the way john would be sooo obsessed with his pregnant wife. thinking about all the hovering, the manhandling, the spoiling. thinking about the way he wonât stop touching you, needing to always feel the soft pudge of your body under his roughened palms.
john needs to hold, to touch, to remind himself that this is real. that you are real. heâs always dreamt of this; doesnât matter if heâs way past his prime, heâs always dreamt of settling down and building a family. so when you came into his lifeâa putrid mistake; youâd begged him to choose someone elseâall he could think of is how youâd look so good cradled in the belly of his home and fat with his baby. the thought was an addictive fever so he made it real, forged it from bloodied hands, and look at you two now, huh? this is as real as it gets; as good as it goes.
thinking about the hunger; the way he cinches at his desires and smothers them so that he wonât bother you with them. thinking about you begging him to, anyway. thinking about the concessionâjohn strips at his cock with fast strokes, his eyes heavy as they stare into your fluttering ones. âyer fat with my baby, peanut. christ above, look at yââdid yâreally think that i could hold back?â
thinking about the way he makes you lick him clean, his body breaking out in goosebumps with every of your kittenish licks. thinking about the kiss, soon after, and how itâs so messy and needy and delicious.
thinking about the way john begs you to use himââgo on, baby. take what yâ need from me.â
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someone tries to pick you up at the club while youâre at the bar, grabbing drinks for you and price. when you look up, you blink in disbelief because itâs the same fucking guy that tried rubbing himself on you while you were feeling yourself on the dance floor, greedy hands finding purchase on your hip. thank god for john who yanked him away by his collar and telling the asshole to beat it. youâre clearly very unavailable and very much uninterested so what the fuck is this dudeâs deal?
âcâmon, sweet thing,â he says, crooning. âwhy donât we go somewhere private?â
âare you serious?â you ask, crossing your arms in front of you, the anger now shadowed by self-consciousness. you know that the issue isnât you but you canât help but feel that way when someoneâs blatantly disrespecting your boundaries.
he shrugs, shooting a sleazy grin your way. âyeah, why not? âsides, you see anyone else out with their dad tonight?â
you pause, the anger and discomfort petering away for a moment of utter confusion becauseâ
âwhat?â
he nods his head somewhere behind you and you turn, seeing john stalking close, having seen the asshole whoâs back to bother you.
âi mean,â said bother starts, so utterly submerged in his wrong assumption. âitâs sweet that youâre spending time with him and everything but donât you wanna hang out with someone from your generation? what, was mommy too busy for your step-dad?â he laughs at his own joke. at least heâs entertaining himself, you suppose.
john finally gets close, his arm curling over your hip to splay his palm on your stomach. you uncross your arms, hand finding his to hook your fingers.
âwhatâs goinâ on here?â john asks and impatience coats his words.
the man turns to you, eyebrow cocked like youâre about to take him up on his offer, like the fact that youâve yet to reject him means that youâre considering him as an option but thatâs not the dilemma that youâre going through right now. because explaining to the asshole that john is certainly not your dad would be easier, but a sudden fever has taken root in the pit of your stomach. itâs slowly steeping, making its way to your core, lighting you up.
âsweetheart?â john asks again, this time softly.
you gulp down the spit that pooled underneath your tongue and turn just enough to catch johnâs eyes.
âhe wants me to ditch you for him, dad,â you say, pursing your lips in your fake distress. johnâs reaction isnât obvious, but you feel his palm spasm on your stomach, as well as the way his chest rattles in his next breath.
his gaze darkens and he pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, making it jut outâand oh he looks so delicious like this when his desires slam into him unexpectedlyâbefore he pulls you behind him to tower over the man propositioning you with a boring time.
âi told you to beat it, didnât i, son?â johnâs voice is deep, intimidating. the man buckles at hearing john like heâs just realizing how much dangerous the man before him is.
âi justââ
âstop bothering my little bird and leave.â john isnât yelling but his command is resolute; itâs unthinkable for anyone to disobey him. the man looks at you then back at john before turning around and running away to disappear amidst the throngs of people.
you smother a giggle behind your palm and turn to thank john but johnâs leaning far too close, his breath hitting the bows of your lips.
âjohn?â
he tuts. âsânot what you called me, sweetâart.â
your eyes widen, the hunger coming back angrier. you part your lips, trying toâ
what? deny him, deny yourself, what it is thatâs bubbling in your core? johnâs looking at you with a question, his need palpable, hot to the touch, and its balm is simple. all you need to do is be good.
ââŠdad?â you try, voice a fragile hum. your body locks, cunt dampening, making your panties stick to your skin uncomfortably.
âthere she is,â john coos, and he sounds so, so proud before he cups your jaw with his big, warm hands. ânow why wonât you be a good girl and show your olâ man a good time, huh?â
you think that you are sooo good at hiding the fact that you like missionary and prone bone because of the way that john is pressing against youâcrushing you with his weight, and rutting the two of you on the bed in a messy tangle of salt and warmth âuntil john finally croons at you about it. he praises you, says how you are so cute in the way that your body is anticipating the drop of john's weightâcunt clenching around him even tighter, your moans splintering into shattered rasps of john's name.
the denial comes quick. "no- john, i-"
john tells you that you don't have to deny it. that you don't have to lie.
"i love it," john murmurs, a satisfied preen coating his words. he nuzzles his scruff against your shoulder, nipping at his baby's flushed skin because vulnerability is closing in. "i love how you love my body, baby."
you cry, cumming weakly at john's confession and throughout the tremors overtaking you, john holds you tight. he humps into you shallowly, trying to coax one more orgasm, and you do give a weak squirt just as his cum fills you, and it is thick and hot and delicious.
he slides his hand down to cup your gut, fingers dimpling your skin. "there," he rumbles. "now you're full too."
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i'm so gone for the idea that the first time that you tell john, "i love you," is during sex. maybe missionary, but i'm thinking during proneboneâwhen john's pressing all his weight onto you, gripping you by the back of your neck, rutting and humping like he's trying to impregnate you then and there (not yet, but soon; that's a promise). you are so drunk in your pleasure, all drooly and whiny, that the words just spill from kiss-swollen lips.
i love you, you hiccup. john stops just for a second before a litany of his own confession drop from his maw, unstopping and unwavering like now that the dam's been unlatched, everything just begins to pour out ceaselessly.
i love you too, baby, i love you so much. the light of my life, huh? look at you, such a pretty thing for me. want daddy to kiss here, this deep? yeah? oh sweetheart, such a lovely puppy for me.
