Valentine

“Harder Justin. Fuck me like you own me.”

“Fuck,” he growls and drops my thigh, his arms come under my back and his hands go into my hair at the back of my head. My chest pushes up against his from the move. “You want me to pound your pretty little pussy, Dove?”

“Yes,” I moan. He makes an animalistic sound deep in his throat and starts pounding into me over and over his abs hitting my clit and his cock hitting my g spot all at the same time. My legs tighten around his hips. Using my arms on his shoulders, I meet him thrust for thrust.

“Come for me one more time, baby,” he whispers in a gruff voice against my ear before nipping my neck. My back bows and my head flies back as my orgasm comes crashing through. My legs start to shake and my toes curl.

“Oh God, I’m coming Justin.” I scream his name over and over. His thrusts start to become erratic and I feel his cock swell even bigger as he roars out his release. I feel rope after rope of his come shoot deep inside my unprotected womb and I come from the sheer thought of him getting me pregnant. I sob out his name as I come.

After the last of my aftershocks wear off, he quickly flips us over, so I am on top of him. I place a kiss over his heart before resting my cheek on it, trying to catch my breath. He runs his hands up and down my back then places a kiss on top of my head.

“I love you my sweet Valentine.”

“I love you too, Justin. More than anything.” He sighs and his arms tighten around me. I slowly start to drift off to the sound of his heart.

I don’t know how I ever fell asleep without being in his arms because it is the safest place I have ever been.

5

Justin

The next morning, I wake up and stare at my fiancée for the longest time before she finally stirs. I wonder how I got so fucking lucky. She’s given herself to me and I am not giving her back.

“Mmm, good morning,” she says yawning.

“Good morning, fiancée,” I say, leaning down for a kiss.”

“Oh, no you don’t. My breath.”

“Fuck that,” I say kissing her anyway. She is gorgeous in the morning. Her hair is wild, and she looks thoroughly loved. She moans, opening her mouth more for me. I kiss her until her tummy rumbles. “I need to feed you, baby.” Pulling back, I get out of bed and throw some boxers on.

“I don’t want food,” she says pouting.

“Too bad. Come out in a few,” I tell her, giving her a few minutes to herself. In the kitchen, I realize I need to go to the store. The only edible things I have l are milk and cereal. Shit. Real classy.

She comes out into the kitchen wearing the denim work shirt I had on earlier. My name is emblazoned on her left breast. She’s left it unbuttoned so that I can see every inch of her creamy skin. Fuck. That’s sexy as hell. Possessive need courses through my veins, but the need to take care of her outweighs that. Willing my cock to go down, I grab some bowls from the cabinet and spoons from the drawer.

“This is all you have?” she asks.

“Captain Crunch or Frosted Flakes?”

“Who feeds you? A hard-working man like you needs real food, Justin,” she says adamantly.

“I eat, Dove. Calm down,” I tell her. She moves closer to me.

“No. You need me. Someone has to take care of you.”

“I do need you,” I admit, burying my face in her neck. I take a deep breath before leaving biting kisses there. “So which cereal? You need your strength.’

“Captain Crunch, obviously,” she replies, moving to the coffee maker and dropping in a K-cup of Columbian Dark Roast. I pour the cereal while she doctor’s my coffee and then starts her own. With two steaming cups in her hands, she joins me at the breakfast nook in a hidden corner of the kitchen. We eat in silence. When I’m done, I see she’s barely eaten.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“The grocery list I’m making.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Nonsense. You do too. Besides, there’s no refunds,” she says sassily.

“I’m not returning you, don’t worry,” I tell her, and she grins at me. I’d do anything to keep that smile just for me, but I know that’s unreasonable.

After we eat, we stand at the sink washing the dishes she insisted couldn’t wait. She’s washing and I am drying.

“Can I change this around a little?” she asks.

“Of course. This is your home now, but can I ask why?”

“It’s wrong. The cups and glasses should be in the cabinet closest to the fridge and the plates should be in the cabinet closest to the stove. This way just doesn’t make sense to me. Also, the pots and pans should be on the bottom. It’s weird that you have them in an upper cabinet.”