“Do you think you’re up for the task? It could get dangerous, Seaman Marks,” she purred—and again, there was nothing silly about seamen.
He pressed his rock-hard cock against her ass, then ran his hands up the sides of her body. His wife arched into him as he massaged her breasts, barely contained in the costume’s bodice. He kissed the delicate skin below her earlobe and watched in the mirror, like a predator assessing his prey, as she parted her lips and gasped.
“I can handle dangerous,” he whispered against the shell of her ear.
“And wet. It’s going to get very, very wet,” she rasped on a heated exhale.
If she ever tired of blogging, she’d be an ace at scripting NC-17 flicks.
He reached between her thighs and caressed her most sensitive place. “You weren’t kidding. You’re soaked,” he growled, then rocked his palm against her tight bundle of nerves as he teased her slick entrance with his fingertip.
But his wife was greedy. A click and a clack cut through her lusty moans as she spread her legs, granting him complete access. He worked her in perfect rhythmic circles, rubbing her sweet bud and driving her toward wanton release.
“Hold on to your hat, sailor girl. It’s about to get rough,” he said, reveling in the quickening of her sultry, audible breaths.
“I don’t have to hold on to my hat. I have mad bobby pin skills. A tsunami couldn’t knock this sucker off,” she whispered, then gasped for breath.
He slid his hand from her breasts to her neck, then angled her head back, capturing her mouth in a fiery kiss. With the passion of an angry, roiling sea, he thrust his hard length past her delicate folds. She tightened around him, taking each hard, thick inch of him. He released her mouth and inhaled a sharp breath. The sensation of plunging deep inside his wife never dulled. It never ceased to send an electric charge racing through his body. He glanced into the mirror and locked onto her gaze.
“Jordan,” she whispered, her eyes hungry with need, her bottom lip trembling with desire.
The costumes and the dirty talk made it fun, but this moment, in these precious seconds when he saw forever in her eyes, this was when he lost any inhibition and gave in to desire.
Lost in her blue-green gaze, he set a deliciously frenzied pace, bringing her right to the edge before pulling back. But the measured thrust of their lovemaking quickly transformed into an impassioned raging storm—their sweat-slick bodies moving together in wave after furious wave.
Georgie cried out, and carnal victory tore through him as she reached back and gripped his muscled forearm, riding the rough seas into orgasmic oblivion. Her heated center, slippery with desire, tightened around his hard length and sent him overboard into the churning sea of sweet release. They rode each crashing wave, winding down slowly, and soon, her lithe frame rested, warm and pliable, in his arms.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and inhaled her sweet scent when a gentle pulse fluttered against his palm, pressed to her abdomen.
“Is that the baby?” he asked, scared to move or even breathe.
Still wearing the sailor hat, his wife nodded.
“Is it kicking?” he whispered.
He hated referring to their alien peanut blueberry turned mini pineapple turned little mango as an it. But they still didn’t know their child’s gender. While they’d had the ultrasound to determine the sex, the results had been sent to Lenny and Stu for the big Battle of the Births reveal, happening later today.
Her expression softened. “Yes, that’s the baby.”
He met Georgie’s gaze in the mirror and gasped when the flutter-pulse happened again.
Gently, he rubbed the spot where his wife’s belly inhabitant had kicked. “What does it feel like for you?”
“Strangely awesome. Does that make sense?” she answered.
“Yeah, it does.” He waited for the subtle sensation to return, but the place once pulsing with life went still.
“It looks like we’re all early risers,” she said.
And then it hit him.
They’d had sex—like, really good naughty sailor sex—and the baby was awake for it.
He carefully pulled out, stepped back, then stumbled to sit on the edge of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, plucking a tissue to do a little post-sex cleanup.
He wasn’t an idiot. He understood anatomy. The baby didn’t know what they were doing or that his cock had been inserted into the baby escape route. Still, it was surreal.
He blew out a breath. “I just realized we had sex.”
“You just realized that?” she asked with a playful twist to her lips, then clickity-clacked it over to the bed and sat beside him.
He chuckled and took her hand into his. “Believe me. I know we had sex. It’s…”
“What?” she asked softly.
“That was the first time I felt the baby move, and we’d…”
“Did the naughty while pretending to be sailors lost at sea?” she supplied.
“It’s a big moment, and you’re dressed as a sexy sailor, and I’m buck naked.”
“The doctor said sex is completely safe for us, and the baby’s fine.” She threaded their fingers and gave his hand a squeeze. “Now, I don’t think our predawn sexcapades is something we’ll want to add to the baby book.”
He stared into the eyes of the woman who could quell his fears with one snarky comment. “Best to keep this aspect of the pregnancy between the two of us.”
“Would you like to see something else that we should keep between the two of us?” she asked, going all sly sailor.
That was a no brainer.
“Hell yes!” he exclaimed.
“Would you like to see my pageant act?”
His eyes went wide.
She giggled. “It’s nothing naughty, Seaman Marks. Just listen,” she instructed, then clicked her heels and started tapping out the tune to “Row, Row, Row, Your Boat.”
He reared back, damn impressed and about to tell her so when a sharp ping cut through the merrily, merrily part.
He glanced around the room. “What is that? Did you turn on the oven, or is that the kitchen timer?”
She shook her head. “No, this morning, I stuck to organizing my historical romances by period. I don’t know what that noise is.”
“Commence Hospital Practice Run. Commence Hospital Practice Run,” came the same creepy robotic voice he’d heard during their VR grocery store nightmare.
They turned as the eerie robotic voice continued repeating the phrase, and he damn near fell off the bed when he figured out where it was coming from.
“Faby?” he cried, staring at the fake baby, whose head glowed red—its baby eyes flashing like a beacon to hell.
“The timer has started. Commence Hospital Practice Run,” the possessed Faby commanded.
Of all the times for this challenge to happen—this had to be the worst!
“Georgie, we have to get to the hospital!”
Lenny and Stu had mentioned they’d need to complete a hospital practice run. But what they’d failed to disclose was that the command would be sent by their infant care simulation doll.
They must have activated Faby while he and Georgie were getting crapped on by the VR baby.
Georgie sprang to her feet and scooped up the glowing fake baby. “Have you always been able to talk, Faby? Can you hear me?”