Some men might object, but I’ve got no complaints about being my pregnant wife’s sex toy. Instead, I lean back in my chair and play lazily with her plumped breasts as she fucks me.
“So good,” I croon in praise to her. “You ride me so good. Does that feel nice? Is that what you need?”
Her eyes closed and her throat working, she nods, her hips grinding against me, and I feel the moment she comes, I feel it clench and milk at my cock, and I also feel her ripened womb going tight under my fingers. It’s fucking heaven to feel, like a secret finally made visible. I trace fascinated circles over the contracting muscles and over the new dark line stretching from her sternum to her pussy. I let her take all the time she needs, I let her slowly unwind into shivering, deep satisfaction and I smile as she curls into a worn-out slump against my chest.
“All better?” I murmur, rubbing at the sudden goose bumps erupting all over her back.
“For now,” she says contentedly. “I might need you again in an hour.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight as I stroke the hard part of me inside the soft part of her. It doesn’t take long—not like this, with her so warm and curvy and ripe—until I’m pulsing my wet heat into her. My breath is a series of fierce grunts and my stomach and thighs are rock-hard tensed in tandem, flexing and pushing all the cum out, out, out of me, until I’m completely drained and relaxed.
“Do we have to get back to work?” she asks drowsily, her head on my shoulder. “I just want to stay like this forever.”
“We can do whatever you like, Zenny-bug. Just say the word.”
“Whatever I like?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Honest guy thing?”
“Honest guy thing.”
She makes a happy noise and burrows closer to me, and I cradle her for as long as she lets me, holding our unborn baby between us and reflecting on a very different Sean Bell from once upon a time. A Sean Bell who wanted money and power and sex, who was willing to do whatever he had to in order to get it. Now he runs a nonprofit from a dingy office next to Tires, Tires, Tires, and he couldn’t be happier. And it’s all because of the angel in his lap, his little nun, his little Zenny-bug.
It’s because of her, every bit of it.
Pray for us sinners, the prayer goes, and dammit if someone didn’t pray for me and scoop me up into a life of joy and giving. Dammit if I haven’t been circled with love by the most extraordinary people I’ll ever have the honor to know. The least I can do is say hail back.
Hail Elijah. Hail Reverend Mother. Hail Tyler, Aiden, Ryan, and Dad.
Hail Mom.
Hail Zenny, the Lord is with thee.
Pray for us sinners.
Amen.