Beauty from Love
Page 62
“Then text me when dinner is almost ready.”
“Will do.”
We clear the table from dinner and Jack Henry tells me he needs to go to his office and make a couple of business calls—couldn’t be more perfect. That’ll give me time to take care of the things I need to do for my special surprise. “No problem. I was planning on reading anyway.” Another lie, but one he won’t mind.
I go into our bedroom and look through my pole-dancing outfits. I’ve accumulated quite a few since we’ve been together but I haven’t worn one in months. I’m not really sure I’ll find one to fit anymore.
None of my one-piece rompers will work—they won’t fit over my belly—so I choose a two-piece skirted cowgirl outfit. I can wear my boots with it so it’s the obvious choice. I don’t intend on attempting the fuck-me pumps. My balance has been so off the last month, I’d fall for sure.
I get ready in the bathroom and listen for Jack Henry before sneaking down the hall toward the gym. I feel safe once I’m there because it’s the last place he’ll come looking for me.
I set up the music, “Anemone” by The Brian Jonestown Massacre, and then the lights before I place his chair front and center. I put a pillow under it within my reach—I’m sure he’ll wonder what that’s for—but a pregnant woman doesn’t tolerate being on her knees for long without some cushioning.
When everything is in its place, I text him to see if he’s finished making his calls. He confirms he is so I tell him to come to the gym. I’m sure he’ll be wondering what I’m up to, but he won’t have time to hash it out. That’s just the way I want it.
When he enters the gym, the deep, dark bass thumps in the darkened room. The sole illumination is the stage light, directed on me. I give him the come-hither and he crosses the room, passing his chair. He’s shaking his head and looks like he wants to drag my ass off the stage and spank it for real. “No, L.”
“I’m not going to do any high climbs, drops, or inverts—absolutely nothing that’ll hurt me or the baby. I just want to dance for you. My feet won’t lift more than two feet off this stage so park your sweet ass in that chair and enjoy the show, caveman.” Then it dawns on me. Maybe this isn’t at all sexy to him. “Unless seeing me dance with this pregnant belly is a turnoff for you.”
“Baby, nothing you do is a turnoff. You breathe and I’m turned on.” He backs up and sits in his chair. “This better be good. I only have big bills in my wallet.”
His humor has returned, so I know he’s okay with this—as long as I keep it tame.
I begin by backing up against the pole so it’s in the center of my back. I reach overhead, holding it as I bend at my knees, sliding down slowly. When I’m halfway down, I push my knees apart and glide one of my hands down my thigh and then back up again. I straighten to stand and turn to face the pole. My hand grasps it tightly and I step out, taking a whirl around—it’s nothing special and my feet don’t leave the ground, so it’s more than safe.
I’m wearing boots so I couldn’t use my feet to climb if I wanted, but I’m good at using the insides of my thighs for ascending. I squeeze them around the pole and use my upper body strength to lift myself—no more than a couple feet, as promised—and do a two-handed corkscrew. It’s probably one of the easiest moves ever in my book, definitely a beginner level, but it probably looks like I’m doing more than I actually am so I return my feet to the floor before he scolds me.
I decide to not do any more climbs, just basic whirling and erotic dance moves so he doesn’t freak out. That wouldn’t be sexy.
I snake my body around the pole one last time as the song ends and decide I’m done with this. I’ve waited long enough. He’s turned on, I’m turned on, so let’s do this thing. I slink toward him to the beat of the next song, “I’ve Got to See You Again” by Norah Jones. Slow and seductive, just the way I want it.
He grasps my hips and squeezes before gliding his hands down my legs and then up the back of my thighs under the fabric covering my bottom. “That was hot, babe.” He leans forward and kisses my exposed belly.
I run my fingers through the back of his hair and notice it’s time for him to have a haircut. I put my nose against it and breathe deeply. Sweat and leather—it sounds like a turnoff but it’s the complete opposite. It’s evidence my man has worked hard today for our family.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
He leans back and I climb onto his lap, straddling him. I grasp his face and kiss him with more passion than I have in weeks. I’ve been too frightened the past couple of months, afraid I’d become carried away, but not now. I get to have fun tonight, not as much as I’d like, but I’ll take what I can get.
He smiles when I release him. “Someone’s frisky tonight.”
He has no idea.
I pull my top over my head and toss it to the floor. “I want your mouth on me.” He’s surprised—I can see it on his face but he doesn’t question me—as he leans forward to take my breast into his mouth. Omigod, the sensitivity there is at an all-time high. I’m not sure if it’s the pregnancy or how long it’s been since I’ve let him touch me, but I don’t remember ever feeling this much response in my nipples.
He rakes his teeth over my already hardened nipple and then sucks it into his mouth, swirling the tip of his tongue in a circular motion around my areola. I swear it feels like there’s a direct connection to my groin, making me instantly wanting and wet.
I’m panting and trembling as I slide my groin back and forth over his erection. I’m sure I’ll come like this if given enough time, but dry humping isn’t what I want. “Touch me.”
He moves both of his hands to my breasts and begins lightly squeezing and releasing them as he rolls my nipples between his fingers. It feels fantastic but he’s misunderstood my meaning so I grasp his wrist and push his hand to my crotch. “Here.” He slides it inside the waist of my bottoms and he cups me. I hold his wrist and rub my slick center against his fingers, riding them. “I want you to make me come.”
“Baby, you are soaking wet so I can feel how turned on you are, but are you sure?”
“Positive. It’s fine for me to orgasm. Dr. Sommersby told me so today.” I’m shaking and panting between sentences, so horny my face feels like it’s gone numb. “Please. Please. Please.” I’m desperate and I’ll beg if he wants.
