#btpgd

Fred’s least favourite thing was leaving.

Ollie learned what the duffle bag meant and would whine every time he saw it, you of course knew what it meant and would also whine about it. Only difference was he could reason with you. He’d always promise you a date once he returned and you’d always prop yourself on your tippy toes, wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face down, growling “why wait?”

Oliver was walking and talking, a handful with every step, leave him alone for more than a minute and every toy was thrown across the living room, or he would have the pantry open tossing boxes onto the floor. He kept you on your toes and you both felt uneasy leaving him even if only for a few minutes. So you would wait, but that doesn’t mean you’d make it easy on him. You would constantly send pictures, snapchats, answering his FaceTimes while wearing practically nothing. You knew exactly what you were doing and it drove him crazy.

Typically the Pens would fly the team back early in the morning after a road trip and since giving Fred a key you tended to wake up and find the living room full of laughter, Oliver wearing only a diaper as he terrorized the couch cushions.

This particular road trip ended in Philly and it was a very quick flight home. The team ventured back to Pittsburgh after the game and Fred set out for your apartment. He made good time, it was near midnight and the roads were empty.

Not a single light was on, not even the blue glow from a TV to alert him to your presence. It’s quiet, but not an eery quiet, it’s peaceful.

Fred drops his bag by the door and sets his keys in the bowl. His jacket is left on the rack and he starts to unbutton his dress shirt as he walks down the dark hallway. He stops at Oliver’s room and half expects the crib to be empty meaning a night with a sprawling toddler who kicks him seventeen times in the ribcage, but as the light from the hall filters in Fred catches a glimpse of the red locks on his tiny body. Like every night he spends with Oliver, Fred walks over to the side of the crib and takes a second to just watch his son. There is something about watching a baby sleep perfectly and peacefully that makes his heart swell - he doesn’t know how he went this long without it. He gently whispers goodnight and places a kiss to his cheek, then leaves the door as he found it - open a crack - before venturing toward you.

There is a copy of The Whispers cracked open on the mattress beside you, a cup of cold herbal tea lingers on the bedside table. The blankets are down low past your hips and one leg is kicked out - evidence you got hot at some point - your perky nipples protrude through the thin white cotton shirt you wore to sleep. The desire for baby number two throbs in his pants, if only that topic wouldn’t send you running Fred could bring it up.

He throws his pants over a chair, folds his shirt and places it on the seat and slips out of his socks. He grabs your “bookmark” from the night stand and lets his finger trace over the worn edges for a moment. It’s not an actual bookmark, but a picture taken moments after Oliver was born. Fred knew you were using a picture, but Oliver was almost one before he knew what the picture was, and that was the moment he knew there was a chance you’d come back to him. Because it’s not a picture of just you and Oliver, it’s one of the three of you. Sweat clings in your hairline, trapping baby hairs to your forehead, both of you have puffy red eyes from crying with the biggest smiles imaginable plastered to your faces, only thing is Fred is staring at Oliver and you are looking up at him. Even with the emotions of that moment, he can see there is more to the look you are giving him. You’re not staring at the father of your son, you are staring at the man you love. Fred is so happy he noticed that glimmer in your eyes and decided to wait you out, because he catches you looking at him like that countless times a day (even though you won’t admit it anytime soon). Fred smiles, like he does every time he sees this photo, and sets it inside the book, then curls up beside you.

He knows he should let you sleep, you have a very energetic toddler that loves to keep you on your toes, but that shirt is just a little to see-through and a little too tight and you sent one too many messages.

He starts slow.

His hand on your stomach and lips on your jaw. It’s soft, a kiss that goes unnoticed.

His calloused hand ventures up, finding one of those perfect breasts you spent a week tormenting him with and he begins to massage it, tweaking and tugging at your nipple. A sleepy sigh catches in your throat but Fred can tell it’s going to take more.

