Chapter 21
Reagan
I blink awake, confused for a moment before I see Tiago. He has no idea I’m awake yet, and I stay still because I’m staring at him. I’ve never seen him looking like he does right now.
He’s so…happy. His hair was up in a bun when he started, but most of it has escaped to fall haphazardly around his face. I love his hair. The curls are soft and sexy as fuck.
He’s smiling broadly, mesmerized by whatever he’s looking at. He’s no longer sketching. He doesn’t even have a pencil in his hand. He’s stroking the paper in front of him with intense reverence.
No, he’s not quite touching it, probably because he knows his blackened fingers would ruin it if he did.
The moment lasts for a very long time. I don’t want to break the spell.
I want to capture the look on his face and never forget it.
It’s an expression he often has when he’s watching me.
I know I will see it for the rest of my life whenever I catch his eyes on me, but it’s different right now.
It’s so pure because he has no idea I’ve caught him.
I realize he is looking at me. He’s looking at whatever he has sketched, and it pleases him. It’s me .
Eventually, my curiosity causes me to break the silence. “May I see it?” I ask softly.
He jerks his gaze toward me and smiles even more. “You’re awake.”
I must have been asleep a while because my neck is stiff, and my arm is asleep under my cheek. I wince as I push to sitting, shaking my arm to stop the tingling.
He cleans his fingers and then comes to me with the sketchpad.
After laying it on the lounge face-down, he swings one leg around me so that he’s straddling me from behind.
He’s fully clothed. I’m naked. My inhibitions are lowering by the day.
I love the way he wraps one arm around me beneath my breasts and kisses my neck.
“I’m so in love with you, Reagan,” he murmurs.
I twist my head to meet his gaze. “I love you, too.” I do. I know it deep in my soul. I keep fighting the truth because I’m scared out of my mind, but I love him.
He reaches for the pad and kisses my neck again. “Don’t panic.”
I frown. Why would I panic?
He flips the pad over, and I gasp. I’m staring at an exact likeness of me in pencil. It’s the pose he put me in before I fell asleep and apparently slid farther down the lounge. It’s even better than the one of me standing in timeout in the corner.
“That’s amazing,” I murmur reverently. “You’re so talented.” I understand now why he would want to stroke the page. I want to do the same thing.
He slowly turns to the next page, and I realize there are more. The next one is me asleep. I gasp. “Did I assume that pose on my own?”
“You did. I didn’t move from my seat. When you fell asleep, you eased down onto the lounge.” He points to my breasts. “Look how fucking sexy you are, baby. Your nipples were hard and alluring even in sleep. It was all I could do to keep from abandoning my sketch to come suckle them.”
They really do look that good. “Do I look like that, or did you embellish me?”
“Oh, baby, you look even better than this. You’re perfection.”
“Are there more?” I’m intrigued. These pictures are so good I almost want to go back on my insistence that no one ever sees them. It would be a shame for these to remain hidden in this studio for decades. I kind of want to run downstairs and show everyone how talented my man is.
I know he has work displayed in studios all over the country. For a moment, I wonder what I would feel like if the entire world saw these amazing pictures of me.
I’m breathing heavily as he holds the edge of the paper. He kisses my neck again. “The next one is of the future. I was picturing you nine months from now.”
My breath hitches. Nine months…? When it occurs to me what he means, I stop breathing.
Tiago turns the page, and I nearly faint.
I can’t blink or look away. I’m mesmerized.
It’s me . I’m so pregnant I’m about to burst. There’s even a faint line running from my belly button toward my pussy.
I’ve seen that on pregnant bellies before.
My breasts are twice their normal size. My areolas are huge. My nipples are enlarged, too.
I lean closer. My nipples aren’t just bigger; they’re swollen and tight, a faint drop of milk hovering at the tips. He captured all of that with a pencil.
I look like a Greek goddess. Like a statue. Voluptuous and wanton. My hair is fuller and longer. My body is fuller all over. I’ve put on weight. Not a lot. The right amount.
But I’m drawn back to my breasts. Holy fuck. I look amazing. My heart races as I reach up to cup my breasts, pinching my nipples as if it’s necessary in order to keep them from dripping milk even now.
I clench my thighs tight. I can’t look anymore. I’m turned on by myself. My future self. I close my eyes and lean my head back against Tiago’s shoulder.
There’s a rustling sound as Tiago must be closing the sketchpad. A moment later, he leans us forward to set the pad on the floor. Afterward, he swings us around so he can lean against the back of the chaise.
I’m still between his knees, but now I’m stretched out more.
I’m so horny I might come. The image of future me, pregnant with his child, is making me tremble. I want that. I want to look like that. For him. Nine months from now, I want to lie on this chair for real and have him sketch me just like that.
Tiago lifts my legs under my knees and parts them. He sets my feet on either side of his thighs, spreading me open. “Keep your feet planted on the lounge, baby. If you move them, I’ll swat your pussy.”
My breath hitches. My eyes are still closed. It’s as if I don’t have the energy or the will to open them. Or maybe I just like the blissful state I’m in, a strange, futuristic place where I’m round and full and about to give birth. If I don’t look down at myself, I can be that woman.
Tiago gently pries my hands from my breasts and lifts them over our heads. “Thread your fingers in my hair, baby,” he whispers.