“Will do.”
We clear the table from dinner and Jack Henry tells me he needs to go to his office and make a couple of business calls—couldn’t be more perfect. That’ll give me time to take care of the things I need to do for my special surprise. “No problem. I was planning on reading anyway.” Another lie, but one he won’t mind.
I go into our bedroom and look through my pole-dancing outfits. I’ve accumulated quite a few since we’ve been together but I haven’t worn one in months. I’m not really sure I’ll find one to fit anymore.
None of my one-piece rompers will work—they won’t fit over my belly—so I choose a two-piece skirted cowgirl outfit. I can wear my boots with it so it’s the obvious choice. I don’t intend on attempting the fuck-me pumps. My balance has been so off the last month, I’d fall for sure.
I get ready in the bathroom and listen for Jack Henry before sneaking down the hall toward the gym. I feel safe once I’m there because it’s the last place he’ll come looking for me.
I set up the music, “Anemone” by The Brian Jonestown Massacre, and then the lights before I place his chair front and center. I put a pillow under it within my reach—I’m sure he’ll wonder what that’s for—but a pregnant woman doesn’t tolerate being on her knees for long without some cushioning.
When everything is in its place, I text him to see if he’s finished making his calls. He confirms he is so I tell him to come to the gym. I’m sure he’ll be wondering what I’m up to, but he won’t have time to hash it out. That’s just the way I want it.
When he enters the gym, the deep, dark bass thumps in the darkened room. The sole illumination is the stage light, directed on me. I give him the come-hither and he crosses the room, passing his chair. He’s shaking his head and looks like he wants to drag my ass off the stage and spank it for real. “No, L.”
“I’m not going to do any high climbs, drops, or inverts—absolutely nothing that’ll hurt me or the baby. I just want to dance for you. My feet won’t lift more than two feet off this stage so park your sweet ass in that chair and enjoy the show, caveman.” Then it dawns on me. Maybe this isn’t at all sexy to him. “Unless seeing me dance with this pregnant belly is a turnoff for you.”
“Baby, nothing you do is a turnoff. You breathe and I’m turned on.” He backs up and sits in his chair. “This better be good. I only have big bills in my wallet.”
His humor has returned, so I know he’s okay with this—as long as I keep it tame.
I begin by backing up against the pole so it’s in the center of my back. I reach overhead, holding it as I bend at my knees, sliding down slowly. When I’m halfway down, I push my knees apart and glide one of my hands down my thigh and then back up again. I straighten to stand and turn to face the pole. My hand grasps it tightly and I step out, taking a whirl around—it’s nothing special and my feet don’t leave the ground, so it’s more than safe.
I’m wearing boots so I couldn’t use my feet to climb if I wanted, but I’m good at using the insides of my thighs for ascending. I squeeze them around the pole and use my upper body strength to lift myself—no more than a couple feet, as promised—and do a two-handed corkscrew. It’s probably one of the easiest moves ever in my book, definitely a beginner level, but it probably looks like I’m doing more than I actually am so I return my feet to the floor before he scolds me.
I decide to not do any more climbs, just basic whirling and erotic dance moves so he doesn’t freak out. That wouldn’t be sexy.
I snake my body around the pole one last time as the song ends and decide I’m done with this. I’ve waited long enough. He’s turned on, I’m turned on, so let’s do this thing. I slink toward him to the beat of the next song, “I’ve Got to See You Again” by Norah Jones. Slow and seductive, just the way I want it.
He grasps my hips and squeezes before gliding his hands down my legs and then up the back of my thighs under the fabric covering my bottom. “That was hot, babe.” He leans forward and kisses my exposed belly.
I run my fingers through the back of his hair and notice it’s time for him to have a haircut. I put my nose against it and breathe deeply. Sweat and leather—it sounds like a turnoff but it’s the complete opposite. It’s evidence my man has worked hard today for our family.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
He leans back and I climb onto his lap, straddling him. I grasp his face and kiss him with more passion than I have in weeks. I’ve been too frightened the past couple of months, afraid I’d become carried away, but not now. I get to have fun tonight, not as much as I’d like, but I’ll take what I can get.
He smiles when I release him. “Someone’s frisky tonight.”
He has no idea.
I pull my top over my head and toss it to the floor. “I want your mouth on me.” He’s surprised—I can see it on his face but he doesn’t question me—as he leans forward to take my breast into his mouth. Omigod, the sensitivity there is at an all-time high. I’m not sure if it’s the pregnancy or how long it’s been since I’ve let him touch me, but I don’t remember ever feeling this much response in my nipples.
He rakes his teeth over my already hardened nipple and then sucks it into his mouth, swirling the tip of his tongue in a circular motion around my areola. I swear it feels like there’s a direct connection to my groin, making me instantly wanting and wet.
I’m panting and trembling as I slide my groin back and forth over his erection. I’m sure I’ll come like this if given enough time, but dry humping isn’t what I want. “Touch me.”
He moves both of his hands to my breasts and begins lightly squeezing and releasing them as he rolls my nipples between his fingers. It feels fantastic but he’s misunderstood my meaning so I grasp his wrist and push his hand to my crotch. “Here.” He slides it inside the waist of my bottoms and he cups me. I hold his wrist and rub my slick center against his fingers, riding them. “I want you to make me come.”
“Baby, you are soaking wet so I can feel how turned on you are, but are you sure?”
“Positive. It’s fine for me to orgasm. Dr. Sommersby told me so today.” I’m shaking and panting between sentences, so horny my face feels like it’s gone numb. “Please. Please. Please.” I’m desperate and I’ll beg if he wants.
