Her naked center rests over my jean-clad legs, and the heat of her seeps through the denim.
“You ready for me, sweetheart?”
“Always for you,” she whispers as I lower my hand between her thighs and test her warmth. She’s wet and willing, and I easily slip a finger into her. She rocks over it like she’ll be riding me soon enough, but first, I want to watch her dance. Sliding her hands up her breasts, cupping them and pressing them together, she’s a vision.
When I add a second finger to the first, she gasps. The angle is different with her straddling over me and those fingers upward in her, but she continues to move, running her hands up her chest and lifting her hair. I’m enjoying the private show as her lids lower, but her hips rock faster.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart.”
Her hands fall to her belly, and her face turns away from me as she licks her lips.
“None of that,” I tell her, lifting a hand for her chin and forcing her to look back at me. “Motherhood is only making you sexier.”
“God, Bull. You say the sweetest things.”
“Don’t want to be sweet with you right now, though,” I admit as I want to strip her of everything. Not just her clothing, but her heart and her soul. I want it all to be mine, along with this beautiful body.
My fingers move faster, and Scarlett matches the rhythm, working her body as she swallows them into her. The sound of her excitement becomes the harmony to her movements.
“Bull . . . ermygawd . . .” Her hands fall to my chest as she bounces up and down before she stills, clenching over my fingers, thick within her. Her head falls forward while she comes fast.
As soon as she’s done, she’s fumbling with my jeans, working the button and yanking down the zipper. I sit up with her attention on my pants and tug my shirt over my head, tossing it off to the side of the bed. Falling back, Scarlett wiggles my jeans down to my knees before leaning over and taking me in her hand, holding me at the base and squeezing my stiff shaft.
“Sweetheart,” I mutter before she leans forward, swirling her tongue around the seeping slit and then circling the crown of my head before opening wide and drawing me into the warmth of her mouth. I hiss.
She glides over my length, taking me to the back of her throat before slipping to the tip again and sucking me off with a pop. Opening once again, she swallows me again, swirling her tongue and hollowing out her cheeks until I can’t take it anymore.
“Fuck, Scarlett. I need to be inside you.” She releases me from her mouth but strokes up the hard length as her body moves higher up mine. Positioning herself at my tip, she waits just a beat, dragging me through her wet folds.
“I’m not certain I can go slow,” I warn her, the anticipation of filling her pushing me to my limits.
“Rush in,” she whispers, releasing me and slamming her body down to mine. The thrust is so quick. The angle is deeper. She’s practically kissing my balls with that sweet pussy of hers, and my eyes roll back in my head. “Grip the headboard,” she commands of me, and I reach over my head, curling my fingers around the wooden slats.
Then I’m fulfilling my namesake, bucking up into her as her hands fall to my chest again. She’s following my lead, letting me fill her with sharp surges. My hips are wild, working off all the anger, all the fear, all the emotion of the past few days. She’s here with me, my heart says. She’s letting me into her body, as she told me. Now, if only she’d let me into her heart.
Not allowing that thought to take over, I thrust into her, and she meets my motion, rocking her body over mine.
“Bull.” Her breath hitches as her clit hits the spot, and I sense the urgency in my name on her lips. She’s ready to go again.
“Give it to me, sweetheart,” I say. “Give it all to me.” Give me a life with you, and I promise I’ll make it all good.
“Oh. God. Bull.” She stutters through her orgasm, breathless as it hits her. She doesn’t scream so much as open her mouth wide and ride out the sensation. In an instant, I’m filling her, going off like summer fireworks inside her. She holds still while I pulse within her, giving her my all.
When I’m finally replete and emptied of all that I have, I reach up for the back of her head and pull her down to me. Finding her mouth, I kiss her hard, pouring the rest of me into that kiss.
Be mine forever.
They’re words I can’t say, though I think them all the time. She will be mine as we parent together, but it’s not going to be enough.
“God, I’ve missed you,” I admit to her mouth still over mine. It’s been less than two days, and I missed her in my bed and in my arms. I missed how easily we worked together seamlessly as though she’s been here my entire life.
“I’ve missed you too, honey.” No words sounded sweeter, but I don’t want her to miss me. I want her to know I’m here with her on every day that ends in day and all the nights as well. “I’m not going anywhere, Scarlett. Thanks for rushing in with me,” I say.
“Happy to oblige anytime, partner,” she teases, drawing us back to that first night when she called me that. Her head tips to the side, her cheek pressing over my heart, and a fingertip draws over my chest as I wonder if she’ll ever call me something else—like husband perhaps.
19
Actions Speak the Loudest
Scarlett
Three days later, Bull squeezes my hand as the amniocentesis procedure is done. For those few days, we’ve been shy around one another, still feeling a tenderness from the tension once around us. At night, though, we find our way back together in Bull’s bed.
“The doctor will call you with the results,” the technician says. Bull already swabbed his cheek and sent it to the necessary labs. My doctor explained how things would work with the baby’s sample.
“You might experience some cramping or light spotting, but that’s normal. Any concerns should be addressed with your doctor.” I’ve been fortunate so far in my pregnancy. Other than the swelling of my hands and feet, which dissipates typically once I lie down and lift my legs for a bit, I’ve found the pregnancy easy. At least compared to the horror stories I’ve read about geriatric pregnancies. The label still makes my blood boil.
“Shouldn’t be more than a week.” The technician continues to discuss the lab results. “But normally, it only takes about three days.”
As the technician cleans off the instruments, Bull helps me sit upright.
“Let’s get lunch,” he offers. “And how about some retail therapy?” He wiggles his brows. Bull thanked me for the flowers on the porch, telling me the decorations made the place look welcoming, which was exactly what I wanted.
Once I’m dressed, I find Bull waiting for me outside the room. As we’re in Montpelier, and it’s a beautiful summer day, we find a place to park and stroll around the area. My hunger is always bigger than my stomach can handle, but a turkey club calls my name. I’ve been told to watch my diet, especially as I’m at risk of gestational diabetes, which could result in permanent diabetes at my age.
At my age. Always my age.
I’m feeling strangely positive about the future results of both the genetics test and the paternity test, and I’m excited to finally know the elephant in the room will have an answer. As we stroll through town on our way to a diner, a baby store looms ahead of us. When we near the shop, it hits me again.