Sarah says.
“But, of course, I like Jack even better,” Kat says. And without further ado, Kat launches into a detailed story about how she and Josh couldn’t agree on a boy-name until Sarah swooped in a couple days ago with two fantastic suggestions: Jack and Jeremiah.
I glance at Sarah, surprised, and she bites her lip. I didn’t know Sarah had offered Kat and Josh her treasured boy-names for their own use, and the revelation makes my heart pang for her. Of course, we have no use for Sarah’s chosen boy-names—the doctor told us our chances of getting pregnant again are practically nil. And even though that’s for the best, since just the idea of going through another pregnancy makes my hair fall out, it nonetheless broke my heart to watch Sarah break down in tears when she heard the doctor’s news.
“Hey, at least you’re getting to name one Faraday boy, huh?” I whisper to her, squeezing her hand. She nods, a bittersweet smile on her face.
God, I love this woman. My heart is suddenly aching for her.
I pat Gracie on the head. “Little G, will you crawl to the other side of Auntie Sarah, next to your mommy? I wanna cuddle Auntie Sarah for a minute.”
Gracie crawls out from between us, over Sarah’s lap, and flops herself onto the bench next to Kat’s ever-growing belly. Immediately, I fill the void vacated by Gracie, scooting my body right against Sarah’s, as close as humanly possible, forcing her legs over my thighs under the table.
Sarah smiles at me and puts her cheek on my shoulder. “Hi, love.”
“Hi,” I say, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and grabbing her thigh with my free hand.
She lays her hand on my chest and melts into me. “You smell good, baby. God, I missed you.” Her hand traverses my chest and slowly works its way down to the tattoo on the inside of my left forearm—and, just like that, the pang in my heart turns into a tingling sensation in my dick.
I’m vaguely aware that Gloria’s saying something about baby-naming traditions in Latino culture. I shift in my seat, trying to relieve the sudden pressure on my cock, to no avail. Shit. I love Sarah’s mom, I really do, but right now I don’t give a flying fuck about baby-naming traditions in Latino culture.
Slowly, I move my hand from Sarah’s thigh down the length of her pretty white dress. When my hand reaches the hem of Sarah’s dress, her eyes lock onto mine with sudden understanding of what I’m about to do.
I smile.
She bites her lip.
“Yeah, that’s a lot like my dad’s side of the family,” Kat says. “I think they’ve passed down the name Edwin as a middle name for boys for, like, four generations or something crazy like that.”
I slide my fingers underneath the hem of Sarah’s dress and then all the way back up her bare legs, skimming the insides of her smooth thighs with my fingertips.
Up, up, up my fingertips go.
Until.
Yes.
Pay dirt.
My cock twitches.
My lovely wife’s not wearing underwear, exactly as instructed.
Good girl.
“But I was like, ‘No son of mine is gonna have the middle name Edwin. I don’t care how many generations... ‘”
My fingers glide up to Sarah’s sweet pussy and brush lightly against her tip. She’s wet. My cock thickens in my pants. My fingers zero in on her clit. It’s hard. She shudders and so do I. Oh God, how I’ve missed getting inside this woman.
“I mean life is hard enough without having Edwin on your driver’s license your whole freakin’ life...”
When my fingers slip into Sarah’s wetness, she lets out a low moan, which she quickly passes off as a cough. Holy fuck, it’s been six fucking weeks since I’ve been allowed to put anything whatsoever inside my wife, and the sensation of her warm slickness tightening around my finger after all these weeks is making my hard-on jolt like a rabid watchdog on a chain.
Sarah’s pussy clenches around my fingers with her arousal. She squeezes my thigh under the table—all the while looking at Kat and nodding like she’s thoroughly engrossed in whatever Kat’s saying. Damn, Sarah’s good.
Sarah’s crotch is getting noticeably wetter and wetter under my touch—deliciously so. I slide my fingertip from her wetness to her tip and back again, over and over and over—and then back to her clit to stay a while—and, suddenly, Sarah’s hand moves from my thigh to my hard-on under the table. She squeezes.
I glance at her and her cheeks