The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs 2)

“Fuck, if you’ll suck me like this, I’ll strap a fucking dishwasher on my back.”

I giggle around his cock, and it jumps in my mouth.

“Shiiiitttt,” he manages to get out through his clenched jaw as I suck him like he’s my last supper.

“Damn, baby,” he says, his eyes glittering down on me as I work him with my mouth. “I’m,” bob, “making,” suck, “a list,” lick, “right now of all the power tools I can g-g-get on my back. The list is long,” he grits out. “Take your time down there.”

“I want you so bad right now,” I murmur to him through my mouthful. He looks down at me with so much love, so much adoration, I feel complete. Blissfully, I suck him, acting out my fantasy from years ago. I love that I married the man I fantasize about. I love that he humors all my childish whims, but most of all, I love the way he looks at me the same way he did the crazy year we fell in love. Thinks of me the same, treats me the same, touches me the same. He never lied to me again after the night we met and has yet to break a single promise. And my love for him has only grown.

There’s nothing between us now but our messy love, trust, and respect, along with the three little reminders that we made the right decision with each other.

We could have so easily given up. At one point, we had every reason to. We did everything backward and went through the hard years to get to the honeymoon.

We grew up together. And that’s a feat, in and of itself.

We could be living completely different lives if we hadn’t woken up, and that would have been the real tragedy. And what a honeymoon it’s been.

“Clarissa,” he grunts, running his fingers through my hair, his gentle caress spurring me on, “baby, I need to touch you.”

“Just a few more minutes,” I murmur gazing up at him while pumping him in my hand.

“No way,” he says, his eyes pooling with desire while I alternate my licks between his shaft and crown. “I’m not going to last long if you keep that up.”

“I’m so…mmmm,” I mumble around him before letting him go with a pop. “I haven’t been this horny since I got pregnant with Zoe.”

All activity ceases, especially mine, as I try and recall my last period, and Troy’s eyes widen.

“No,” I whisper yell, “no way. I’m on the pill and the foam, and I’ve been putting in the diaphragm.”

“You’re pregnant,” he murmurs, running a hand along my jaw, his eyes welling with emotion before he shakes his head with a chuckle. “Birth control doesn’t exist for us.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Negotiations closed. Please, no.”

“Yes.”

“But I just lost a little of the baby weight! I can’t do that again so soon!”

“Baby,” he says, letting the power tool off his back and pulling me to him.

“No, no!” I say, backing away from him as he comes toward me, his smile beaming.

“Yes. Yes!”

“Troy,” I push at his chest, furious with myself, furious with him. No matter what we do, what measures we take, we can’t seem to stop procreating. “Wait…” I look up and nod. “I just had my period.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’m not pregnant,” I say defiantly. “So, you can wipe that damned smile off your face!”

He tugs at my ankles, drawing me to the end of the bed and climbs on top of me, pinning my wrists next to my face. All I see in his eyes is love and awe. “Merry Christmas to me. I fucking love you so much.”

“Troy,” I whine weakly as he kisses me from head to toe, the smile never leaving his eyes. “It’s too soon.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m like a Gremlin, one drop of your sperm, and I multiply, babies flying out everywhere.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises.