My Fake Husband by Black, L. (motivational novels TXT) 📕

captured a nipple and sucked it, laved it with his tongue, scraped it lightly with his teeth until I was keening, demanding that he come, that he give me every drop he had.

“I want it, all of it, you’re mine,” I gasped, bouncing in his lap, riding him, his arms around me, dragging me up the thick erection and then thrusting it back into me. “More,” I said, “don’t hold back. Don’t stop, please.” I was half out of my mind on orgasms and all I could think was how much I wanted to feel him empty inside me, how the hot liquid gush of him inside me, coating my thighs would be the one thing to relieve all this sweaty tension between us. I felt the first heavy lashings of his climax shoot into me with a force that bowed me back. I arched, leaning back on my hands to watch where we joined.

“Oh God, look at you, look at taking all of me in,” he groaned, and his head went back, his thrusts going wild and a spill of thick cum pouring into me. I made a carnal sound, my hand shooting out to grab his back and press him closer. I rocked against him after he was done, milking the last drops from him. He kissed my cheek.

“All of me, always,” he said raggedly. “I want to give you everything. You’re mine.”

“That’s primitive,” I said, trying for lightness.

“Very. You’re my woman,” he said with a mischievous grin and pulled me down into his arms with a laugh. “I’m like a caveman now. My woman. My child. Mine.”

His voice and face were serious, and I nestled into his broad chest, feeling completely whole and safe and loved.

“I never imagined life could be like this. It feels too perfect,” I said. “I was lucky to have a house and my shop, bad plumbing and all. Some people don’t get even that much.”

“I know. But now I have you. And baby makes three. Just think, in a few years, I’ll be coaching our little nugget on Little League right alongside Laura and Brody’s kid. They’ll be cousins, and they can grow up together, so close in age. That’s just another layer of how lucky we are.”

“We really are. It’s crazy.”

“Not crazy, Trix. It’s perfect. There’s nothing crazy about that.”

I loved writing that check. The one that paid off my loan. I had sold my house to a couple who fell in love with it and paid way more than I would’ve asked for it. It reminded her of the house she grew up in, and it was a sentimental thing I guess. Then I sold the extra lot attached to the house separately to a guy who wanted to build a duplex there. I leased the apartment over the shop to someone who didn’t forget and leave stuff on all the time.

I had a husband who placed a standing order for red roses every Thursday afternoon, because he said roses were for lovers. I told him that once, right before I babbled about funerals and crap because I was nervous and had a huge crush on him. Now we were looking at cribs from IKEA and turning that spare bedroom into a nursery for our baby. So far, he’d painted the walls a soft baby blue—he bought the paint the week we found out we were having a boy. I wanted to do a Mickey Mouse room, but he was pushing for a Ghostbusters theme. I think I’ll win this one.

He came home last week with a red race car. The kind big enough for a toddler to ride in. When I explained patiently that he was going to be too little for that for a long time, he just grinned.

“It’ll be Fast and Furious time before you know it, and our kid isn’t gonna be a passenger, that’s for sure. He’ll be the kind to drive the getaway car.”

I had smiled in spite of myself and then made him swear not to show him those movies until he was at least twelve.

“What if he’s a fairy tale kid? Knights and dragons and castles. He’ll grow up hearing about how I loved you all my life, and how you turned out to be the prince who rescued me.”

“Nobody rescued you, baby. You and that little boy saved me, if anybody got rescued here,” he said, his hand curving protectively over my round belly. “I would’ve been nothing but a lonely workaholic with a string of forgettable flings.”

“When we tell our kids that bedtime story, leave out the flings part,” I said.

“Fine, we’ll keep it G-rated.”

“Is that the doorbell?”

“Let me get it. It’s Chinese food.”

“You got me Chinese?” I squealed.

“The baby needs eggrolls, I’ve been told.”

“He really does. I’ve been craving them so bad!”

“And I got cherry popsicles. They’re in the freezer.”

“You are the best!” I said.

“Don’t you forget it,” he said, bringing in the bags of Chinese food and spreading a blanket on the floor. “I thought we’d have a picnic in the nursery.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll go get—”

“You sit down. I’ll go get everything we need.”

He came back with two glasses of sparkling cider, “A toast to my bride,” he said. “You accepted help from me and gave me a purpose and a life and family I always dreamed of. I can never thank you enough. All I can do is love you forever.”

He kissed me softly and clinked our glasses together. His arm slid around my shoulders and I leaned into him, just soaking in this perfect feeling of belonging and the promise of the future with him; the future I’d always wanted.

Epilogue One Year Later

Sometimes things turn out even better than you could have imagined. When the plumbing busted in my shop a little over a year ago, all I hoped for was a set of pipes that didn’t leak. Now I had everything and then some. My shop was doing great, turning a tidy profit,