Page 4 of Rome
“Take it, Abby. Take every goddamned drop.” I pumped into her a few more times as the last jets of my cum shot deep into her cunt.
I eased out of her and collapsed on the bed next to her as she shifted onto her side to face me. She panted, trying to catch her breath as she absently ran her hand over my still-heaving chest. She swirled her fingertips over the colorful designs inked there, before circling one flat nipple which hardened into a sharp point at her touch.
“Mmmm, that feels good, baby girl, but I don’t think we have time for another round right now. Your son will be up and hollering for his breakfast any minute.”
She snorted softly and swatted her hand against my chest. “Myson, huh? I’m pretty damned sure he gets his lack of patience from you, stud.”
I grabbed her hand and brought it to my lips, pressing a kiss to each fingertip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, wife of mine. I have the patience of a fuckin’ saint.” I managed to say with a straight face, which only caused Abby to snort out a laugh again.
“I’m positive you will never be nominated for sainthood, Caleb Morgan,” she leaned up to whisper against my lips before giving me a quick peck, “and I wouldn’t have you any other way. Now, help me roll out of bed beforeourson is pounding on the bedroom door.”
I snickered and helped Abby - who really did have trouble getting out of bed these days – by sliding my hands under her ass and lifting her up so she could swing her legs over the side of the bed. She straightened her nightshirt, which we hadn’t even taken the time to remove completely and padded over to the attached bathroom just as a knock sounded on our door.
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” came the voice of our little cockblocker. Abby stopped in the bathroom doorway and turned to answer him, but I waved her off.
“Good morning, buddy,” I called through the door. “Mommy is in the bathroom. Go on downstairs, and I’ll be down in just a minute to get your breakfast.”
“OK, Daddy,” he said agreeably, then I heard him scampering down the hall to the stairs.
“I’ve got him. You go ahead and do what you need to do, and we’ll meet you downstairs. Do you want me to make you some tea?”
She scrunched her nose at the mention of the decaf tea she’d had to switch to during her pregnancy. She definitely preferred her tea “fully leaded” as she called it.
“Yes, thank you,” she sighed. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. What time do you have to go in today?”
“I’m meeting Jimmy at ten, so I’ve got an hour or so before I need to head out.” I didn’t normally make weekend appointments at the tattoo shop – as the co-manager and an in-demand tattoo artist, I had the luxury of picking my hours – but this client was one of the first I’d had when I’d finished my apprenticeship almost eight years ago. He’d been coming to me for his ink ever since, so I’d offered to work on him today when I’d found out his new job made it hard for him to get to the shop during my normal hours. “I should be home by three o’clock, maybe four at the latest. Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”
Abby shook her head. “Not really unless you do. I was thinking of making chicken stir-fry,”
I frowned a little at that. “Are you sure you feel up to that? You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“I’m fine, Caleb, my blood pressure’s just a little high. I won’t overdo it just by cooking dinner.”
“OK, but I’ll be home in time to help. I don’t want you on your feet all evening.”
She just shook her head in amusement as she walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She was used to me being overprotective, and it only got worse when she was pregnant.
She’d worried me yesterday when her doctor said that she was getting a little concerned about Abby’s numbers. Not only was her blood pressure too damned high, her feet and ankles were swelling more than they liked to see. After the difficulties she’d had with horrible morning sickness in the first trimester, I’d hoped that the rest of her pregnancy would be smooth sailing. It didn’t look like that was going to happen though, unless I could get my stubborn wife to rest a hell of a lot more than she did.
I leaned over the side of the bed and reached for my discarded T-shirt on the floor where I’d dropped it when I had undressed last night and swiped it over my groin in a half-assed effort to clean myself. I would wait and jump in the shower after breakfast. I got out of bed and tossed the soiled shirt into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room, then picked up my jeans and boxers from the floor and tossed them in as well. It drove Abby nuts when I left my shit everywhere. After a quick stop in the bathroom to take a piss and wash my hands – sneaking a peak at my wife’s body in the shower while I was at it because I couldn’t resist – I quickly grabbed some sweatpants out of the dresser drawer and pulled them on before heading down the stairs.
I found Ethan sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, kicking his feet back and forth impatiently, with a box of cereal on the countertop in front of him. I bent down to drop a kiss on his deep brown hair and smoothed my hand over his messy bedhead on my way over to the single-serve coffee maker to turn it on. That kid always woke up with his hair sticking up every which way, looking like he’d been dragged through a bush backwards, as my Grandma Frankie had always said. I wasn’t sure what the hell he did at night to make it look that way every morning.
“I want this kind this morning, Daddy.”
I glanced over my shoulder to look at the cereal box as I reached for the tea kettle on the glass cooktop. “Lucky Charms, huh? Sounds good, bud. I’ll have some with you. Let me get the kettle going for Mommy’s tea first, though.”
“OK, I’ll get the milk and spoons for us.” I smiled as my little man hopped down off his stool and hustled over to the refrigerator while I filled the tea kettle and grabbed a couple of mugs and a tea bag from the cabinet next to the stove. He had a look of utter concentration on his face as he hefted the gallon of milk out and set in on the countertop, then turned to open the silverware drawer next to the fridge.
With just one glance at this kid, even a total stranger would know he was mine; he looked like a damned mini-me, right down to the dimple on one cheek which Abby loved. Luckily for us both, he wasn’t as much of a hellion as I’d been at his age. Of course, my boy didn’t have a twin brother egging him on and helping him get his ass in trouble. Ethan also had an amazing mother raising him, unlike the fucking egg donor Jagger and I had been saddled with. I shook off the memories of our shitty mother, and grinned as I watched Ethan try to jump up to reach the bowls in the cabinet.
“Hang on, E,” I said, setting the now-filled kettle on the stove and turning the burner on. I strode over and scooped him up under his arms, making him laugh as he kicked his legs in front of him. I held him up so he could reach the bowls, instructing him to grab one for Abby, too.
“Does Mommy want Lucky Charms, too?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so, bud. She’ll probably want some fruit and yogurt, with maybe an English muffin or some toast.” I hid my smile at his look of disgust. He wasn’t a very picky eater, but my boy was convinced that no breakfast was complete without a bowl of sugary cereal. Since I enjoyed a big bowl of the stuff myself more often than not, he may or may not have picked up that habit from me.
Abby shuffled into the kitchen as I lowered Ethan back down on his heels, the bowls he’d retrieved held tightly to his chest. He hurried over to the island, setting the bowls down carefully next to the spoons he’d laid out. Without being prompted, he grabbed napkins out of the holder next to the coffee maker and placed one next to each bowl as well. Abby’s influence again. She’d taught him to help early on, giving him simple chores from the time he’d first started toddling around.