I gladly do as I’m told, even though I’m so very exposed in this position. My breasts are high, and my pussy is wide open.
“Good girl…” His lips are on my ear. “Give me your neck, baby…”
I tip my head more to the side.
“That’s my good girl.” His hands trail lightly down my body. He circles my nipples while he kisses my neck. “Stay still for me, Reagan. Don’t move a muscle.”
I groan. It’s hard to obey his directive. I’m so aroused. “I need…”
“I know what you need, baby. I’m going to give it to you.”
I shake my head slightly. “No… I mean, I need that picture to be real,” I admit. I also need to come, but I know he’d like to hear the truth about how I’m feeling about his sketch.
He growls against my neck. “It will, baby. Just say the word, and that will be you as soon as possible.”
“Mmm.” All I have to do is one simple thing—agree to marry him. He will make it happen so fast that it will all seem like a blur.
He lightly pinches both of my nipples, making me arch and moan. “Stay still, baby. I’ll make you feel so good if you can be a good girl for me and lie still…”
Will he stop if I move? I don’t want to find out.
I’m so aroused I’m close to begging. I focus on how it feels for him to pinch my nipples.
It makes me think of what it will feel like to have them suckled or pumped.
I lick my lips. “Will they really drip like that before I give birth?” I whisper.
The man knows so much more than me about pregnancy.
He licks behind my ear. “Yes, baby, because I will suckle and pump your ripe little teats ahead of time to stimulate them so they start producing milk.”
I moan so loudly it vibrates off the walls in this nearly empty room. Wetness leaks out of me as my pussy clenches. I’m going to come. Oh…God… The thought of Tiago suckling my breasts… Pumping them…? What does he mean?
His words should freak me out. Instead, I find myself feeling like he’s fucking me with his description. It’s like his cock is sliding in and out of my virgin hole. Nothing is inside me, and yet it’s right there. His dirty talk is driving me to sense things that aren’t real.
“Pump them…?” I ask out loud because I want him to continue talking. I want him to describe what he means.
“Yes, baby. I’ll get a powerful little portable breast pump. The kind women use to extract their milk when they aren’t with their baby or when the infant doesn’t fully drain them. You won’t use it yourself, though, Reagan. I will do it for you.”
I clench my pussy as he describes what he intends to do. He cups my breasts, making them feel fuller than they are, weighing them, flicking my nipples until they’re so hard they could cut something.
“You want that, don’t you, baby? You can’t wait for me to take care of your body like that.
You won’t decide when or where to extract your milk.
I will make that decision. Sometimes, I will pump you dry and give you total relief.
Other times, I will make you wait until your udders are so engorged they ache for me to take care of them. ”
I’m breathing so heavily now that his words sound like I’m underwater. He keeps stroking my breasts, teasing them, luring me into believing they’re as full as he’s describing. I’m desperate for him to pump them, and he’s making me wait.
I squeeze my eyes tighter as I slide into my daydream.
I’m on our bed in the navy-blue room. He has cuffed my wrists to the corners of the bed.
My legs are wide, my knees bent, my pussy exposed.
I’m blindfolded as he strokes my engorged tits, making them ache worse, drawing attention to my desperation. They’re going to explode.
“You’ll wait until I’m ready…” he says softly in my imagination. “I’ve already fed the baby. He’s sound asleep. When I pump these huge tits, you’re going to come for me.”
Somehow, I know we’ll have a boy first. He’ll have a full head of curls like his father. He’ll have his smile, too.
I jerk back to the here-and-now as Tiago pinches my nipples hard.
I cry out.
He releases the swollen tips, drops his hands to my inner thighs, and holds me tightly, pulling my folds open. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to empty my cock inside your cunt, Reagan?”
I moan. I want that, too. Now. “ Please …”
He uses his thumbs to part my pussy lips farther. “Are you wet, baby?”
I nod. “So wet…”
“You could come from the tiniest touch, couldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir. Please…” I don’t even know what I’m begging for because he will be the one to decide what I get and when. That alone makes everything with Tiago hotter.
Finally, he eases his thumbs even closer to my pussy, strokes both of them through the wetness between my lips, and finds my clit. When he captures it between his fingers, I come so hard I scream.
“That’s my gorgeous girl,” he whispers in my ear.
When I can finally catch my breath, I swallow hard and softly respond. “Fine. You win. You’ve worn me down.”
He stiffens. A few seconds tick by.
I try not to giggle.
Finally, he grabs my chin and turns my face so he’s looking into my eyes. “You’ll marry me?”
I sigh dramatically. “Seems like I don’t really have a choice. It’s either that or die from vagina denial.”
Tiago quickly flips us around, so I’m on my back on the chaise and he’s hovering over me. “You’ll marry me?” he repeats.
“Yes, Tiago. I’ll marry you.”
He beams before kissing all over my face and neck and shoulders and chest and breasts. He growls when he lifts his head. “Saturday.”
I chuckle. “Of course you would say that.”
He grins. “It’s settled. We’re getting married on Saturday. I’ll find out where Ryder got rings from and go get them tomorrow. Do you want to pick out your ring or be surprised?”
“Surprised.” For one thing, I think it’s more romantic. For another, I need him to leave town for several hours so I can breathe fully.