His touch is light as his hand drops, under the elastic band of his boxers you decided to sleep in. The pressure starts off gentle, slow circles being pressed against your heat. His lips trail along your jaw, over to the sweet spot on your neck. Instead of kissing he starts to suck, harder and harder, letting his teeth sink in. When he doesn’t earn the response he desperately seeks, two fingers toy at your entrance, coating themselves in your arousal.

“Hi baby,” Fred murmurs when you finally start to stir.

“Hi,” you mumble back, involuntarily tilting your head to the side, giving him more space to work with. “I missed you.”

“I know you did.” His fingers slip inside as far as they can go. Your eyes dart open.

“Shit baby.” Your legs kick out and back arches as he thrusts his digits back inside.

“You knew what you were doing with all those pictures you sent.” He chastises, thrusting his fingers back inside once again. “Knew what it was doing to me.”

“Of course I did.” Your voice is becoming strangled, the pressure starting to build.

“Then what did you expect?”

Fred shoves his boxers down your thighs and you feel his cock, rock hard and leaking excitement all over your hip. With a few more thrusts to get you wet and ready, Fred replaces his fingers with his member, and you both moan in unison.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” He probes, shunting you up the bed with one deep thrust. “What you wanted huh?” He punctuates with another thrust.

“I always want you.” You whimper, knowing he is waiting for a response.

Your fingers tremble when they feel the hard muscles of his back. You always loved his body and he’s always loved yours. Beads of sweat cascade down your neck and Fred smiles, his second favourite thing to lick.

“Only me right?”

He doesn’t mean it as a question, at least not in this moment. There will be a time for the hard questions, a conversation where he will make you admit to what you’ve been feeling (because he has zero doubt and knows you just need a nudge). This question is more about dominance, a reminder, because him practically prodding your cervix doesn’t do that.

“As if there could be anyone else.”

Fred hooks your left leg over his hip and finally brings his lips to yours. His mustache tickles your upper lip and his tongue works its way into your mouth. It’s sloppy, frantic, full of heat. Every time he presses his tongue in further your nails scratch along his back. And after every firm and direct thrust hits that spot deep inside, your moan gets caught in his mouth.

“You look so good with my cock inside you.” Fred grunts, punctuating his words with another thrust.

“You feel so good inside me.”

“Gonna feel even better with my cum dripping out of you.” Fred smirks as one hand snakes between your bodies and rubs at your clit. It suddenly becomes very difficult to concentrate on what he is saying. You can see his lips moving and can only imagine the filth spewing out.

You writhe beneath him as your pleasure reaches it’s peak. Your nails dig deep into the thickest part of his bicep and with one more punctuated thurst you come undone, warmth spilling around his cock. Fred’s cocky grin only grows even as his thrusts are sloppy and shallow, and just as your body relaxes Fred spills everything deep inside your cunt.

It takes a bit for your hearts to steady, it always does, Fred’s version of a “quickie” often leaves you feeling like you ran 5k.

Fred looks down at you, brown eyes clouded with lust and passion and leans back in, replacing the heated and heavy kisses with a soft one, full of warmth.

“Elskede.” He smiles sweetly, his cock soft inside you.

“Hmm.”

“Tease me like that again and I won’t wake you up as nicely next time.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you shrug him off, a hint of insolence in your voice. His cock twitches. You being bratty always did turn him on.

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Fred loves hockey. He has since the very first time his feet hit the ice, it was his first love, and truth be told, for a while he thought it would be his only love. Then came Oliver. Fred was absolutely terrified to be a dad, worried he was going to make a million mistakes, would do everything wrong, that his child would hate him. He had no idea what he was going to do, then this incredibly small bundle wrapped in a blue blanket was shoved into his arms; that was the moment Fred knew he had a new love.

Sure, some days are better than others, that's to be expected with kids, but every day with Oliver is better than the last. Or that's what he tells himself as, yet another ear-piercing shriek comes from his toddler.

Teething.

Fred thought you guys had made it past this point, he enjoyed the last month without the tears, irritability, drool on every piece of clothing he owns, unfortunately there is still another molar after this one. His mom gave him some tricks she used on him and his siblings, both of you googled then tired every home remedy you could find, some helped, others did nothing. Today is just one of those days.

