Beautiful Beloved
Page 2
Slow, Max.
My mind frenzied with thoughts of pushing her thighs to her chest, biting my way down her torso, sucking and spanking the sweetness between her legs until she screamed so loud it shook the walls. Instead, I kissed her navel, her hip, moving my mouth to her ribs and then up higher to the firm swell of her breasts. They were already full, and growing tight the longer the baby slept. I bent, sucking at the pink flush of her nipples.
“Do you really love to look at them so much?” Her voice dropped slightly. “You like the taste?”
I loved her body like this, but I didn’t know how to truly admit it. I loved her hips, her breasts. Loved to watch her feed our baby and come curl around me after. It felt like every fucking thing in the world had come together with the arrival of our daughter. But it still felt a bit shameful to want her body to stay this way after what had admittedly been a tough labor.
I shifted forward carefully, pressing my cock through my boxers into the warm skin between her legs.
Sara pulled me down over her and slid her mouth down my neck. “Is it weird that I want to stay like this?” she asked as I spread my hand over her hip. “To fill this home of ours with little ankle biters?”
I laughed into her shoulder. “Sleep deprivation is eating your brain.”
“I know you want a big family,” she said. “And I’ve never been more in love with you than when I’ve seen you be a daddy . . .” She noticed where my attention had gone, to the firm swell of her breast again, my mouth closing over her nipple. “They get full like this . . .”
I kissed my way up to her neck. “They provide me with a rather spiritual experience.”
“So you do like my body right now?” she whispered.
There was a delicate edge to her voice, a vulnerability that shocked me. Sara knew I loved her body, every inch of her perfect, soft skin.
Didn’t she?
I pulled back to look at her. “I fucking love your body. And I love how happy motherhood has made you. I like how you seem rather blissful lately.” Bending, I spoke into the warm space between her breasts: “I also like how ripe your tits are.”
She took a handful of my hair and pulled me back, laughing. “Finally, he admits it!”
“What does that mean?”
Her brow furrowed a little as she studied my face, warm brown eyes moving to take in every aspect of my expression. Sara often studied me like this: quietly, earnestly. She ran a fingertip across my chin, her eyes trained on my lips. “I want you to not worry so much,” she whispered. “I want more babies—maybe not right away, but someday—and when I say that, I see terror in your eyes.”
I swallowed around the heavy lump in my throat. “It’s not as hard on my body.”
“My body seems to be weathering it fine. I’m going back to work soon. Look at us. We did it.”
I bent, tasting her skin again. Kissing her stomach.
She pulled me up, whispered in my ear, “Tell me you didn’t love having your baby in here.”
Laughing, I admitted, “She was certainly easier to take care of all tucked away in there.”
She looked back up at my face as I shifted over her, spreading her thighs with my knee and settling there, growing tighter at the feel of her, soft and warm, beneath me. “All right, love?”
Her breaths were already coming faster, short bursts against my neck, her hands sliding lower over my back to push my boxers down my hips. “Yeah.”
I slipped my finger into her mouth, wetting it against her tongue before bringing it between us to touch her. I hummed, rubbing myself on her thigh. “You sure? You’re not sore?”
She stared up at me, expression shifting into one I couldn’t quite read. “I’m sure.”
“We made love last night, too. I don’t want to hurt you,” I explained.
She closed her eyes, pulling my head into her neck. “I know, baby.”
I slid in, slow, and pressed my mouth to her jaw, groaning. Each time . . . each fucking time I was sure I would never get used to the feel of her. Her nails dug into my back as she let out a relieved moan.
“Christ, Petal. You’re heaven beneath me.” Cupping her breast in one hand, I squeezed, relishing the slide of milk on my palm. “Fuck,” I managed. “Fucking hell . . .”
“This is a new thing,” she whispered, scratching her nails down my back.
I clenched my jaw, fighting the admission that wanted to burst free. “I bloody love them like this. I’m sorry—I know they’re mostly a drag for you—but fuck, Petal. I love your tits like this.”
