Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his hips jerking as I swallow him down, my throat working to take every inch. “You’re so fucking good at that.”
I hum around him, the vibrations making him curse and thrust harder, until he’s fucking my mouth, his cock hitting the back of my throat with every stroke. I can feel him getting closer, his balls tightening, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and I know I’m about to lose control.
But he pulls away before he comes, yanking me up by my hair and crushing his lips to mine. The kiss is fierce, desperate, his tongue tangling with mine as he pins me to the bed, his cock grinding against my thigh.
“I need to be inside you,” he growls, his voice rough with need.
“Nothing’s stopping you,” I whisper, spreading my legs wide, inviting him in.
He doesn’t hesitate, lining himself up with my dripping opening and thrusting into me in one fluid motion. I cry out, my nails digging into his back as he fills me completely, stretching me until I see stars.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips slamming into mine as he starts to move, each thrust driving me closer to the edge.
“Harder,” I beg, my legs wrapping around his waist as I meet him stroke for stroke. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with our moans.
He grabs my hips, pulling me closer, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me that drives me wild. My back arches off the bed as he pounds into me, my pussy clenching tight around him.
“You’re gonna come for me,” he demands, his voice harsh with need.
“Only if you do, too,” I gasp, clenching my inner muscles tightly around him.
He lets out a guttural roar, his hips stuttering as he comes, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with his hot, sticky cum. The sensation sends me over the edge, my orgasm crashing over me like a massive tidal wave as I scream his name.
He collapses on top of me, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. His cock is still inside me, softening slowly, and I can feel his cum leaking out of me.
“I’m betting I just knocked your gorgeous ass up again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. Happiness flows through me at the thought of having another child with him.
“We can hope,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him.
The dawn breaks with a shriek so high-pitched it could crack a wine glass at forty paces.
“Mommy! I up!”
This is how our typical day starts—with a full-throttle, toddler-powered missile launching herself at me. She’s two years old, already smarter than me, and currently wearing nothing but an inside-out Frozen pajama top, a single purple sock, and a diaper so full it’s slumped halfway to her knees. Her bunny dangles from one hand, ears gnawed down to uneven stubs.
“Uh,” I exhale, because words are hard at six-oh-three a.m., and Seth is dead to the world. He doesn’t even twitch when Molly lands square on his ribcage.
“Daddy!” Molly squeals, bouncing on his chest like a demented rodeo clown. “Wake up! It’s pancakes day!”
Seth groans and rolls over, dragging the kid with him in a single, practiced motion. She giggles, delighted, and immediately starts pulling his eyelids open with her tiny fingers.
I contemplate pretending to be asleep, but the moment I close my eyes, I hear the baby monitor crackle with a low, rhythmic snort that means Owen is seconds from reaching fever pitch. I sigh, throw my legs over the side of the bed, and stagger down the hall to his nursery, one hand on the wall for balance.
Owen greets me with a look of pure betrayal. How dare you let me cry for almost thirty seconds, you absolute monster. He’s got Seth’s eyes and my nose, and he’s only three months old but already looks like a chubby little tank. I scoop him up, bouncing him once before carrying him over to the changing table.
After changing his diaper, I bring Owen into the living room and park him in his swing before heading to make my first cup of coffee.
Meanwhile, Seth is in the kitchen, holding Molly upside-down by her ankles while she screeches with laughter. “What’s the password, small gremlin?” he rumbles, swinging her gently back and forth over the island.
Molly considers this. “Please, pancakes, Daddy, please-please-please!”
Seth rights her, sets her on the counter, and hands her a whisk. “Atta girl.” He kisses her forehead, which she returns by planting a sticky handprint on his jaw. He starts the pancake batter, cracking eggs with a single, one-handed flourish. It’s unfair how hot he is, even in stained sweatpants and a t-shirt that reads, YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO. YOU’RE NOT MY DAUGHTER.
While Seth heats up the griddle, Molly grabs her tablet and presses the screen a few times, bringing up her favorite cartoon. Then he helps her pour the batter into little dinosaur-shaped molds. What they end up making somewhat resembles a dinosaur if you squint your eyes really hard.