Page 95 of Single Daddy Scot
‘I don’t know. These winter mornings have my brain reduced to mush. Something to do with pedagogical mores. God.’ Ella groans, grabbing a cup.’ I don’t know ifIcan take it any mores.’
‘You can do whatever you set your heart to, but if it gets too much, you know you only have to say the word.’
‘Thanks, Daddy,’ she says with a familiar gleam in her whisky eyes. It’s the kind of look that makes my hands grabby and my cock surge.
From behind her, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her close and placing my lips in her luxurious dark hair. ‘Daddy’s gonna take care of you,’ I whisper roughly, using the growly tone she’s so fond of.
Her breath halts, and her nipples are instantly hard under her thin sweater dress.
‘What’s Daddy going to do for me?’ she asks breathlessly.
‘For starters, Daddy’s gonna cook dinner tonight.’
‘You mean order in.’
‘Yes, but shush. You’re spoiling the imagery.’
She giggles as she mimes sealing her mouth with a zipper.
‘Where was I? Ah, yeah. Then Daddy’s going to feed you,’ I whisper, my tone heavy with innuendo. ‘Then he’s going to run you a bubble bath. Rub you down and get you nice and slippery.’ She shivers as my breath tickles her ear. ‘Then, Daddy’s gonna dry you off with a fluffy towel, lay you on the bed, and then get down between your legs.’
‘You must’ve hired a crane.’
Ignoring this, I drop my hands from her shoulders, taking her tits into my hands. ‘Because then, I’m gonna make you all dirty again.’
‘Sounds like a well-thought-out plan.’ By her now mewling reply, it also sounds like something she’s looking forward to. ‘Why don’t we go and lock ourselves in the bathroom for five minutes, and I can show you just how much I like the sound of that?’
‘I doubt it’d take five minutes.’Two minutes tops, I’ll bet. ‘And you remember what happened last time you got on your knees?’We’d almost needed a crane that time.
She turns swiftly—well, as swiftly as a heavily pregnant woman can—knocking several things from the counter as she turns, whacking me on the arm.
‘You are a beast!’ she exclaims. ‘Just call me fat, why don’t you?’
‘You’re not fat, darlin’, you’re growing my child.’ I place both hands on her swollen stomach, running the risk of another thump. But I can’t help myself. She’s a thing of fucking beauty—and I’m just in awe of her.
In. Fucking. Awe.
Now, if only I could get her to be my wife.
‘A very large child,’ she grumbles, her eyes glistening even as they narrow with her proclamation, but she doesn’t protest as I take her face in my hands.
‘I’m a very large man.’
‘That must be why I keep you around,’ she murmurs as I slant my lips over hers. I kiss her slowly, savouring the shape of her lips against mine. Kiss her thoroughly, kiss her until she moans softly into my mouth. And all the while we keep our eyes open, our gazes shining with love.
‘Ew, kissing,’ Louis complains as he skids back into the room.
I’m inclined to agree with Keir in that, kids have an uncanny knack for appearing where they shouldn’t. But as our kisses reduce to gentle presses of lips, Louis quickly changes the topic to that of his stomach. Or in other words, his breakfast.
Ella has to leave for an early seminar this morning, so I’m on breakfast duty. And school drop-off. As she slides her coat over her beautifully expanded frame, I stick a square of buttered toast between her teeth, urging her to bite. And when she’s buttoned up against the cold, I press a travel cup of hot tea in one hand and her packed lunch in the other.
‘You look after me so well.’
‘Always,’ is my response. It’ll be my response for now and forever.
Our baby might not exactly have been planned, but it is the happiest kind of surprise. True, we were maybe a little reckless our first few times—reckless in pursuit of our love. Wild in our pursuit of exploring the other. It’s maybe a more poetic way of saying we fucked like it was an Olympic sport. But by Christ, we did win gold.
Our child.
