Kitty

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How you ended up with five kids under ten at the party celebrating your upcoming first day as an emergency department attending is simple: Brendon Park is the single greatest husband and father you’ve ever seen. While your mother-in-law insists that you relax by the pool as she gets the place ready because it’s your party, Brendon watches the kids to keep them out of your hair and manages to be the sexiest man alive while he does it. It’s been unseasonably warm this summer, but you definitely aren’t complaining about soaking in a few poolside days before your job starts. Because of the heat, Brendon’s wearing one of those slutty white tank tops that clings to his sweaty muscles in the late-June heat. He’s got your two-year-old on one hip, your four-year-old holding onto his chest like a koala cub, and your six-year-old on his shoulders. All the while, he manages to play catch with your nine-year-old and help your seven-year-old practice her solo for the community theater musical she’s doing during summer break.

As the gorgeous setup takes shape around you – Brendon’s mother was an event planner before retirement, so every get-together turns into a whole shebang – you admire your husband expertly managing all of the kids. He looks so hot running around the yard with them, tan and sweaty and muscular, that you don’t even notice the mischievous glint in his eyes when he turns to you and catches your gaze. Then, a split second after he mutters something you can’t hear to the kids, the two oldest barrel toward you at top speed, yanking off their cover-ups and launching into the pool in front of you. Water splashes up onto your book and high-waisted-bikini-clad body while Brendon walks over nonchalantly.

You immediately turn to your husband and then to your laughing children. “Benji, Margot, be honest with me: Did your dad put you up to this?”

They make eye contact with each other, then their dad, and then each other again before pinching their noses shut and going under the water.

Setting your book aside, you stand up from your cozy lounger and meet Brendon at the edge of the pool, where he’s helping Nora and Theo into their life jackets since he’s a safety freak the first couple of summers between swim lessons. Once they’re in the water with their siblings, you shove Brendon on the chest and glare. “You are a menace, Bren. Such a bad influence on our poor children.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brendon takes Felix from his carrier, kisses him on the head, and hands him off to his grandmother, who’s floating by as she does final touches for the party. Then Brendon strips his shirt off and tugs you close to his body. You lean up onto your toes for a kiss and he happily gives it to you, arms wrapped protectively around your back. “Excited about your party?”

“Please, we both know this is for your mom and the kids,” you chuckle as you watch her greeting the first few guests, leading them through the house and into the backyard. It’s mostly people from the neighborhood, your kids’ friends and the other couples you hang out with. There was a strict ‘no coworkers’ rule as you and Brendon hadn’t yet decided how to navigate his wife joining his hospital. “My perfect celebration looks a lot more like when you passed your first boards.”

“Mmm.” He kisses you a bit deeper and remembers fondly, “The great Cancun fuck-fest.”

“Keep your voice down,” you giggle as one of Nora’s classmates passes by you to go for the nearby spread of fruit, “this place is crawling with children who don’t need to take the F-word to elementary school this fall.”

He nips your neck and replies, “You’re so lame for a MILF.”

Then, with his hand roving a little too low on your back for a family-friendly party, the one exception to the guest list rule taps you on the shoulder.

“Alright, pervert, it’s my turn with my new boss.”

“Trinity, you made it!” You wrap her up in a hug and squeal with delight. Trinity had been one of your closest friends during undergrad in Philadelphia. She took a gap year once you finished med school, so you had no idea her residency was at PTMC until she ran into Brendon during his first consult to the emergency department. “It’s so crazy that we’re gonna be working together after all this time. Kind of our twenty-year-old selves dream.”

“It’s gonna be fucking awesome,” she confirms with a grin as she pushes a White Claw into your right hand and clinks it with her own. “I’ll finally have someone to bitch with about all the assholes I have to deal with.”

Brendon balks before you can respond. “She gets to curse and I don’t?”

You squeeze his arm and comfort him, “Trin’s a cool aunt, not a dad.”

“An aunt to how many now, by the way?” She looks over the pool that’s now overrun with kids and tries to scan for ones that look like you and Brendon. “Last time I saw you in person, I think there were only two of them and one on the way.”

Pointing them out one by one, you tell her, “We have five now.”

It takes a while for the three of you to catch up on everything that’s happened the last few years, but it’s beautiful and fun to trade stories about the kids. Starting with the oldest, there’s Benji, who was totally unplanned when you were barely into undergrad at UPenn, having met his dad exactly nine months and two weeks before his birth at a mixer where pre-med students got to talk with MS1s about their experience. You were 19 after a gap year and he was 21 after whizzing through undergrad and MCATs at the top of his class. Even if he had sky-high dreams of being a double-board-certified surgeon by 30, Brendon wasn’t just going to abandon you or his kid, so he made an honest woman of you by the time you were showing in a tiny ceremony at the courthouse, promising to give you the wedding of your dreams once the two of you had the money. 

