My Peace (Beautifully Broken 5)

“No,” she says firmly. “He says I’m fine. The baby is fine. I can resume life as normal. If any other bleeding happens, I’m supposed to let him know, of course, but I’m fine, babe. Please stop worrying now.”

We’ve only got a couple of weeks until she passes the first trimester mark.

My knee throbs as a reminder.

I’ll take care of it as soon as possible. In a couple of weeks.

“This calls for a celebration,” I tell her. “Let’s go out to eat.”

“Natasha is already making us a fancy dinner,” she tells me. “And Zu is spending the night with Maddy. She was watching her while I was at the doctor’s, and she asked if she could keep her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had an appointment?” I ask.

“Because I didn’t want you to worry.”

Her answer is simple, and she is so like me in that way. She’d rather bear bad news alone, and shield me from it the best she can.

It’s the same thing I’m doing for her.

“Tell Natasha to serve it in the living room,” I tell her. “And you’ll be eating in my lap.”

I scoop her up and she giggles the entire way to the living room. When we get there, I’ve changed my mind.

“Fuck it,” I mutter. “Tell her to keep it warm.”

Mila giggles the message into her cellphone, and I deposit her in the middle of the bed. I strip off my shirt and pants, and then kneel over her, peeling off her clothing items one by one. I pull her panties off with my teeth.

Her smell, musky and fresh, floods my nose and I’m instantly hard.

Her hands are everywhere on my skin, pulling me to her, and her heat… Jesus, her heat engulfs me, and I cover her with my body.

My lips blaze a trail from her belly to her mouth, and mouth is needy.

“I want you,” she tells me urgently. “Please, Pax.”

Her legs are looped around my hips already and I have to mentally slow down. I want it to last. I don’t want to hurt her.

I feel her, every inch of her, palming her in my hands and playing her like an instrument. She arches and whimpers, and I smile, her lips against my teeth.

“Tell me what you want, Red,” I urge her.

“You,” she whispers daintily. “You.”

“What part of me?” I ask, knowing damned well what she wants. “Tell me, Red. Say it.”

“I want your hard cock,” her sweet mouth says, and the dirty words sound so good coming from her delicate lips.

I give it to her. I slide into her, from tip to base, and I shudder with the ecstasy of it. She whimpers and clutches at my back, and I slow myself down again.

Dead puppies, nuns, cold fish. I calm myself, and rhythmically, gently, I fuck my wife.

She grasps the sheets, she clutches at my hips, her legs are tight, her pussy is tighter.

“Dear Lord,” she says into my chest.

“Don’t bring him into this,” I tell her, and I groan as I thrust deeper. I pull myself back. I can’t hurt her. I can’t.

“I’m not made of glass,” she tells me weakly, and she pulls me further into her, and it’s my undoing.