Eleven Years Later…
I pull in a deep breath, instantly aware that I’m in bed alone. Almost fourteen years we’ve been sharing a bed. Almost fourteen years she’s been using me as her personal body pillow. Sometimes, the absence of her limbs wrapped around me, weighed down by her slumber, startles me awake. The silence that greets me now is my proof that her absence is what has woken me.
Silence is a rare commodity around here. As soon as the kids get up, there’s a buzz of activity that fills the house with a hum that I love. It’s a noise that doesn’t go dormant until the lights turn out. Then, when the dead of night dawns, that hum turns to the sweet cry of pleasure as I fill my woman with the only dick she’s ever known. They say silence is golden, but my treasures are found in the noise.
Twenty years ago, if someone told me that I would soon define happiness as Saturday morning cartoons with my rugrats, or dance recitals for a little girl who calls me daddy-o, I’d look at them sideways. Twenty years ago, I couldn’t have guessed that happiness would be keeping an eye on my boys while I’m working at the shop, or wrangling our little crew for church on Sunday mornings. I sure as shit wouldn’t have guessed that sex five (sometimes seven) times a week with the same pussy would be all that I would ever want or need. Today? Happiness is all of those things and more.
I peek open my eyes, turning to see my wife at the bathroom door. She smiles at the sight of me before hurrying across the room. As soon as she climbs back in bed, she straddles my waist, her bare legs warm and welcome against my skin. She leans down to kiss me, pulling away too soon, and reaches up to run her fingers through her thick, messy, shoulder length curls as she smiles down at me.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey, babe,” I grunt, rubbing my hands along her thighs. “What are you doing up? Emory?” I ask, thinking of our youngest. At two, she’s still our earliest riser, sometimes calling us out of bed long before the sun comes up. On a good day, we can coax her back to sleep and get a little more shut eye ourselves. Somedays, we’re not so lucky.
“No. All of our little ones are sleeping. I checked,” she replies, shaking her head at me. “Though, I did find Nixon in Sheamus’s bed again. It’s sweet that Sheamus doesn’t mind, but we’ve been in this house for months now.”
“Mmm,” I hum, mulling over this news. I’m not sure I’m all that worried. Sheamus, our five-year-old, and Nixon—our surprise who showed up a year later to the day—have been sharing a room since Nixon started sleeping through the night. Those two are thick as thieves. Something tells me, if it wasn’t Nixon hunting for Sheamus, it’d be Sheamus looking for Nixon. It doesn’t happen every night, but it happens enough to worry my wife.
“I’m afraid he’s having bad dreams or something.”
“I got it, babe. We’ll work it out.”
“’Kay,” she murmurs, giving me her sweet smile.
She doesn’t know it, because that’s my girl—that’s always been my girl—oblivious to the power she wields with just a single glance, but that same smile is what got her this house. We needed something bigger. Our first place was big enough for the two of us and Collins. We got more space when Sheamus came around, and we made it work when Nixon showed up. Then we had Emory. Collins is my big girl—independent, stubborn, outspoken—and with the five years between her and Emory, we knew we couldn’t shove the two of them in one room for long. That’s when Mack decided she didn’t want just another house—she wanted our house. She wanted to build. When we saw this model, she gave me that smile, and six months ago, we moved in. Five rooms, three and a half baths, with an untouched basement, on the edge of town, big enough to accommodate the Bishop Brood.
“So, there’s actually a reason I’m up. I wanted to talk to you about something while I had you to myself.”
“Yeah?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Yes,” she murmurs, taking my hands in hers.
I silently watch her as she turns my wrists so that my palms are facing up. She looks into my eyes before shifting her focus to my forearms, where her fingers trace the ink dedicated to our children. Collins and Emory are on my right, Sheamus and Nixon on my left; each of their names scrolled between the head and the tail of an arrow, each design unique to who they are to me.
“Do you think you might have room for one more?”
My heart skips a beat, and I’m on high alert as my eyes search her face, wondering if she’s saying what I think she’s saying. “Babe?”
“I think it’s a girl,” she says softly, lifting her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t know why. I just have that feeling.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, sitting bolt upright. Mack squeals and giggles, reaching for my shoulders as I catch her with my hands at her back. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah, honey. We’re having another baby.”
My chest swells with pride and joy, and I’m so shocked by the news, I can’t stifle the laugh that pours from my mouth as I clutch my wife to my chest and roll her onto her back. “Fuck, Mack—we weren’t even trying.”
“I know,” she says with a grin. “But we can handle five, right? We’re doing pretty well with four. I think maybe we’re getting the hang of it.”
I crush my lips against hers, swallowing her giggle as she circles her arms around my neck. Without separating our mouths, I mumble, “You’ll never go back to full-time if we keep poppin’ out kids.”
“It’s okay,” she replies between kisses. “I’m happy part-time. Besides, I promised you babies.”
Her statement triggers a memory, and I pull my lips from hers, staring into her gorgeous brown eyes as I grin down at her. “You did. As many as we could squeeze into the Bronco.”
I watch her eyes grow wide as she tries to fight a smile before she insists, “Coder, no.”
“Oh, yeah,” I grunt, lifting myself from between her legs and climbing out of bed.