“Hey, Ollie.” Fred holds out a damp washcloth for him, hoping he will at least try putting it in his mouth.

“Noooooo!” Oliver wails. He grabs the cloth and throws it on the floor. “Momma!”

Fred sighs. While the two of you worked through your issues and he can finally call you his girlfriend, he is no stranger to wanting you and not being able to have you. “She’ll be home in a bit.”

“Momma!” Oliver cries again, opening and closing his hand as if he’s trying to beckon you home.

“You want a popsicle?” Fred offers, hoping something cold might alleviate some of his pain.

“Yeah.” His voice is small, and he offers a slight nod.

Fred pushes off the couch to his feet. When he takes the first step, he feels two little arms wrap around his leg. “Dadda!” Fred lets out a soft chuckle, he should have known better than to try and leave him for a second.

He bends down and picks him up, Oliver immediately buries his forehead against Fred’s shoulder. He carries his son to the kitchen and opens the freezer. After rummaging around for the popsicles, he tosses the wrapper in the garbage and moves back to the living room. He cradles Oliver in his arm as they settle into the couch where Oliver accepts the popsicle, at lets himself fall against Fred’s chest.

“Is that good?” Fred gently brushes the curls away and welcomes in the cuddles.

“Yeah.” His voice is still small and tears cling to his eyes.

“You want to watch a movie?”

Fred feels the faintest nod as Oliver continues to suck on the cherry popsicle.

“Penguins?”

Another nod.

The sound of Netflix fills the apartment and once the movie has started Fred looks to Oliver. Red splotches are on both of their shirts, and he can feel the stickiness that coats his fingers.

“Done.” Oliver shoves the popsicle to Fred and smears his face against Fred’s chest, spreading more of the mess to his shirt.

“Of course, you are,” Fred laughs. He takes the dripping popsicle and sets it on the plate with his half-finished breakfast.

Fred licks his fingers and starts wiping some of the mess from Oliver’s cheek but is instantly met with a whine and he shakes his head to make him stop. Fred of course tries again. If Fred had his way, the half-eaten toast and popsicle would be in the garbage, plate in the dishwasher, and he would have used that dishcloth to clean his face. Even with a toddler he still tries to keep everything clean and contained. But like always, Fred caves once that lower lip starts to tremble.

“Blankie Dadda.” Oliver curls in closer to Fred to capture as much warmth as possible while a large yawn spills from his lips.

“The popsicle make you cold?” Fred reaches up and grabs the plush blanket you insisted stay out all summer even though he said it was June and wouldn’t be necessary, and drapes it over both of them, ensuring to cover all his toes. Oliver nods and yawns again, then shimmies to get closer, using Fred’s bicep as a pillow.

There are a million things that need to be done, and Fred doesn’t want you to come home to toys strewn about, Oliver’s shirt in the bathroom, his socks wedged under the cushions, all the dirty dishes from the morning scattered around the apartment, but he knows he needs to give Oliver cuddles, so that’s exactly what he is going to do.

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Once Oliver was born, Sunday quickly became Fred’s favourite day. More often than not, he did not have hockey, and that meant an entire day with Oliver, reading to him, playing with toys, going to the park, movies with cuddles. Sundays were always the best, and now that you finally admitted your feelings, the three of you spend them as a family, and Fred couldn’t ask for anything more.

Today started like every Sunday before, breakfast, you and Fred had eggs and fruit, Oliver had cheerios – his current obsession. Then while Fred cleaned the kitchen, you and Oliver coloured and watched Cars (another one of his obsessions), then came tower building (and Oliver’s favourite part – knocking it down) and lunch, followed by Oliver running lap after lap around the living room, which ultimately ended with the three of you at the park. By the time you made it home the excitement from today had caught up to him and Oliver was asleep in his stroller, mouth wide open and head back, sand clinging to the sweat on his legs and fingers. The two of you left him as Fred started on dinner and you cleaned the apartment, finding all the crayons left scattered around, blocks under the couch and between the cushions.

