Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Humor does its best to take hold of her yet fails.
“Is it about our baby?” I nervously inquire. “Is something wrong already?”
“No,” she promptly shakes her head, “it was about work.” Her beautiful brown eyes gloss over in sadness. “A child didn’t get a transplant in time and…it got to me.” Harper inches closer, crawling into my lap. “Reminded me that you don’t know how much time you’ll have with your loved ones and to really make the most of it. To treasure the time that you do get. To…let those that you love in, even when you think you don’t need anyone because the truth is everyone needs someone. And you, Tate,” her fingertips fold at the nape of my neck, “are the man I not only want but need.”
“You have me, beautiful.” Winding my arms around her lower scrubs covered back, I sweetly smile. “In the spirit of the greatest singer of all time, I’ll always be your love, today, tomorrow, and forever.”
Epilogue
About four years later…
Harper
“One more for me, beautiful.” Tate’s tongue steals another swipe of my clit. “Give me one more.”
There are worse ways to wake up from a pregnancy nap than your husband handing out orgasms like it’s Halloween Candy.
Much worse.
Having his warm mouth latch harshly onto the sensitive nub once more causes my hips to gravitate upward, anxious to feed him exactly what it is he’s asking for. His tongue drags itself the length of my pussy, lapping up the previous juices while simultaneously spreading around more on its journey downward to the puckered back hole he knows needs just as much as attention as the other. Gentle pressing past the resistance gets me airily whining yet the introduction to his fingers joining the pursuit to stretch me receives much louder moaning.
Thank God everyone is already outside, or I’d be screaming into a fucking pillow.
Roll after roll after roll is executed in tongue form prior to the actions being mimicked by his thumb at the same time his mouth resumes feasting a little higher. In and out the digit slides seducing my lower half into matching the hypnotic rhythm.
Matching the seductive speed.
Brushes of my clit from his nose add the teasing attention required to keep me primed for another big O, yet the second he takes the faintest nip of the throbbing nub, my entire body shakes on an ear-splitting scream. “Tate!”
Soaking wet pulsations capture his tongue on bed breaking pounds of my feet as my frame levitates to the heavens it’s been brought to. In spite of my breathlessness…my shivers…my gentle pushing away for mercy on the area he’s conquered like an old Roman emperor, Tate still remains languorously licking, cleaning away every spec of evidence we were up to anything besides sleeping.
And in my defense, I have been sleeping a lot.
This pregnancy has me more tired than the others.
My first, which was with the twins Liam and Lorcán – who are three headed to four –, was the complete opposite of this. I was full of energy and excitement, even in my third trimester when many pregnant women slow down. Perhaps it was the high of the idea of being a new mom or still a pretty recently wed woman – we went to Vegas and got married by Elvis on Valentine’s Day – that kept me going like the energizer bunny, but regardless, I had way more than was expected. When we found out I was pregnant with Grant – who is right on the heels of his brothers making him two headed to three – I was moodier – most likely from my hormones never fully recovering – but still not too tired. However, being pregnant with baby girl – who doesn’t have a name yet because we can’t agree on one – has been a lot of exhaustion.
And a lot of sleeping when the kids are at pre-school or with their grandparents that love to keep them whenever possible.
Not all sleep sessions end with my husband’s mouth between my legs, but I’ll never complain about the ones that do.
Feathery kisses finally start to trail their way up to my rounded stomach that receives a longer press. “Baby girl O’Clery, should we go outside? See what trouble your brothers have managed to get into with your Grandpa and Great Uncles?”
As if she can not only hear her dad but understand him, she delivers a gentle kick.
He did this with all of our children.
From the minute they were confirmed to be in there, he started talking to them. And playing music for them. And telling their siblings to do the same when the time came.
Tate is an incredible father.
I didn’t expect him to be a terrible one but being young, I didn’t think he really understood what being a parent would entail, especially when we found we were having twins. I’m glad to say I was beyond wrong. Every step of the way, every day, he is there for us. Whether he has to pick up extra slack because I’m on call or has to stay up late after closing down The Dub Pub – the pub him and Geoffrey started – to help get the kids ready for school when he should be winding down for bed, he does it. He’s made sacrifices when necessary – like having to leave his hurling team for a couple years to better care for the twins and Grant – and missing the last family vacation here to Ireland because it wasn’t the most financially feasible decision, yet he made them happily, proving that family will and always does come first. Geoffrey is now finally learning to juggle the family to establishment ratio, asking my husband for advice on the matter every chance he gets.