Hooking Up With My Dad's Best Friend

I was just hoping that today it would be okay. It’s my baby shower, and all my friends and family are downstairs. All I want is for it to pass quickly so I can get back to them.

The last three years have been amazing, and everyone has completely dispelled my fears about what being with Bryce would be like. Just like Elle predicted, once people saw us together, they had no doubts about it. Even my dad—who had to have some time to adjust—has come around and agrees that we’re a perfect match.

The bookstore is doing so well that I was able to hire another employee just like mom wanted me to, and I promoted Elle to manager. I’m actually able to take some time off. Plus, it’s been good, learning to give up some of that control. And I’m glad that I have someone that I can trust to run things during these next few months while I’m busy. It’s a huge relief.

I stroke my hand over my stomach and feel for my wedding ring on the chain around my neck. I can’t wear it right now, with my swollen fingers, but I never take it off. I never want the symbol of our commitment very far away from me.

“Come on little one,” I tell the baby in my belly. “Settle down and let mama have her party, okay?”

She kicks in response. It is a girl, though we haven’t settled on a name. I can already tell that she’s going to be sassy. She responds to my voice and Bryce’s voice, and is very active. I just wish a little less active today.

“Your mom sent up a glass of water,” Bryce says as he comes into our bedroom. He sets it on the nightstand and sits down next to me. “Feeling better?”

I sigh. “Getting there. But not quite.”

“Well everyone understands, and don’t worry, nobody is going anywhere.”

“Still unfair,” I say, pouting.

Bryce grins down at me. “I bet that I can make you feel better.”

“Really? How?”

He stretches a hand across my hip, tucking his fingers into the waistband of my pants and tugging them down. “An orgasm or two never hurt anyone.”

“I don’t know. You don’t have to do that.”

Bryce insists that he doesn’t care about my pregnancy body, but that’s hard to believe. I look like an alien, and it’s impossible to see how that could be attractive. But he doesn’t stop. “I want to. If I could do nothing else but eat your pussy for the rest of my life, I would do it.”

I giggle. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, pulling down my panties and spreading my legs. “You’re better than fucking cookies, baby.”

Cookies is a huge deal. Bryce loves cookies. “I bet you would stop for a warm chocolate, oh—”

Bryce’s lips tease my clit, and he lets his tongue roam over me. He knows exactly what I like and how my body ticks now. He even learned the strange ways that pregnancy changed my arousal. He makes a sound like he’s eating a fucking cake. “God, you taste amazing. I bet if we bottled this we could make millions.”

I start laughing, or trying, between the gasps he’s bringing out of me. “You’re crazy. We are not bottling that.”

“Just for me then,” he murmurs. “The way I like it.”

My hands are fisted in the comforter, trying to hold on because he’s aiming for the orgasm that’s fast and bright, and not one of the ones that he can bring out of me long and slow time with his tongue. He licks into my pussy, plunging deep and fast. That ramps up the pleasure, spreading fire through my lower body and further. Yes.

Replacing his tongue with his fingers, he does that thing that I fucking love where he teases me inside while he flicks my clit with his tongue in fluttering strokes. It makes it so that I can’t breathe and can’t hold it back.

But that’s another thing that pregnancy changed—I can’t last. I have no ability to hold on to my orgasm or make it longer. When I need to come, it happens, which Bryce has been having far too much fun with.

He sucks down on my clit while thrusting three fingers into my G-spot, and I come. I bite my lip to hold in my cries, so that I don’t let everyone downstairs know that my husband’s face is between my thighs. But my mind is blissfully doused in pleasure, and I do feel better. Who knew that orgasms and the muscle contractions that come with them could be the cure to my nausea—something else we figured out together.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” I say.

“It’s my pleasure,” he says as he stands. “You’ll never know how much.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Actually, I think I can see how much,” I say, looking at his pants. He’s clearly hard, nearly bursting out of them. “You can’t go downstairs with a hard-on like that.”