Even though there are still a handful of hot wheel cars waiting to be stepped on at 2am, a sink full of dinner dishes, it was a great day with your boys. As you stand folding the never-ending pile of laundry (because you and Fred spent the last few evenings busy with other things) you can’t stop smiling, so much so your cheeks hurt. Even with the soft rumbling of the washer and hum of the dryer, you can faintly hear them laughing from the bathroom, and somehow you continue to smile wider.

“Mommy!” “Mommy!” “Mommy” Fred and Oliver’s voices overlap as they call to you.

When the door opens, Fred sighs, and thinks to himself how beautiful you are. You stand in the doorway wearing a tight pair of lululemon leggings with one of Fred’s t-shirts tucked at the side. Your makeup is non-existent, not even concealer or mascara to draw out your eyes. You have a laundry basket tucked under your left arm, and the second you see the two of them, your ovaries explode. Your boys sitting at opposite ends of the tub, in warm bubbly water up to their stomachs; plastic boats, fish and dinosaurs filling the rest of the space.

“What are you doing?” You chuckle and set the basket down in the hall before stepping in the room.

Oliver has one arm resting on the outside of the tub as water drips into a small puddle on the floor, and beams at you. “Baff time.”

“I see that.” You eye over to Fred whose wet hair is styled into a mohawk, and grin.

“He wanted me to.” Fred shrugs, but you know that it was Fred’s idea, most of the trouble your boys get into is his doing. “One of the boats escaped.”

A small crease forms in your forehead as you try to imagine the shenanigans they were getting up to before you walked in. But you’ve seen the way they play “superhero” which is essentially wrestling matches near sharp edged coffee tables in Spiderman, Hulk or Captain America costumes, Oliver being carried around the apartment upside down, him using Fred and all his teammates as human jungle gyms. He’s had more bumped heads, scratched knees, bruised forearms than you can count, nothing really shocks you with them anymore.

“Can you get it Mommy?” Oliver sweetly smiles at you.

You bend down and pick up the boat and walk over to the tub. Closing the toilet seat cover, you use it as a seat and put the boat in the water. “Anything for you munchkin,” you say, pressing the button on the dinosaur bubble machine.

The chime that haunts your sleep cheerfully starts to fill the room. As much as you both hate the song, Oliver loves it, and his copper eyes light up. “Fanks Mommy!” He puts his hands up to catch some of the bubbles, like he always does, then smears them to his chin, giving himself a bubble beard. “I look like Daddy,” he proudly exclaims.

You and Fred share a soft and endearing laugh, Oliver is always eager to be his shorter, curly-haired shadow following his every move. Fred brings his hands up out of the water and puts them on the top of Oliver’s head, and starts playing with the red curls, slathering them in water before forcing them upright into a mohawk, just like his own hair. “Now you look like Daddy.”

With a giggle, Oliver turns his attention to the boats and fish that float around him. Fred rests on the edge of the tub and draws his eyes over to you.

“What are you thinkin’ about?”

“Nothing.” You let out a blissful sigh, realizing Sundays are your favourite day too. “You two are pretty cute.”

“Yeah, we are…ahhh.” Fred grimaces when a plastic purple fish bounces off his head and outside the tub, giving you a glimpse of the trouble they get up to outside your presence.

“Oops, sorry Daddy.”

He rubs at the side of his head and shakes it when you stifle some laughter. Water drips from his arm as he reaches out of the tub and retrieves the fish and hands it back to him. “It’s alright Ollie.”

“Just wait until there’s another one.”

“Going to need a bigger tub.” Fred winks.

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Once Danielle left for work and Fred had a second cup of coffee, he stripped the bed of all the sheets and tossed them in the laundry room. He grabbed another set from the linen closet and tucked all the corners, fought with the duvet to get it in the cover, and fluffed all the pillows. He had it looking as close to perfect as he could get it. 