“Honey—”
She gasps as I tug on her ankle, pulling her toward me before I reach for her hand and bring her into a seated position. When I lean down and scoop her up into my arms, she clings to my shoulders as I begin to carry her from the room. We make it as far as the door before I remember we forgot something, and I turn back, heading for the nightstand.
“Babe.” I jerk my chin toward the baby monitor we still keep on for Emory, and she snatches it up before I return to the door.
“Coder—baby, I’m not wearing any underwear,” she hisses as I carry her past the rooms of our sleeping children.
“Good,” I mutter, taking her down the stairs and through the house, headed for the garage.
“I cannot believe you’re making me do this again.”
“Don’t do that,” I demand with a smirk.
Upon reaching our destination, I jerk my chin again, silently telling her to help me out. She reaches for the doorknob, unlocking it before twisting it open. As we descend the steps into the garage, she asks, “Don’t do what?”
I stop just beside the Bronco, parked on the far side of our three car garage. We outgrew the number of seatbelts in this thing a while back, but the fucker still runs. I don’t drive it often, but when I do, it’s usually when I’m hanging out with just my boys. They love it almost as much as I do. Then again, I’ve come to love it for reasons that have jack shit to do with driving it.
I smash a quick kiss against my wife’s lips before setting her on her feet. Reaching for the handle, I smirk down at her and answer, “Don’t act like you don’t fucking love losing this bet.”
She rolls her eyes and my smirk grows into a smile before I step up into the cab, climbing through the aisle between the bucket seats into the back, where I plop my ass down in the middle of the bench seat. Mack is right behind me, and she shuts the door before joining me, settling right where I want her—her legs straddling my lap.
“You’re incorrigible,” she murmurs, shaking her head at me as she sinks her fingers into my hair.
“Mack?” I grumble, sliding my hands underneath the little cotton nighty that she wears to cover her nakedness, gripping hold of her small waist.
“Honey?”
“Mouth.”
“’Kay,” she whispers, giving me what I want.
I don’t waste any time before seeking entrance into her mouth, plunging my tongue inside of her. My longing for her sweetness has not diminished over the years, and she’s just as delicious as she was the first time I tasted her. I kiss her deep and wet, just the way I like it. When my hands move up around her tits, my thumbs running over her hard nipples, she whimpers, grinding her pussy against the erection I’m now sporting. I groan in reply.
“Coder,” she breathes, taking her hands from my hair as she reaches for the hem of her short nighty. I watch as she yanks the thing over her head, dropping it into the space next to me, revealing the body that I love. It’s changed over the years, four babies giving her a few curves she didn’t have before, and my dick aches thinking of how I get to watch her grow round with the fruit of my seed all over again.
I dip my head, my lips seeking out one of her nipples, and she frees a breathy moan as she arches her back, begging for more. I swirl my tongue around the hardened bud, then suck hard, and I can feel her desire as it begins to soak my underwear.
“Honey,” she murmurs, rocking her hips. “I need you.”
Moving from one tit to the other, I wrap my lips around what I want as I force a hand down between us, tracing my fingers over her entrance. She’s so fucking wet, I can’t stop myself from shoving two fingers inside of her. She thrusts her hips forward in an attempt to ride my hand, and I chuckle as I pull out. I lift my head away from her nipple, dipping my wet fingers into my mouth as I look into her eyes. The desire that burns in her gaze takes my breath away.
I found my Kenzie hiding in her own eyes, in a room full of people. Even then I knew—knew that she would light my world; knew that she would steal my heart. In just one glance, I knew I’d let her have it all. All she had to do was take it. All she had to do was chase her—chase the girl I saw in those gorgeous brown eyes.
What I didn’t know was that the life she’d give me would be this fucking full. I didn’t know that the girl I wanted would turn out to be the most compassionate and generous woman I’ve ever met. Watching her blossom has been one of the greatest privileges of my life. Having her as my partner, seeing her with my kids, it makes me so damn proud. I love her more with each passing day, and I know I’ll never get my fill.
When I reach down to free my cock and she anxiously eases her way over me—consuming me in her warmth—I groan, grateful to find myself home again.
“I hate that you’re right,” she whimpers, gripping hold of my shoulders as she rides my dick. “I’m so turned on right now.”
Chuckling, I bring my lips to hers and mutter, “Every damn time.”
She clings to me as I kiss her, and we fill the silence of the dawn with the sounds of our pleasure, savoring each other before the thumping of little feet, the chatter of small voices—the hum of our lives begins to fill the house for another day. When she’s close, her thrusts come faster, her movements frantic, and I take hold of her hips, keeping her still as I take over.
“Coder—oh, Coder, yes!” she mewls as I pound into her, the sound of my skin slapping against hers filling the Bronco.
“Get there, baby,” I demand, sure that I won’t be able to hold on for much longer. “Give me you.”
When she comes, her jaw falls open as her brow scrunches in obvious ecstasy, her eyes staring straight into mine. Her pussy strangles my cock, bringing forth my own release, and I come on the heels of her climax, driving in and out of her until I’m spent.
As I settle back onto the seat, she leans against me, pressing her chest to mine. She stares into my eyes, and I stare right back, man enough to admit that the woman I see fucking owns me. We’re just starting to catch our breath when we hear Emory’s voice sound over the baby monitor.
“Perfect timing,” I mutter with a wink.
Mack smiles at me, kissing me one more time before she whispers, “Happy birthday, baby.”