Page 73 of Better Daddy

I swallow a nervous breath. For so long this is what I wanted. This right here: my husband opening up to me, holding me.

With another soft smile, he rubs his thumb against my cheek. “Despite all that, I can’t help but be happy. Because though I may not be able to fix everything, I have a better chance if you’re talking to me. So please, I beg you, keep talking. Keep telling me what I can do to make you happy. It’s all I want in this life. To be what you and T.J. and this baby need.” He cups my stomach and rubs soothing circles.

I shift so my mouth is there for the taking, and Sully doesn’t hesitate to give me exactly what I need.

Maybe it is this simple. Maybe he’s right. We just try. Nothing in life is guaranteed, and planning for every potential situation is exhausting. But opening up to him, talking to him, and knowing it’s exactly what he wants from me? That is the opposite of exhausting. It’s liberating.

His tongue gently prods against my lips, and then his hand is on my jaw, holding me steady as he takes and takes, deepening the kiss.

“Oh god,” I murmur, dizzy with want for this man.

He tilts my head and presses open-mouthed kisses to my neck and my jaw and then my mouth again. “Tell me, wife. Tell me everything you want.”

I claw at his chest, unable to verbalize exactly what I’m craving. All I know is I want him. All of him.

Sully drags me over his body until I’m straddling him. Then he rolls his hips, ensuring that I feel every inch of his hard length between my thighs.

“Oh shit,” I rasp.

“Is that what you want?” he teases, a small smile on his lips.

“I want—” I mutter, delirious with need, grinding against him. “I want you to?—”

He thrusts upward, and the tip of his cock teases my clit.

“Yes, that,” I babble.

He lets out a dark chuckle. “I’ll need you to be more specific.”

My husband holds me still and stares up at me, waiting.

As much as I want him to take the lead, to make the decisions, his desire to know exactly what I want is utterly sexy.

His plea wasn’t solely related to being open about my concerns. He wants to know every little thought that runs through my head. That knowledge is beyond intoxicating. It’s empowering.

After years of feeling powerless, of feeling like nothing I could do would be enough to interest him, this is exactly what I needed to hear.

“I want you to undress me.”

The moment the words leave my lips, my husband’s eyes dance with delight. “Yeah?”

I nod, and he slips his fingers beneath my T-shirt. That tiny contact alone has me sucking in a breath. He fans his fingers out over my ribcage, his touch warm and strong, and pushes the fabric up slowly, only stopping when his thumbs brush the underside of my breasts.

Every inch of my skin is extra sensitive because of the pregnancy, but my breasts are on another level. Just the hint of his warmth there has me preening, desperate for more. Rather than giving me what I need, he pauses, his blueish-gray eyes watching me, waiting, the tips of his fingers hovering just a millimeter away.

“Touch me.” The words are a whimper as I roll my hips. Though my clit brushes the tip of his cock again, sending a bolt of electricity through me, it’s still not enough.

“I thought I was to undress you,” he murmurs quietly as he finally drags the shirt over my head. Without taking his eyes off me, he tosses it to the floor. Then he places his hands against my thighs, his expression full of mirth. “Is this where you want me to touch you?”

“My nipples, please,” I whine.

“See why it’s so important to use your words properly?” His chiding tone is sinfully sexy, making the warmth in my core gomolten. He plucks one of my nipples and rolls it, pulling a long moan from me.

“Your tongue,” I beg.

“Where do you want my tongue?” he asks dryly, and god, does the sound of his voice set my blood heating.

“On my nipple.”