By the time you went into labor a few weeks after nailing your first-year finals, Brendon Park was sure of one thing: You were the woman of his dreams and marrying you was the best decision of his life. He never would’ve expected one random hookup to become the center of his universe, but it quickly became undeniable. It was your tenacity that got him. You never skipped a class because of morning sickness, never shied away from going toe-to-toe with a professor at 30-weeks large, and never questioned your own ability to stay at the top of your class with a newborn at home. You tackled the world with a hunger and enthusiasm that made his heart stammer in his chest. He’d never seen anything as sexy as you breastfeeding with one arm while the other you flipped through your organic chemistry textbook with the other, Brendon feeding you eggs and toast and fruit while quizzing you on test prep.

As soon as you were cleared and comfortable, Brendon couldn’t bear to keep his hands off you anytime you two were alone and you were beyond reciprocal; having a husband who not only loved his baby beyond belief and set an incredible example every day had your hormones going bonkers. Hell, he even stopped going to the gym in the morning to let you sleep and started doing his workouts in the living room with Benji strapped to his chest while he did bicep curls or sitting on his back giggling loudly as he did pushups. How’s a woman to resist when she wakes up to that?

Which meant Benji ended up with his first little sister, Margot, while you knocked out MCAT prerequisites and his father passed his USMLE Step 1 and prepared for his clinical work to start. With Brendon’s family being beyond supportive and Margot being a perfect angel as a baby, you jumped into med school headfirst and attended Brendon’s graduation seven months pregnant with Nora. 

And, yes, you had planned not to have any more babies until you were well established in your residency. But then you matched into UPSOM’s program, nabbing your spot at Allegheny General, and Brendon took up his orthopedic trauma surgery fellowship at PTMC, and his parents decided to relocate to be near their grandkids, too. In the middle of all the chaos of moving and settling and daycare and preschools, well, some birth control pills may have been missed sort-of-not-totally-on-accident-but-not-really-on purpose-either right around the time you were celebrating Brendon’s first board certification with expensive lingerie and champagne and a trip to Cancun on his sexy new salary. So Theo happened. 

Your track record with celebrations made the next one pretty clear, too. When Brendon finished his fellowship with another huge party, his mother, a saint of a woman, hugged you close and said, “Should we expect baby number five in about nine months?”

And that night, Brendon had you in bed once his parents had taken all the kids back to their house after the party. His thumbs brushed lovingly over your stomach’s layers of shiny stretchmarks as he asked gently, “What do you think, sweetheart?”

Knowing exactly what he meant, you raised an eyebrow and pushed, “About what?”

“We’ve got this big house with all these bedrooms now,” he purred as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties. “Seems like kind of a shame not to fill all of them up, doesn’t it?”

You helped him shimmy your underwear off and then turned onto your side, throwing one leg over his hip. “You know I always wanted an even number of kids, Bren. We’ve got two boys and two girls. You really want to disrupt the balance?”

“Think about it this way,” he mused as his hands roamed over your body, squeezing your ass and waist and thighs with the same greed he did when you were nineteen, “if we have five kids, then in a few years, we have a whole water polo team. We can have the Willards over and absolutely annihilate them. Establish dominance in the neighborhood.”

You press your forehead into his shoulder and laugh, “They only have four kids.”

His eyes glimmered with mischief. “Not for long. Nat’s pregnant. Jason told me this morning.”

“Well, shit, we’d better make sure their baby has a friend. Perfectly good reason to create another human being,” you replied with an eye roll, fully enjoying making him work for it even when you were already on board. You pursed your lips and pretended to think hard before suggesting, “Although, I believe ultimate frisbee needs seven, too, and that has some appeal for me.”

Brendon grinned wide then. He flipped you onto your back, pinned you between his biceps, and confirmed, “You wanna have an ultimate frisbee team with me, baby?”

As his right hand went between your legs, you sighed in pleasure, “It’s really the only sport I’ve ever taken seriously.”

And Felix Park joined the family a little less than nine months later.

This time, it wasn’t easy.

After four uncomplicated pregnancies and births, you were a pro. You showed up to L&D five centimeters dilated with your hair, nails, and makeup done, wearing your maroon velour tracksuit, Brendon shouldering your go bag and a brand new baby carrier right behind you. Only a few hours later, the baby was in his cot with Brendon standing over him like a hawk, the placenta had just been delivered, and everything should’ve continued into recovery as normal. But an overwhelming, all-consuming sense that something was wrong overcame you like a hurricane.

You reached out and grabbed Brendon’s hand, fingers bruising.

His eyes snapped to yours and he saw the terror in them immediately.

Before he could even open his mouth, your blood pressure tanked, your oxygen plummeted, and the bleeding started. Your eyelids fluttered back as you dropped out of consciousness in a matter of seconds. As the OB dropped down to check for potential causes and solutions while stopping the bleeding, Brendon’s brain lasered into doctor mode as a response to the panic that rose in his throat. Not listening in the slightest as a nurse urged him to stay calm, he violated every protocol in the book by yanking an intubation kit from the closest medical cart to expertly get you oxygen, shouting for transfusions of your blood type, and beginning CPR for blood flow. Nurses and staff fell in line rapidly, deferring to his authority because it was just so forceful and complete. Brendon Park is one of those men who’s impossible to doubt, no matter what he’s doing.

