Chapter 22
Addison’s never felt more confused.
She’s been caught in a state of arousal all week, waiting for him to make a move and growing more despondent by the day.
Are the changes to her body too much of a turnoff? Has he lost interest?
Wyatt would never say such a thing. Still, the steady stream of insults she soaked up while pregnant with Emma is never far behind. She’s so lost in her head that she’s sobbing on the bathroom floor, having some a mental break over a fistful of candy.
Embarrassment at her admission reaches an all-time high, but then he urges her to face him and swallows her gasp with a salty kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth like he’s starved for the taste of her.
“Want you so bad,” he growls.
And yet, it remains hard to believe. “You don’t have to do this just because I’m complaining.”
He takes her hand and guides it to his crotch over the half-hard outline of his cock. “Tell me again that I don’t want you.”
“Oh,” she breathes, as he grows firmer by the second.
“Talk later?”
She nods, and then he’s on her again, urging her down against the bath mat until she’s flat on her back. Her pants are flung across the room in record time, but she doesn’t know how they’ll do this with her belly in the way.
“Do you want me on my knees—”
She’s cut off from what felt like an important question when he pushes her legs apart, lies on his stomach, and dips his head to lick long and slow between her thighs.
He doesn’t pause or speak. One moment, he’s staring at her like she’s an oasis in the desert, and the next, all she sees is the rhythmic movement of his head with each push of his tongue.
Her whole body jerks in surprise, one hand reaching back to grab the edge of the tub.
She’s been in a perpetual state of unresolved tension, and the relief of his attention has her ready to levitate. He ravishes her with a growl in the back of his throat, so greedy that any doubt she may have had about his own enjoyment is long gone.
When he pushes two thick fingers into her, she’s at his mercy, crushing her hips to his face as her orgasm rushes forward so quickly that his head between her thighs borders on dangerous.
She is limp when he finally leaves her, but nowhere close to being finished with him yet. He’s only taken the edge off.
With a wobble in her step, Wyatt tugs her to her feet again. There’s a self-deprecating comment on the tip of her tongue, but the heat in his stare and the glisten on his scruff keep her silent.
They’re a mess of fumbling kisses in between articles of clothing hitting the ground.
He has seen her naked a hundred times by now, but she hardly feels like herself anymore. The intensity of his gaze and that obscene lick of his lips remind her that if ever there was a safe place to land, it’s here with him.
Finding a comfortable position, however, turns out to be a persistent issue.
They shift and turn on the bed, trying out various combinations only to fail at each one. Missionary is out of the question. She doesn’t have the energy to ride him. Their laughter fills the air as they play an X-rated game of Twister before settling on their sides with his chest at her back.
They were frantic in the bathroom, but this time, everything slows to a crawl as he nudges into her little by little.
Addison lets out a sigh of relief at finally being connected after a week of separation.
She could lie here with him all night, which is why a flicker of disappointment blooms when he jerks into her quickly, his hand shaking where it grips her thigh.
She doesn’t want this to be over yet. That’s selfish, but she’s greedy these days.
The slide of him moving in and out of her is delicious, and she hums out her approval, lifting her leg to urge him deeper.
One benefit of having sex while pregnant is that he can’t get her more pregnant. The warm rush of his release, paired with the grunt of her name half bitten into the side of her neck, is something she’ll never tire of.
“Won’t be long until I can go again,” he whispers. “Stay here with me until then.”
With a lazy rub of his palm down her hip, he lifts her thigh to rest over his, his length still buried even as he softens. She is lucky that he’s long enough to stay exactly where he is until it’s time for round three.
“I’ve been missing you so much.” His kiss presses to her neck. “I almost lost it in the barn earlier.”
She smirks. “I didn’t think you noticed me doing a terrible job of flirting with you.”
“Oh, I saw you flashing that ass at me.”
She laughs, gasping when the movement shifts him within her. “How much more obvious could I have been? No one needs to bend over that much unless they’re trying to get laid.”
He cups a heavy breast, and she tenses. “Hurts. They’re swollen.”
“Sorry.” He wanders back down to rub a gentle path across her lower belly, making a slow detour south to splay his fingers where they’re joined. “How about here?”
“Fuck yes.”
