“Are you ready for me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I pant.
His hand slides down over my opening. “You are so wet.”
“Yes, Collins. I need you. Please.”
He spreads my legs open and kneels down between them, rubbing his tip against my wet flesh. I moan, grab the headboard in anticipation, and he pushes in slowly at first. I’ve become accustomed to how big he is, but I still need a little time to be able to accommodate his size. He pulls back, then pushes in further, my body taking in more and more with each thrust until he’s filled me up, and I have to take a moment to remember to breathe.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his hand cupping my cheek.
After taking another breath, I nod. He leans in, kissing me gently on the lips, then slowly works his hips, and with each thrust I feel the tension build inside me as he moves faster. I find I need and can take more, and I meet his rhythm. He pumps faster and faster, and I want to come, but I wait until he’s ready for me. Holding on is torture, but he finally releases me.
“Come for me, Mia,” he says, and I do, in an earth shattering moment of pure bliss, I hold on to him and come apart. He continues pumping and comes just as I’m coming down, pulling me to him, filling me.
After, he wipes me clean, folds me in his arms, and holds me close.
“Mia, my Gremlin, my wife.” He runs his hands through my hair, removing the pins that have held it up all day. “Mrs. Drake.”
I look up at him and beam at the pride I see in his eyes.
“Collins, my husband.” I trace a line along his smooth abs.
He laughs and squirms as I glide over the ticklish section.
“Was the wedding everything you wanted? Because I know how important it is. Or at least I seem to remember thinking it must be important to you. After all, you started hoarding wedding magazines when you were ten,” he teases.
I bite my lower lip, and look down, embarrassed. But then I answer, “It couldn’t have been more perfect. How long have you been planning this?”
“A little while,” he says, as if it’s no big deal.
This morning seems like weeks ago, when he was up early and getting ready to go into ‘work.’ He must have been preparing all day getting ready. “How did your business deal turn out?”
“The business deal?”
“The one you’ve been working so hard on for the past few weeks.” I smile playfully at him.
His lips tug up in a grin. “So far so good. No, scratch that. It’s perfect.”
Six Months Later
Pace is in the pool with Max, and Colton is stationed at the grill, cooking succulent pieces of shrimp and steaks, but his eyes keep wandering over to his very pregnant wife.
Reluctant to leave Mia’s side, I’ve been hovering near the lounge chairs where the women are sunning themselves, occasionally fetching drinks, sunscreen and food for their growing bellies.
“I still can’t believe we’re all pregnant at the same time,” Mia says, placing her hand over her firm, round belly. She looks beautiful, full with my child, glowing and pretty. We had to change up our regular yachting tradition on the weekends since Sophie and Kylie’s queasy stomachs didn’t tolerate boating. Colton’s pool has been well-used this summer.
“I can’t believe we’re all brave enough to be wearing swimsuits while pregnant,” Kylie laughs. “Then again, Pace hasn’t minded the extra junk in my trunk, he says it’s an added bonus.”
I mentally file that under information I did not need to know about my little brother’s ass fetish. But, damn straight. Because that’s the fucking truth.
Sophie shifts, an attempt to get more comfortable and sighs. “Well, my bikini days are done after today, my top is about to burst open, I’m quite certain of it. And I refuse to buy a bigger size.”
Every time Sophie has to pee, which is about every fifteen minutes, Colton stops what he’s doing and hefts her to her feet, where she promptly waddles inside to relieve her over-used bladder. It’s actually quite adorable, but when I told her that, she shot me a death glare, so I’m keeping my trap shut.
Mia and Kylie are each about four months along, but Sophie is due any day now. She and Colton are having a little girl, who they plan to name Becca Grace in honor of Sophie’s late sister. I think it’s a touching tribute. Mia and I talk about names everyday—text them to each other when I’m at work, but so far, we’re not sure. I’m guessing once we find out what we’re having, it’ll make things more clear. We didn’t want to waste any time starting our family. We’re both thirty, and want to have a few kids—so Mia stopped taking her birth control, and a couple months later—we were expecting.
The women have spent most of this morning talking about their pregnancy woes, a topic which I’ve become accustomed to in the last several months, but when the conversation around me shifts to pregnancy sex, Mia turns as red as a beet, and I have to excuse myself. There is only so much girl talk I can take. I’ll be back to check on them soon, but I need a dose of testosterone before I lose my man card.
I head toward Colton and the appetizing smells emanating from the grill. “How are they doing?” he asks when I get close.
“Good. But a man can only take so much discussion of food cravings, nipple sensitivity and the best methods for breast feeding.” I shudder.
Colton’s eyebrows shoot up, but before he can respond, a burst of laughter drifts over. “What are they talking about now?”
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