Every minute of every day, Ellie is precious to me. But right now, I want to care for her on a whole other level than I ever have before.
I can’t carry her and the sandwiches and the tea, but I can put all our food on a tray and juggle that with one hand while I use the other to guide her back to my library, my fingers splayed wide across the small of her back.
I nudge a side table closer to my wingback chair, then set the tray on that before sitting down and drawing her into my lap.
“A baby,” I murmur, tightening my hold on her. My Sprite, my bride.
She rains little kisses all over my jaw as she nestles closer. “If everything goes well, our little person will be born next spring.”
Our little person. Ours. Will they have her reddish gold waves? Her freckles, her serious mind, her quiet, but fierce loyalty?
Or will they have my fire? Will we clash the way I did with my parents growing up? Will I remember to be as gracious as they were, encouraging me to find my own footing politically?
“What are you thinking?” Ellie asks as she slowly spins around to straddle my hips.
I take a deep, dragging breath and lean my head back as I look her through hooded eyes. “How I’ll handle it when we have a difference of opinion with our kid.”
She smiles. “Probably not a concern for the first while.”
I give her a lopsided smile. I’m drunk on the news that she’s pregnant. Totally tipsy with joy. “Maybe.”
“This time next year, we’re going to be so sleep deprived.”
“I can’t wait.” I tighten my grip on her. “I mean it. I’m going to do all the night wakings. All the diapers.”
“We can share that responsibility.” We share another smile, and she looks at the food. “Can I eat now?”
I hold her sandwich plate for her while she eats. I’m not growing a baby, I don’t need the sustenance in the same way. And I’m too excited to eat right now.
I want…
I want Ellie. I realize with a start that I’m hard as steel, my erection throbbing between us. The adrenaline rush of the moment has faded and in its place is a dizzying, drugging desire.
She realizes I’m hard soon after I do. She slows her final few chews, then twists and picks up her tea cup. My delicate Sprite. Her body is going to change and bloom because of me. Because of what I’ve done to her.
She takes a last sip of tea, then sets her cup down. She holds a silent pause there before turning back to me, heady awareness zinging between us.
“How do you want to celebrate?” she asks quietly.
“Inside you.”
She nods and slips off my lap. She stands in front of me, carefully stripping away the layers between us. I hold her naked every night that we’re together, but it’s been too long since we’ve done this. The day to day running of the prime minister’s house doesn’t allow for the absolute privacy I’d need to demand Ellie be naked for me all the time.
But I want that. I crave it, actually. We’ll need to make more time for this as our lives get busier still.
When she’s fully nude, I spread my legs wide and hold out my arms, inviting her back into my lap. I smooth my hands over her body, warming her up as I figure out what I want to do next.
Maybe I’ll do nothing. Just hold her like this and let the anticipation build, before I carry her upstairs and spread her out on our bed.
“May I ask you a question, Sir?”
I smile at her unnecessary, but arousing, deference. “Of course, Sprite.”
“Are you worried about hurting me?”
“No.” I kiss the side of her head. “I know you’re strong.”
“Okay.” She eases into my embrace and I stroke her back, her side, her hip and onto the flanks of her thighs. I squeeze her flesh and hold it, and as she starts to tremble—being so good, and holding so still for me—I reward her with light taps. Stinging, ouchy little slaps that make her skin pink.
I think back to my conversation with Max—and how this might change as our baby grows inside her. I imagine her belly curving between us now, and slap the outside of her thigh a bit harder.
Her leg shakes from the effort of staying put. I pat her skin. “You can put that one down if you want.”
She whimpers as she drops her foot to the floor, spreading her thighs. “You just want to mark up the insides of my legs.”
I sweep my hand up to her slippery pussy and graze my thumb over her clit, making her jump. “You want me to do that, too.”
“Mmm.”
Yeah, I’m going to have no problem making her happy when she’s big and round. I slap the inside of her thigh, then squeeze that same spot. She moans and shudders, and I cover her mouth as I manhandle her into a new position—her back to my front, her ass riding the obscene bulge straining at the front of my jeans. “Shhh,” I whisper. “Be good.”
That gets another shudder and a nod.
I spread her legs on either side of my thighs and press them wide open with my knees. I touch her more deftly now, plucking and tugging at her nipples, pinching at her inner thighs, and grazing her clit every so often in a random pattern that drives her crazy—and makes her soaking wet, too.
When she’s squirming and unable to stay still any longer, I press one hand wide across the lower swell of her belly and I nip at her earlobe. “This is how I want to celebrate,” I growl. “Fucking you just like this. Are you ready?”
She gives me an eager, happy head bobble, and I push her forward. She braces her hands on my knees as I unzip, then she sinks backwards onto my cock.
Her tight warmth is home to me. It’s torturous perfection, and I want to slam into her. Are you worried about hurting me? Maybe I am a little, because I hold back.
But she’s having none of that. She swivels her hips, sinking lower on my cock with each thrust she welcomes into her body, until I’m fully seated inside her.
She twists her upper body, sliding me a lusty look over her shoulder. Her hair tumbles loose down her back. Lady Godiva would have paled in comparison to my Sprite. “I’m okay,” she whispers. “You can take me like this.”
I groan and flex my hips, driving into her.
She bounces from the effort, and squeezes my thighs with her hands before rolling her body. Again, the message is clear. Fuck me harder.
I squeeze her hips and do just that. She sets the pace, until she gets shaky, and then I take over. I give her terse commands to touch herself. First her breasts, then her belly, and finally I give her permission to rub her clit. I imagine it all swollen and hard as I fuck into her clutching pussy, and as she tightens up, I follow her. We come together in a shuddering climax that goes on and on with rippling after shocks.
“Oh…” she breathes, then murmurs my name as I catch her and ease her back against my body.
“I’ve got you,” I say, my own voice rough and gravelly.
My cock softens and slips from her body, and she twists into my lap again.
I wind my fingers into her hair and squeeze her tight.
My bride.
My wife.
And now the mother of my child.
THE END
This story runs parallel to the events in Full Mountie, book #3, in the Frisky Beavers series. You can find links to all the novels in the series at www.friskybeavers.com!