Then you came over. Not entirely unannounced, but it was supposed to be your day with Oliver, so in a way it was a little unexpected. Especially because the text that started it all was so simple. ‘What about this for Halloween?’ along with a picture of Oliver in a target shopping cart wearing a golden retriever mask. Apparently, he saw it, wanted it, felt how soft it was, and refused to take it off, so the entire time you were in target you were wheeling around a drooling, giggling, toddler in a golden retriever mask.

Fred doesn’t even know how he found himself parked outside loading bag after bag into his trunk, he doesn’t remember stopping to get your favourite drink on the way, but he can’t forget the way you beamed when you saw it sitting in the cupholder. And how you ended up back at his apartment for dinner instead of Danielle was beyond him. 

But it was all innocent... well maybe not. 

The hug certainly lingered, probably could have gone without the kiss to the cheek, he didn’t need to put his hand on your lower back as you walked by, certainly didn’t need the second glass of wine, or to suggest you spend the night because it was nearing Ollie’s bedtime - you both know he would have fallen asleep on the car ride home. 

He didn’t intend for this to happen. And Danielle would be happy to know this wasn’t his intention, right? He didn’t mean to kiss you, he didn’t plan on spending twenty minutes with you in his lap just kissing, long and passionate kisses. And surely if he said he never planned on keeping his lips locked to yours as he slowly rocked in and out, building up to your simultaneous release, Danielle would understand. 

Except she wouldn’t. Fred himself barely understands it. How every single time he says is the last, only to find you once again in his bed. Fred was looking forward to his night with Danielle, they rarely have two nights together, but this long home stretch gave them the opportunity. Fred poured coffee into her Yeti, added in almond milk, and stood by the door wish her a good day at work. She gave him a kiss and said she was looking forward to seeing him later that night, and Fred was too. 

Yet it’s not Danielle in his bed, it’s you. 

He doesn’t know why he is so drawn to you. Why he will drop just about anything to see you, or why you are willing to do the same. 

He thought he knew. He took you away, basically told you he loved you, and you said no. That was tough, took a bit for him to move on. It didn’t help that he had to see you everyday, watch you mother the child you created together. Hard isn't even the right word to describe it, it fucking sucked, but not nearly as bad as the day you left with a few suitcases in tow. The apartment was empty, the picture of your parents no longer sat on the mantle, the one of your friends vanished from your room, the pillows, blankets, candles and vases along with it. And as he wandered around the apartment, noticing all the little things that vanished along side you, that was when it all sunk in. This was happening. You were gone. You didn't want him. So why are you back? Why is he back?

He moved on. He found Danielle, and she isn’t a rebound. Fred made sure he was over you before picking up the phone. It wouldn’t be fair to bring someone into his life only to fill a void. And Danielle doesn’t fill a void, but sometimes she makes him notice another one. While she is smart, pretty, witty and funny, all the things Fred spent his life looking for, he'll notice how her laugh isn't the same, or that his heart doesn't warm as much seeing her smile. What's worse is sometimes his own smile won't reach his eyes, or there is a hollowness behind a laugh, and Danielle doesn't notice. You do. You always do.

Fred takes a sip of water, a dryness in his throat was the reason he was pulled from bed about twenty minutes ago, and sighs. He takes one more look at the Pittsburgh skyline then turns and sees you, perfect you, sleeping in his shirt. The full moon glows through the windows and kisses your cheek, a soft shimmer radiating back at him. Your hair falls all over the pillow, the same hair he finds in the shower drain, on the bathroom vanity, and sometimes on his game day suit. The sheets that less than 4 hours ago were crisp and fresh are now a mess, tangled, wrinkled and half on the floor. The only difference is when you leave, Fred won’t rush to wash the sheets. He likes the way it smells faintly of your sweat and perfume.

He walks back to the bed and brushes some hair from your face, smiling when you flutter at the cold touch of his thumb. 

“Hi.” You sleepily mumble as the bed dips with his weight as he slides back in. 

“Hi.” He kisses your forehead. 

“What were you doing?” Just like a magnet, you are immediately pressed up beside him before he even has an opportunity to settle in.

“Just thinking.”

