“You didn’t come,” he says, panting into my neck. I can’t talk, so I hum and shake my head, my arms flopped limply at the side of my head. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
I hum again and attempt to lift my arms to cuddle him so he knows that I’m fine, but my muscles are on shut down. Our sweaty chests are compressed together and our erratic breathing is loud. We’re both completely shattered. I want to stay in bed, but then I feel the absence of his weight, and I’m being lifted into his arms. I mumble an audible protest as I’m carried to the bathroom. He turns the spray on, grabs a towel from the shelf and chucks it on the floor of the shower before laying me down on it. I just about muster up the strength to frown up at him as he lowers himself to the floor and spreads my legs.
“Let’s bring you back to life.” He flicks the shower to cool and settles between my thighs before really waking me up with a stretched out, agonizingly soft stroke of his tongue, right up the center of my core.
My back arches, my lifeless arms spring to life, and my voice comes back. “Ohhhhh Godddd!” I grab his wet hair and push him farther into me, the previously deep, misplaced orgasm now gushing forward. I don’t even try to control it. I start panting, my stomach muscles tensing, my head lifting, as the cool, fresh water rains all over me. He’s everywhere, licking, biting, sucking, trailing kisses down the insides of my thighs and slowly back up again to plunge his tongue in deep.
“Awake yet?” he mumbles around my flesh, then bites lightly on my clit.
“More!” I demand, yanking at his hair. I hear him laugh a little before he follows through on my order and seals his mouth completely around me and sucks me gently to climax.
I burst. I see stars. I moan and throw my hands over my head. Way too good. Just way way too bloody good. I’m pulsing against him and completely limp, and the cool spray is divine, the consistent purring of the shower relaxing.
“I love love love feeling you throb.” He kisses his way up my body until he finds my lips, giving me more special attention. I only respond with my mouth, unable to convince my muscles to move, and not bothering to make much effort of it, either. “Am I redeemed?”
I nod against his kiss and he laughs, pulling back to study me. My eyes are still working fine. He’s just beyond fucking beautiful. “I love you.” I just about manage to squeeze the words past my fitful breaths.
He dazzles me with that smile…my smile. “I know you do, baby.” He gets up, far too spritely for my liking. “Come on. Now that I’ve fulfilled my godly obligation, we need to go to The Manor.”
He takes my hand and heaves me up with absolutely no effort at all, then spends some quiet time rinsing me down and washing my hair.
“You’re done, lady. Out.” He slaps my arse and sends me on my way, while he finishes his shower.
We have lots to catch up on. We’ve broke the back of it, and this is all the more reason for me to remedy the situation that will undoubtedly take me back to being treated like I’m breakable if I remain pregnant.
I walk into the kitchen and find Jesse rummaging frantically through the cupboards. With his arms raised, his broad back is accentuated by the pull of his white polo T-shirt, the vast expanse of firmness making my hands twitch at my sides and my eyes blink to confirm he’s real. I smile. He’s real all right, and he’s also mine.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pulling my hair up into a messy mass of wildness on top of my head.
He turns around and looks at me in alarm. “I’ve run out of Sun-Pat.”
“What?” I laugh at his genuine distress. “You’ve run out of peanut butter?”
“It’s not fucking funny!” He slams the cupboard door shut before stalking over to the fridge, yanking it open, and shifting endless bottles of water. “What the fuck is Cathy playing at?” he barks to himself.
I can’t help it. I double over with laughter. This is not the normal behavior for someone who merely likes something. He’s addicted to it. My Lord is addicted to peanut butter and, quite possibly, is going to have a seizure if he doesn’t get his fix soon. I’m happily tittering away when I hear the fridge door slam. I bolt upright and do a rubbish job of restraining my grin. I’m clamping down painfully on my lip to prevent it.
“What are you grinning at?” He scowls at me, good and proper.
“Why the compulsion for peanut butter?” I ask quickly, before reclamping down on my lip.
He folds his arms across his chest, still scowling. “I like it.”
“You like it?”