Weeks later, I stifle my giggles; it’s time to execute my plan.
“While you’re up,” I call to Hamilton in the kitchen, “can you bring me a water?”
Returning from the bathroom, he diverts to the kitchen. When I hear the refrigerator door, I rise from the sofa, seeking a better vantage point for his reaction. Turning from the fridge, he smiles at me from the island.
“If I was getting your water, why did you get up?” He tilts his head to the side.
I furrow my brow and point. “What did you put in the oven?”
“Nothing,” Hamilton states without looking in that direction.
“But the oven light is on,” I point, insisting he look.
With one hand planted on the island, he leans towards the oven. When he notices the light is indeed on, he moves to open the door. “It’s a bag of buns...” He keeps his back to me as he pulls them out. “The light is on, but the oven isn’t on.” He turns to face me, confusion upon his face.
“Why did you put the buns in the oven?” I play with him.
“I didn’t,” he states adamantly. “Do you think Miss Alba did it by accident?”
I can’t have him placing the blame on her. “No, I’ve been in the kitchen several times this afternoon, and it wasn’t on.” I fake anger toward him. “You did it.”
“I didn’t!” He waves his hands in front of his chest while imploring me to believe him. “Who would put buns in the oven?”
“A bun in the oven…” I allow my voice to trail off.
“More than one bun in the oven,” Hamilton corrects, his voice rising. “I didn’t put the buns in the oven.”
“Yes, you did,” I state, placing my hands on either side of my navel, trying to get the message across.
Hamilton starts to argue. But, when he sees my hands, he freezes. Behind his wide eyes, I sense his mind reeling.
“We have a bun in the oven,” I giggle nervously, patting my flat belly.
Hamilton stumbles back against the counter next to the stove. His face pales and his eyes are still wide as saucers. He grips the counter on either side of him, his knuckles turning white.
“We…” he scrubs his brow. “You’re…” his voice trails off as he stares at my abdomen.
“We,” I state, running into the kitchen to pull his right hand toward my belly, “are pregnant!”
His left hand quickly joins his right, splayed wide on my stomach. “Pregnant?” He whispers, not meeting my eyes. He’s enamored with our tiny peanut deep inside of me.
Several moments pass while I wait for him to process our new condition. Eventually, his head turns up. Slowly, he cups my cheeks, eyes locked on mine.
“We’re pregnant,” he murmurs huskily. “You’re carrying my baby. That’s so…” He grabs my hand, tugging me to follow him toward our bedroom. “Sexy.”
With his hand at each hip, he gently lifts me to sit at the end of our bed. Briskly, he locks our door, turns the baby monitor on and volume down, flips the lights off, and returns to stand in front of me. I scoot backwards into the middle of the bed as his heavy-lidded eyes devour me in the muted light from the nightlight in our bathroom.
My insides heat under his gaze. Unable to endure the anticipation, I seek to speed his seduction by removing my shirt and then my sleep shorts. When I tuck my thumbs in the band of my panties, Hamilton orders me to stop.
Goosebumps prickle my skin at his stern voice. He’s never been an alpha in the bedroom, and I’m surprised I like it. I feel my breasts grow heavy in their red lace cages. Between my thighs, I feel my wetness as my body seeks his touch.
Through my parted lips, I beg in a whisper, “Please.” I need him; I long for his body pressed against mine. I seek the friction only he can provide. I raise one hand, my fingers curling in a come-here motion.
His lips in a sexy smirk, he makes a production of slowly grasping the hem of his t-shirt and easing it up inch by inch. My eyes follow the trail of hair below his navel until it disappears under the low waistband of his sweats. I wet my lips as my thoughts imagine tugging off his pants to find his swollen cock. I would wrap my fingers around the base and as I squeeze, I’d stroke his length, gently swiping my thumb across his soft head then stroke back to the base. My tongue darts out again as I imagine a glistening drop of pre-cum and long to lap it up.
“Madison,” Hamilton’s voice is a low, guttural growl in warning.
I scold myself to remain in the present. His thumbs slip under the elastic waist of the sweats and slowly slide them down his hips. His rigid cock pops out, pointing in my direction. I slide myself toward him, but he orders me to stop. A squeak escapes my throat. I want to defy him. I need to touch him now.
With a mind of its own, my right hand leaves the comforter and slips over my navel, then under my red, lace panties. I whimper at the sensation of my fingers grazing my sensitive bundle of nerves, and Hamilton’s darkening eyes as they witness my actions.
In record time, his sweats are sailing through the air towards the closet, and my husband crouches, his hands on either side of my calves. It’s clear he’s about to pounce, and my body sparks in anticipation.
I slide one finger inside, causing my head to fall back. Slowly, I glide it in and out, my palm causing a slight friction over my clit with the movement.
With eyes closed and head thrown back, the warm wetness of his tongue upon my inner thigh draws a groan from my chest. His nose and warm breath followed by soft kisses ignite a fire in my core as they approach my center. While I continue fingering myself, I feel his heated breath against my damp panties. Yes! Yes! Yes! Please, I want your mouth, your tongue, your lips down there. I need your mouth, now.
I freeze my ministrations when his long fingers slide my panties down my thighs. His breath caresses my hot flesh and wet lips. I lift my head, opening my eyes to take in the majestic view of my husband’s head between my thighs. Grinning at me, he moves his gaze to my center and places his fingers around my slick index finger. He urges me to withdraw and slide back in. Over and over he assists me in my masturbation.
I groan in protest when he pulls my finger free, raising it to his mouth. His lips clench tightly as he sucks my wetness from the length of my finger. He nibbles the tip of my finger, his eyes locked on mine. Frozen in his trance, I don’t react as he slips one finger through my wetness then inside me. My eyes close as a second finger joins the first, my muscles stretching around him.
“Y-E-S,” I moan when his tongue presses firmly upon my clit as his two fingers curl to stroke me. “I’m… Ham… I…”
I can’t speak; I can barely breathe. I’m a tightly wound coil about to release. My pelvis lifts, pressing into his hand and mouth. I grind myself against him. He suckles my clit, and I explode. My back arches, my breasts swell, and my orgasm splinters me into a million pieces.
Hamilton
Madison’s inner walls greedily constrict in spasms around my fingers. I gently stroke her again which causes her body to twitch. All her muscles flex as wave after wave of her orgasm flows through her. She sinks into the mattress as her body turns to mush. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, and her hand slowly caresses her shoulder, between her breasts, then back.
I slowly withdraw my fingers and crawl up her languid torso, placing kisses upon her skin. She arches into me as my lips close around her hardened nipple. As she moans in pleasure, I release it, blowing my hot breath over the wet peak. I repeat my actions on the other breast, coaxing more moans from her.
Internally, I fight my need to bury myself deep inside her. I want to make slow, sweet love to her. I rationalize that we’ve got all night as I rub my rock-hard cock through her wet, heated folds. Her gentle pelvic push toward me informs me she seeks me like I need her right now. Leaning on one forearm, I look deep in her eyes as I position my head at her entrance.
A wicked gleam in her eyes, she digs her nails into my ass cheeks, urging me to enter. Not one to deny her anything, I slam deep in one thrust, eliciting a throaty groan from Madison.