heading to a scan.
Security can follow at a distance. Igor will handle it.
Sera doesn’t need to feel the constant threat hanging over us. Not today.
Not for this.
I don’t say any of that out loud. No point building something she can see get stripped away if the world decides to come knocking again.
“C’mon, sweetheart.”
Before she can argue, I sweep her off her feet.
I carry her inside.
Five Points for vanilla bridal carry.
“You’d think a man might pause when he reaches the door…take his hand off his wife…but I’m cool with losing aura for this.” I say, lifting my foot and working the handle a little too roughly, my balance wobbling.
Sera’s smile tells me it was worth it.
Our bedroom door swings open, then shuts behind us with a solid kick.
I pivot with her in my arms, set her down slowly, bracing her against the solid, grainy wood of the door.
My hands slide up, framing her neck, thumbs brushing beneath her jaw as I tilt her face up toward mine. “Take your clothes off.” I growl against her lips.
I keep her backed against the door, my hands braced on either side of her head.
She glances up at me, something knowing in her eyes, before she nudges her sneakers off with the toe of her foot. They thud quietly against the floor.
She eases her yoga pants and panties down her legs, stepping out of them, and I don’t move. Don’t interrupt. Just watch—every shift, every breath.
Our Father who art in heaven, can I just take a moment to say…
thank you for yoga pants. I understand they’re a double-edged sword—we now also have to contend with middle-aged men in Lycra—but this spandex-nylon blend?
Absolute perfection. Also, might as well double down…
thank you, Father, for this meal I am about to receive. Amen.
…Also.
Mine.
As she lifts her hands toward her top, I catch her wrist, stopping her mid-motion.
A smirk tugs at my mouth.
“You can keep the rest on.”
Her breath catches, just a little.
I drop to my knees in front of her, hands settling at her thighs as I guide one leg up and over my shoulder.
Then I take her hands, placing them on my shoulders.
“Hold on to me.”
Before she can question it, I lift her other leg, settling it over my opposite shoulder, and rise to my feet in one smooth motion, keeping her balanced. Her grip tightens on my shoulders, her breath already uneven, already giving her away.
“Good girl.” I drag my tongue slowly up the center of pussy, slow and deliberate, before closing my mouth around her clit, drawing a broken sound from her lips.
Her hands tangle in my hair, fisting tight as she breathes my name, and I glance up, watching her while I keep going, getting off on every fucking whimper and moan she gives me.
It’s addictive.
The way her body reacts. The way she moves with me, chasing more, pressing closer like she can’t get enough.
Neither can I.
I slide my tongue into her pussy and she makes the sweetest fucking sound. “Oh my god,” she moans. Yes. Fuck yes. This is what I want. What I need. Her moaning, writhing in pleasure, lip trapped between her teeth as she whimpers and holds my face to her pussy.
I shift, deepening the rhythm, and she gasps, her head tipping back.
“That’s it, ride my face.” I murmur against her, voice rough.
Her thighs tighten around me, her grip in my hair turning almost sharp, but I don’t pull back, I lean into it, let her take what she needs while I give her everything I’ve got.
She’s close. I can feel it in the way her body tenses, in the way her breathing stutters. I can feel it fluttering through her, right to the tip of my tongue.
I Drive her higher.
Her hips stutter, her body tightening, every muscle pulling taut as her chest hitches.
“Trey—”
I’ve got her.
I hold her through it, steadying her as she breaks, riding it out with her until she slowly comes back down.
Only then do I ease off, pressing slow, grounding kisses along her inner thighs as I look up at her, still catching her breath.
I could stay right here forever.
I could never get enough of her.
Never get enough of this. I ease her legs down, hands steady on her as her feet find the floor.
My hand slides up to her jaw, tilting her face back, and I crush my mouth against hers.
I kiss her with heat and possession, and something just shy of desperate.
My grip tightens at her waist, dragging her closer, my forehead brushing hers for half a second before I go back in, unable to help myself.
“Fuck,” I speak against her lips, breath rough, a faint grin tugging at my mouth. “Morning workouts hit different.”
I drag a hand through my damp hair as I step out into the hallway, a smirk still tugging at my mouth.
We cleaned up in the shower.
And by cleaned up, I mean she very nearly dropped me to my fucking knees when she almost sucked my fucking brain out of my cock.
Jesus. I am feeling pretty fucking good today…rain shower, ball-massage, piercings clicking against teeth, my wife demanding I finish in her fucking mouth while holding eye contact…
I just want some water, a soft throw blanket, and some shitty TV show to chill with.
I exhale a quiet laugh to myself, shaking my head.
Yeah… all is right with the world.
I check the time on my phone.
Forty-five minutes, before we should leave, according to google maps.
Plenty of time.
Enough to get a few things handled before we leave—keep this whole thing feeling as normal as I can make it.
I push off down the hall, already running through what needs doing.
Find Igor.
Make sure the cars are ready.
Security around, but not sat in our lap like a third wheel.
I pause mid-step, grimacing slightly.
Wife also wants a fruit platter.
Fuck.
I scrub a hand over my face.
Please, for the love of everything holy, let there not be any fucking watermelon in the fridge.
The patio doors slide open with a quiet whisper of glass.
Igor steps inside. Sharp suit, not a single crease out of place, blonde hair slicked back to perfection.
“You want to see me?” His Russian accent curls around the words.
“Yeah.” I push off the counter, folding my arms across my chest. “Listen…”
His expression doesn’t change, but I can feel his attention sharpen.
“I want to drive us,” I continue. “Take Black Betty. You and the rest of the team follow. Keep eyes on us, keep it tight, but…not on top of us.” I exhale, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck.
“This is a big deal. First appointment. First scan. I just—” I shake my head slightly, searching for the right way to say it.
“I want her to feel like a normal expectant mom, you know? Not some circus attraction—”
Not hunted. Not watched.
I meet his gaze. “I just want to give her that…if you don’t mind?”
Silence stretches for a beat.
Igor studies me, eyes steady, unreadable.
“Is risky,” he says finally. “You travelling alone.”
“We won’t be alone,” I counter immediately. “You’ll be there. Just…not breathing down our necks. Keep back a little.”
I step closer, lowering my voice.
“Just let us have the illusion of space.”
“For her.”
Igor nods once. “If you can accept risk, then I will arrange it.”
Relief hits sharper than I expect, loosening something tight in my chest.
“I do,” I say without hesitation.
His gaze lingers on me a second longer, like he’s weighing the words, measuring whether I actually understand what I’m asking for. Then he gives another short nod.
Actually, I think he was just taking in what a fucking idiot I am to give those churchy motherfuckers an opening.
Well…at least me making shit decisions is pretty normal.
“I will have vehicle ahead, and behind.” His tone is clipped. “You will not deviate from route without informing me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mutter.
He pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “For girl,” he adds, quieter this time.
I nod.
He mutters something, shaking his head.
When he leaves, the air feels lighter, my life had just flashed in front of my eyes for a moment there.
I glance at the target destination, aka the fridge.
“Alright,” I mutter to myself. “Husband duties. Fruit platter.”
I open the fridge.
“Oh, for fucks sake.” I grumble. “Of course there’s a fucking watermelon.”