My mind frenzied with thoughts of pushing her thighs to her chest, biting my way down her torso, sucking and spanking the sweetness between her legs until she screamed so loud it shook the walls. Instead, I kissed her navel, her hip, moving my mouth to her ribs and then up higher to the firm swell of her breasts. They were already full, and growing tight the longer the baby slept. I bent, sucking at the pink flush of her nipples.
“Do you really love to look at them so much?” Her voice dropped slightly. “You like the taste?”
I loved her body like this, but I didn’t know how to truly admit it. I loved her hips, her breasts. Loved to watch her feed our baby and come curl around me after. It felt like every fucking thing in the world had come together with the arrival of our daughter. But it still felt a bit shameful to want her body to stay this way after what had admittedly been a tough labor.
I shifted forward carefully, pressing my cock through my boxers into the warm skin between her legs.
Sara pulled me down over her and slid her mouth down my neck. “Is it weird that I want to stay like this?” she asked as I spread my hand over her hip. “To fill this home of ours with little ankle biters?”
I laughed into her shoulder. “Sleep deprivation is eating your brain.”
“I know you want a big family,” she said. “And I’ve never been more in love with you than when I’ve seen you be a daddy . . .” She noticed where my attention had gone, to the firm swell of her breast again, my mouth closing over her nipple. “They get full like this . . .”
I kissed my way up to her neck. “They provide me with a rather spiritual experience.”
“So you do like my body right now?” she whispered.
There was a delicate edge to her voice, a vulnerability that shocked me. Sara knew I loved her body, every inch of her perfect, soft skin.
Didn’t she?
I pulled back to look at her. “I fucking love your body. And I love how happy motherhood has made you. I like how you seem rather blissful lately.” Bending, I spoke into the warm space between her breasts: “I also like how ripe your tits are.”
She took a handful of my hair and pulled me back, laughing. “Finally, he admits it!”
“What does that mean?”
Her brow furrowed a little as she studied my face, warm brown eyes moving to take in every aspect of my expression. Sara often studied me like this: quietly, earnestly. She ran a fingertip across my chin, her eyes trained on my lips. “I want you to not worry so much,” she whispered. “I want more babies—maybe not right away, but someday—and when I say that, I see terror in your eyes.”
I swallowed around the heavy lump in my throat. “It’s not as hard on my body.”
“My body seems to be weathering it fine. I’m going back to work soon. Look at us. We did it.”
I bent, tasting her skin again. Kissing her stomach.
She pulled me up, whispered in my ear, “Tell me you didn’t love having your baby in here.”
Laughing, I admitted, “She was certainly easier to take care of all tucked away in there.”
She looked back up at my face as I shifted over her, spreading her thighs with my knee and settling there, growing tighter at the feel of her, soft and warm, beneath me. “All right, love?”
Her breaths were already coming faster, short bursts against my neck, her hands sliding lower over my back to push my boxers down my hips. “Yeah.”
I slipped my finger into her mouth, wetting it against her tongue before bringing it between us to touch her. I hummed, rubbing myself on her thigh. “You sure? You’re not sore?”
She stared up at me, expression shifting into one I couldn’t quite read. “I’m sure.”
“We made love last night, too. I don’t want to hurt you,” I explained.
She closed her eyes, pulling my head into her neck. “I know, baby.”
I slid in, slow, and pressed my mouth to her jaw, groaning. Each time . . . each fucking time I was sure I would never get used to the feel of her. Her nails dug into my back as she let out a relieved moan.
“Christ, Petal. You’re heaven beneath me.” Cupping her breast in one hand, I squeezed, relishing the slide of milk on my palm. “Fuck,” I managed. “Fucking hell . . .”
“This is a new thing,” she whispered, scratching her nails down my back.
I clenched my jaw, fighting the admission that wanted to burst free. “I bloody love them like this. I’m sorry—I know they’re mostly a drag for you—but fuck, Petal. I love your tits like this.”