He is nothing if not focused and attentive, spending a long stretch of time drawing random patterns over her slick skin, pausing only once to suck his fingers into his mouth to wet them. It’s a teasing build until she’s throbbing after assuming she couldn’t come twice.
When he hardens again, she marvels at the feeling of it happening while he’s already tucked in deep, firming up until the sting of the stretch has her hips rolling for friction.
She’s a live wire, vibrating with every draining, gradual thrust. She shuts her eyes, letting his body rock against hers, lost in the rhythm.
His movements aren’t quick enough to get her there. He keeps her suspended in a state of want without offering enough to tip her over the edge. Making sure they last. It’s exactly what she needs, while at the same time driving her insane from the exquisite torture.
Eventually, something in her breaks, and his name leaves her lips like a plea.
He doesn’t make her wait before stroking his fingers where she’s swollen and throbbing, the snap of his hips slapping against her ass.
She’s flooded with sensation after a long stretch of tempered, easy pleasure.
The rush of her orgasm is strong enough that she muffles a scream into the pillow while her body coils tight.
May have blacked out for a moment because the next thing she knows, they’re on their backs, panting and sweat-slicked.
“I could get used to this,” she grins.
What she has no desire to get used to is the shift in the baby’s position and weight. A hard wince overtakes her a second later.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing, it’s weird. She’s heavier. Pushing right on my pelvis even when I’m lying down. It’s different, that’s all.”
This isn’t something she felt with Emma, so she doesn’t give it much thought. For all she knows, the baby is protesting all the jostling.
“Get some rest,” he half-whispers, opening his arms.
The odd pressure lessens when she curls onto her side, easy enough to ignore while exhaustion takes over.
* * *
It’s lunchtime when the crunch of breaking glass greets her in the kitchen. At first, she thinks they’re being invaded, but they only find Emma staring at a sea of milk on the floor.
There used to be a time when such an accident would earn them both a scolding, but Wyatt only grabs a towel to help Emma clean up, muttering about putting the cows to work later to replace it.
Addison thinks of this baby doing somersaults and how lucky she’ll be to have Wyatt as her father.
A rush of endorphins flows through her, prickling her skin.
She wants him again. Right here. Right now.
On this table. They can’t with an audience, but it’s an aphrodisiac to see him being sweet to her child.
She’s getting the full force of that right now.
She leans up to press her lips to his, nibbling a teasing nip as a promise for later.
“I love you,” she whispers against his mouth. “And I love french toast.”
“Don’t get too excited. Still need to gather some eggs, and I’m not sure if this bread is gonna rise or not.”
“The cookbook says if we do it wrong, it could explode!” Emma says with delight. “Like a science experiment!”
“Details, details.” Addison smiles.
“Shit.”
She’s about to tell Wyatt to put another IOU into the long, overflowing swear jar that’s become a novelty by now.
His attention is elsewhere, on a runner heading straight for the cows.
“Stay here.” He grabs his pistol and knife, and then he’s gone, running across the paddocks and hopping two other fences.
She and Emma watch from the porch as he puts a blade through the runner’s forehead, only feet from a nursing calf. It drops like a rock, hard enough that she can hear the crash all the way at the house.
Wyatt spins in circles, ready in case others come running, then pulls his knife free from the rotten skull and retraces its steps.
She hates watching him disappear into the woods. She’s still capable of holding a gun and swinging a knife, but she can’t risk the baby. So she waits, scanning the treeline, heart hammering in her chest as the minutes tick by.
When he finally appears again, she’s the one who needs to put something in that damn jar. She curses in relief, shaking out her arms like they’re lead weights.
“I knew he’d be fine,” Emma smiles. “He always comes back.”
“I put another one down at the break in the fence, but it looks clear for now. I’ll have to go back and patch it, or who knows what else we’ll see in the morning. It might be a herd wandering through. We’re lucky we’ve got layers of paddock.”
She’s preoccupied with scanning him for imaginary injuries before convincing herself he’s still in one piece. “We have the supplies?”
He nods. “Think so. Won’t take me more than half an hour.”
He must see how shaken she is, and that’s when his businesslike tone softens. “We’re good. Don’t worry. Stuff like this is gonna happen from time to time. We can fix it.”