Calamity Rayne Knocked Up (Calamity Rayne #4)

3. After Care Beats Foreplay Every Time

After Care Beats Foreplay Every Time

I lifted my arms over my head as he removed my shirt, kissing his way down my throat to my breasts. Warm hands framed my ribs. He awakened my body with delicate nips and licks. As he moved over me, my knees bracketed his hips and his hard erection weighed heavily on my stomach. I reached between us to stroke him slowly.

The moment my hand tightened around his flesh, he groaned against the curve of my throat. “Yes.” His shoulders trembled as his breath quickened. “There’s nothing better than feeling your hands on me.”

Nudging his shoulder, I eased him onto his back and straddled his hips. “It’s my turn to take care of you. ”

His chest expanded on a deep inhalation as my hands combed slowly over his muscular shoulders. He was so beautiful that at times I still struggled to understand how he was mine.

Curling my hands around his thick length, I stroked him slowly and guided him inside of my body. Slowly, I lowered over him and we both moaned. That first tight stretch after a few days apart always felt incredible.

His hands cupped my hips as he guided me into a slow canter. Our languid pace escalated the pleasure, allowing us the quiet space to feel every delicious tremor and tingle. The hunger he stirred inside of me built slowly, until it consumed me, controlling my need for more.

“Fuck, Rayne,” he breathed, his fingers digging into my hips. “Your body fits mine perfectly.”

Leaning forward, balancing my weight over his relaxed body, my hips rose and fell in a seductive rhythm. He pulled me closer, his hand dragging to the center of my back and pressing me low so he could trap my nipple between his lips.

A low moan escaped my throat in a needy plea as my body tightened around him. His fist moved to my hair, and suddenly, he took control. His torso rippled in a wave of chiseled muscle as he lifted his upper body off the bed, holding me by the hair as he sucked my nipples and pumped his hips hard.

Releasing my hair, he caught my hips and guided my rhythm. I gripped his broad shoulders and leaned back, trusting him not to drop me.

“Who’s pussy is this?” The fingers of his free hand teased my clit.

“Yours.”

“That’s right.” He flexed his hips. “ Mine .”

He flipped me to my back, once again the aggressor. Pushing my thighs wide, he fucked me hard, ramming his cock deep to emphasize his possessive claim. My body was his.

He cupped my breast, demanding my full attention as his hand dragged higher, closing gently around my throat, and something shifted in the air. My heartbeat rolled into a thunderous roar, pounding wildly from my pulse beneath his thumb, just below my jaw, all the way to my swollen clit.

“Ah,” I gasped as my sex contracted like a fist. Then I was coming.

Hale cursed, and pumped his hips harder, forcing his release deep inside of me. It was unexpectedly fast but perfect just like it used to be, before the schedules, before the basal thermometers and fertility tests, before the disappointment of negative pregnancy tests, and before the inevitable sense of failure that haunted me.

My stomach had never felt so achingly hollow until this past year. Logically, I knew none of this was our fault, but it was sometimes impossible not to feel like a failure, even when we were both trying our hardest to succeed.

“Hey.” His hand brushes my cheek. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m here,” I lied. It was obvious my mind had gone somewhere else.

He kissed my forehead. “Whatever you’re thinking about, put it away for now, Rayne. All the worry. All the stress. We can deal with it tomorrow. Let’s just give ourselves this moment.”

My mouth curved into a gentle smile. How did he do that? How did he know exactly what to say to calm me down the way no one else could?

When he pulled out, the ache that came in his absence nearly brought me to tears. I could go three days without him, but any more and I was always overly emotional when he returned.

“I think I reached my limit,” I confessed, remembering the days when we only had a long-distance relationship and spent weeks apart. I could never go back to that.

I need Hale like a drug—not just for the intimacy but for my sanity. He was my anchor in the storm, my harbor light in a dark sea.

He nestled close and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Talk to me, Rayne. What’s going on?”

Maybe I was being dramatic. Maybe I wasn’t. “I just missed you. Sometimes all these business trips get to be too much.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Believe me, I’d much rather be home with you and Elara. You could come with me next time.”

I’d tried that. Traveling with a toddler was a lot to manage, especially when I had to bring my work and Hale was tied up in meetings most of the trip. Time passed faster when we stayed home, but I still missed him like crazy.

“I’m just being needy.”

“That’s okay. I like feeling needed.”

My body shivered, and goosebumps rose on my skin. Hale dragged the covers over my chest. I should have been lying upside down, letting gravity do its work, but it felt too nice to simply lie in his arms.

We lost a bit of the aftercare when our objectives changed. “I miss this.”

A satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest as he pulled me closer, cradling me like a baby. “It’s been a while since you’ve let me hold you like this.” His fingers traced slowly up and down my arm.

Why did I deny us these tender moments when they felt so damn good? “I’m sorry I get so crazy about all this baby stuff, Hale.”

“You’re fine, Rayne. I get it.”

Did he? Did he feel the sense of failure the way I did? Did he know how hard it was to take an inventory of my body and feel nothing but emptiness? Basic indigestion could create false hope, and damn, that hope hurt when it turned out to be nothing more than a flutter of gas. Maybe I wasn’t ready to have a baby if this was how my mind worked.

“Rayne.”

I met his stare. “Yeah.”

He tugged me close and looked me square in the eye. “There is nothing wrong with you or your body.”

God, I was so transparent. “I know. It’s just hard. The other day, the doctor used the phrase geriatric pregnancy . I’m thirty-two!”

Hale laughed. “Baby, you’re far from a geriatric. I mean, for Christ's sake, you still watch cartoons.”

“Only because Elara likes it when I watch them with her.”

“Elara’s a little young for The Simpsons, Rayne.”

“I watch The Simpsons for current events, Hale. Everyone knows that show is a modern-day Nostradamus.”

“Simpsons aside, you’re still too young to be a geriatric anything.”

“I know! I mean, technically, a woman has to be thirty-five to fit that category. You just know someone with a penis coined that term.”

He chuckled. “Sometimes I think you imagine the patriarchy as a room in a club where a bunch of men sit around smoking cigars and passing misogynistic laws.”

I cocked my head. “That’s actually pretty accurate to what I imagine. It’s like the dogs playing poker painting but with stuffy old men that look like Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life.”

He kissed my forehead. “You’re young.” He kissed my nose. “And beautiful.” Then he threw off the covers and kissed my stomach. “And healthy.” Dropping lower, he nuzzled my hip with his nose and placed his palm over my belly. “But you’re not very patient, Mrs. Davenport.”

I rolled my eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He formed a heart with his hands, framing my belly button. “I will. I’ll tell you something even The Simpsons haven’t predicted yet. It’s going to happen for us, baby. We just have to give it time. Trust me on this.” He kissed my stomach and pulled the covers over us.

“You’re right. We just need a little more time and sex.”

“Much more sex.” He tugged me to his side and turned off the television. “After some sleep of course.”