“Everything okay?” You try to look up to gauge his expression, but the sleepy haze is too much for you to fight. 

“With you here? Always.” Fred responds immediately, leaving no room for doubt. There always has been something about you. 

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It’s quiet. 

That’s the first thing Fred notices. There is no TV playing whatever movie the kids reluctantly agreed on, no loud laughter or boisterous squeals as the twins wrestle. There is no Elise whining because they got too close to the barbies she is playing with and knocked them over. There is no Oliver grumbling about them being loud and giving them a shove away, or a loud bang when the twins turn and jump on their big brother and tackle him to the ground. There are no claws on the wood floor, followed by under the breath growls and barks as Maggie tries to referee them. And there is no you, telling the boys to behave. 

When Fred rounds the corner, there isn’t a clattering of toys and a stampede of feet on the ground as four bodies hurl themselves towards him. There is no excited pup wagging her tail with little half jumps trying to edge her way into the crowd. And there is no you, standing behind the mayhem with arms crossed and a big smirk on your face, a look that says, ‘you owe me for leaving me in this chaos.’ 

It’s just quiet.  

Nobody is in the kitchen or the living room, all the lights turned off. No signs of life. 

He is about to head upstairs to check the bedroom when he catches a shape outside, barely visible through the suns glare on the patio doors. When the door opens cool air hits him, the air of late August with a slight breeze rolling off the lake. Within seconds a blonde ball of fur is at his knees, excitedly wagging her tail and rubbing against him. 

“Hey Maggie girl,” Fred bends down and scratches behind her ears, one of her favourite spots, and is met with a lick to the face. “Where are your siblings?”

Maggie replies by kissing Fred again and excitedly jumping in front of him, even letting out a small whine. “I know I was gone so long,” you hear Fred’s puppy voice over the bubbling jets of the hot tub. “Yeah, I missed you too.” 

Crawling over to the edge, you rest your hands on the side and lean down at Fred. He hears the movement and smiles when you finally popup into his view. 

“Hi babe,” you smile, the late afternoon sun shining against your skin as the day fades.

“Hey,” he continues to pet Maggie. “Where are the little monsters?” 

“Out,” you hum, enjoying the warm water against your skin. 

“Out?” he just laughs. “At a movie, the mall, the park, a college party?.” Fred jokes. 

“They are at Carlee’s.”

“All of them?” his knees crack when he pushes on them to stand up. 

“For the night,” a ring of fire burns around your pupil.

“The night?” His interest is piqued. “That woman is a Saint.” Laughing at the thought of her with not only your four kids, but hers as well, he takes a couple steps nearing the edge of the tub. You watch him click his tongue and crane his head as he stares at you through the water. “Are you naked?”  His cock begins to swell in his shorts.

“Why don’t you come find out for yourself,” you wink, spinning to put your back against the tub.

Fred wastes no time. Every article of clothing is discarded into a pile within seconds. First his t-shirt, revealing his muscular shoulders and hard chest. Undoing his belt, his shorts and boxers are simultaneously dropped, the sun shimmering off his body. Even years after retirement, with less time in the gym he still looks amazing. 

You slide over a few feet to make space for him to step in, his thick cock dangling inches from your face. Noticing the way your eyes are locked on it, he grips his length and guides his leaking cock towards your face, rubbing the tip along your lower lip just long enough for you to taste him. As quickly as it came, it leaves, and he sits beside you. Water sloshes over the side soaking his clothes, but he doesn’t care, quickly pulling you to straddle him. 

“Så smuk,” Fred praises (so beautiful).

His copper eyes twinkle as they run down you, watching the fluctuating water drop below your swollen globes, showcasing the beads of water that glisten against your warm skin. His hands roam, starting at your sides they go up, towards your breasts. You stiffen when his cold fingertips brush against your pert nipple, your skin prickling at the contrast. Next, they wander south, down to your hips where he grabs handfuls of your ass - confirming you are naked, even though he had that answer long before he got in.

