Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,77

is a real-life open sesame.

Brooklyn’s butt bumps into the hard edge of the table on a whimper.

Hunger continues to conquer my expression as I descend my lips until they’re only a breath away yet still feel like there are oceans between us connecting. “Don’t worry, babe…” A small bite is taken of her glossed bottom one. “I’ll make it quick.”

She swiftly pounces my mouth, solidifying the proclamation.

We don’t bother with niceties or drawn out foreplay.

We skip the sweet sentiments and longing leers.

We bypass every extra time-consuming action to simply consume each other instead.

One minute we’re sloppily sliding our tongues around and the next I’ve got my dick delving deep. Sounds of her soaking wet pussy being primally pounded reverberate around the room, pulling rapacious rumbles out of me at an alarmingly rapid rate. I clamp my hands down on her widespread thighs needing to keep her pinned in place as I watch myself relentlessly thrust. She screams my name in my favorite fashion causing me to hiss.

Grunt.

Growl.

Bawdy groans and even bawdier words burst past my gritted teeth. “You’re gonna come on your fiancé’s dick.” My grip grows to bruising levels and the idea of her thinking about this every time her legs move during our meal only encourages me to clamp down harder. “You’re gonna spend the rest of the fucking day wanting me right back here…”

Brooklyn moans her agreement in the same intensity that her pussy tenses.

Wanting her throat and chest to burn from how long she screams, I frantically fuck her faster. Harsher. Stroke her clit like it’s the only kindling that can set her aflame.

The love of my life attempts to twist and turn and travel across the table to get away from the unremitting amount of pressure and pleasure being pressed upon the sensitive little nub.

“Give me that shit, babe,” I gruffly growl, tone one that only she can bring out of me. “Give your bae his favorite. Fucking. Thing.”

Curses surround all sides of my name as she beautifully splinters. Her heels hitting the wooden table they’re propped on is the best applause a man could ask for during his literal standing O. Scorching streams seer my signature against the hilt, staking claim and reaffirming my aforementioned desire to have kids.

Sooner rather than later.

Add that to the list of shit I’m grateful for today.

A fiancée at my side on the S.S. Get Knocked Up.

Surprisingly enough, we aren’t actually late to my parents’ place, although we’re closer than Brooklyn cares to be, and she’s also fuller than she was expecting.

What can I say?

There’s just something fucking soul-soothing about knowing the woman that’s mine is filled with me.

And possibly nursing the seed to our own little pineapple.

Wonder if the love of pineapples will be genetically embedded in his or her DNA?

That’s not exactly how science works but…on the other side of the board science isn’t always perfectly exact.

Despite her wide-eyed gaze and gawking when we entered the gated community, my fiancée doesn’t let whatever emotions have arrived on her emotional shores get the best of her. She holds her head up high, long hair pulled to one side to soften and shape her face, pushes her shoulders back like a woman on a mission, and squeezes my hand in a supportive nature.

Seeing the sight has a sweet smirk slipping onto my face.

How could I not want to surf off into the sunset with her?

Donald, the head of the household staff, opens the front door and immediately presents us with a polite nod. “Master Scott.” He repeats the gesture towards Brooklyn. “Miss.”

“Just Brooklyn,” my fiancée warmly states in response.

“And, you know to call me Ax,” I teasingly chastise.

“Yes sir, I do, but you are aware that whenever Master or Madam Maxwell are home that I am to call you by the name they bestowed upon you at birth.”

“Am I expected to call them Master and Madam?” Brooklyn casually questions at the same time we enter the residence. “Because, honestly, that makes me hella uncomfortable.”

“No,” I swiftly reassure, the sound of the door shutting behind me. “You can call them by their first names. They only insist on…the household staff referring to them that way.”

“Uh-huh, and is it like a power trip thing?”

Donald does his best to hide his grin.

“One passed down or bred – depending on how you look at it – by my grandfather, Edmond.”

“Wait, I thought your dad’s name was Edmond?”

“Edmund with a u instead of an O.”

Her body suddenly stops two steps from the entry way.