His thick digits softly brush against your sensitive bud, sending a bolt of electricity right through you. A smirk crosses his face as a faint moan tumbles from your lips and he starts to slowly moves his finger in circles, never entering your waiting heat. Instead, he just enjoys the whimpers and moans that are barely audible over the bubbling water. 

 Hoisting you to sit on the ledge he spreads open your legs and stares down with adorning eyes. “I will never tire of seeing you like this.” His voice is heavy, but before the words are even out two of his fingers are delved inside your heat, knuckle deep, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Reaching out for anything, one hand finds his bicep, the other his copper curls, holding on for dear life as he works to bring you towards your peak. Leaning down, his lips press against yours for a searing kiss, full of tongue and clashing teeth, but it’s not a fight for dominance, it’s clear that is his.

“Turn around elske,” Fred commands. The authoritative tone in his voice making you oblige. 

Pushing your ass out for him, his hand wet from your slick and the water soothes over the swell of your ass. A smile begins to form on your face, but it falls when his fingers spread open your folds and slide back inside. Grazing your sweet spot with every stroke, you firmly grip the plastic of the hot tub for stability. Rolling your hips over his digits, everything starts to go fuzzy, and tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“Freddie,” you mewl. “I’m so close.” 

Fred knows this. Just like he knows a few strokes to your clit and you’d be sent straight into euphoria. With his other hand, Fred begins to manipulate your body, pushing you into the hot water until the stream of the jet drives against your clit. That, coupled with his fingers still thrusting inside you, makes every part of you shake. Writhing against him a desperate cry catches in your throat, seconds later everything turns white as your core clenches around his fingers. He lets your body collapse against the side, and waits for you to take a few ragged breaths before sliding his fingers out and bringing his lips to your neck. 

“Babe,” your still sensitive and the relentless pounding of water against your clit provides no relief. The deep seeded chuckle tells you to stay still, not that your body would really allow you the alternative right now. 

“We should send the kids away more often,” he sucks on your earlobe then licks a stripe up your clammy neck. 

“Agreed,” you yelp feeling his tip poke against your folds. 

“You good?” His hand begins gently massaging your breast, rolling the nipple through his fingers. 

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

Pulling you away from the jet, Fred guides his length between your folds. He takes his time, slowly and meticulously opening your folds, but the calmness is short lived. Following a grunt, Fred retreats and drives his length back inside your heat. While purposeful, the pace starts slow as he works to properly position you in front of the jet, ensuring the powerful flow drives hits you in the perfect spot. Once satisfied Fred presses you forward, using his strength to control his cock as it slides through your warmth. Rolling and tweaking your nipples through his thumb and index finger, muttered curse words spill from your parted lips like a mantra.

“Du er så smuk fyldt med mig.” he praises with an impressed smirk (you’re so pretty stuffed full of me).

“Du tager min pik så godt.” (you take my cock so well)

“Føles så godt.” (feel so good)

Every forceful thrust is accompanied by his raspy voice and water sloshing over the sides. His words reverberate deep down in your core and within minutes you are approaching your second orgasm. Clenching the hot tub and squeezing your eyes to suppress it until Fred is there with you, your mouth forms into a silent ‘O’ and your entire body is hot. Not from the 100° water you are in, but your husband’s length perfectly gliding in and out of your folds, drawing out your orgasm with every thrust. 

His thrusts are getting sloppy and shallow, the filth spilling from his lips becoming clouded by the static fizzling behind your ears. Reaching beside you for the dial, Fred turns the jets from 90% to 100%, and you are done, the pent-up coil in your stomach springs apart.

A slew of curse words spill from your lips and everything goes black as you come hard around his dick, your release mixing in with the bubbling water. Feeling your walls tighten around him, it forces Fred over the edge, and he spills everything he has inside your hot and wet cunt. Milking you for the few final drops, he leans against you and places a chaste kiss to your shoulder.

A sticky heat lingers between the two of you, as his body stays pressed up against you for a few minutes, waiting until both your heart rates steady.

“I’m going to have to clean this,” you both start laughing, as you meekly nod in agreeance. “Tomorrow though,” he adds with a devious wink.

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