By the time an emergency specialist made it to your room three minutes later, Brendon had run the worst of the code and pretty much singlehandedly stopped you from dying right there on the L&D floor, sweat falling down his brow and onto your hospital gown as he continued compressions. It took three people to get him to step back from you. When the doctor took over on your heart, Brendon collapsed into a panic attack. He’d never felt anything like the tightness in his lungs. A separate nurse came in to give him oxygen while he went down, his eyes wide open and darting around like he was looking for something he couldn’t find. No words made it through the thick haze of his terror until he saw your vitals stabilizing again. Even then, he couldn’t function until you were conscious and tested and they confirmed that you wouldn’t have any lasting issues.

When you came to for real the next morning and they told you what happened, your mischievous eyes spent a second finding his and you teased, “Ooooh, you’re gonna be in so much trouble, pookie.”

He laughed, swatted a tear from his cheek, and kissed you on the top of the head. “Yeah, I got called up by the medical board for a review, but the hospital’s backing me up. Should be a slap on the wrist.”

You nodded, sleepy and accepting, and asked, “How’s the baby doing?”

“He’s perfect,” Brendon assured softly, almost scared to be too loud. “Ten pounds on the dot, 22 inches. Easily one of our top five cutest babies.”

“Another football player,” you laughed, sounding exhausted and delighted and maybe still a touch loopy on painkillers. Leaning your head on his arm, you smile against his skin. “We make very cute babies, even if your stupid genes make them all giants.”

He brushed your cheek with his thumb and murmured, “Your stupid genes didn’t have to keep procreating with my stupid genes.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up; you’re so annoying.”

He pouted and offered, “What if I told you that I brought you an Entenmann’s donut variety pack this morning? Powered, chocolate glaze, and crumble just how you like?”

With your weak arms, you reached up and pulled him into a hard kiss. He didn’t care about your unbrushed teeth or greasy skin. To him, you’re everything. He’d kiss you at the end of the world with two minutes left. You leveled him with loving eyes and said, “I lied about you being annoying. You’re the perfect man. Now gimme those donuts.”

All in all, by the time an attending position opened up in Brendon’s hospital right as you finished your residency with five under ten, you’re pretty damn sure you’re done having babies.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Trinity sighs as she sips her second or third drink. “I can barely keep myself and my roommate alive and here you are with five tiny humans and a husband.”

“Once they stop being attached to your boob, it gets easier,” you snicker while watching the kids screeching with laughter as they dive and splash at each other. With Brendon absently rubbing your back while keeping his eyes on the party, you add, “Honestly, at this point, it’ll be weird not being pregnant working at a hospital. I won’t have any excuses to take as many five-minute breaks as I want.”

“A fate worse than death,” Trinity agrees. Then she gestures between the two of you and asks, “Have you figured out how you’re gonna break it to the Pitt that their nice new attending is actually married to the scariest doctor in the hospital?”

You admire Brendon’s sharp side profile for a minute and then shrug. “I figure we’re not gonna keep it a secret but we’re not gonna bring it up. It’s not like Bren’s going to stop being the big bad ortho bro just because I’m there. I’m fully prepared to be on the receiving end of his mean little tirades.”

Brendon bites back a joke about how you like him being mean plenty when it’s just the two of you, instead saying, “And I’m fully prepared for you to stand on your tippy toes and scream in my face when we disagree about patient care.”

You scoff and shove him. “I did not yell at Dr. Torrence that day.”

Brendon gives Trinity a knowing look. “She made him cry over an appendicitis diagnosis.”

Throwing your hands up mock-defensively, you cut back, “Okay, well, god forbid I care if my patients live or die.”

Trinity cracks up at that and says, “The way you go back and forth with each other, you should place bets on how long it takes everyone to figure out that you’re married.”

Brendon tilts his beer toward her. “Now that could be fun.”

Before you can call them both children, your mother-in-law comes up behind you and leans in near your and Brendon’s ears. “The kids are getting antsy about the cake, my loves.”

Brendon nods, stands up, and shouts in his bellowing serious voice, “Everybody gather ‘round; I have to give my sappy speech about how proud of my wife I am now!”

From around the pool area and by the fire pitt and grill, all the partygoers circle the central table with its cake reading Congratulations, Dr. & Dr. Park! Even the kids reluctantly clamber out of the pool after a little coaxing from their grandparents.

Brendon lifts his arm for you to step into. With an eye roll, you do, head on his chest. He dramatically clears his throat and begins, “Honey, I’ve told you a million times already, but I’m never gonna get tired of saying it: I am so proud of you for finishing your residency and taking the next leap in your medical career. I know firsthand just how hard you’ve worked every step of the way to be the biggest know-it-all in the history of the world.”

“Absolutely right,” you cut in with a serious nod. Patting his well-defined pec, you nudge, “Wrap it up, you big sap, there’s a cake to eat.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles. Then he cups your cheek and says, “You are by far the most impressive person I’ve ever met. You continue to change my definition of what’s possible every day. I cannot wait to work with you so I can finally prove that someone actually likes me.” Brendon kisses you warmly as his friends laugh a little too knowingly. Then he hushes the crowd once more and says, “Of course, if you’ve come to a Park family summer house party before, you know that we always end our toasts with a particular tradition-”

With the kids already cheering and clapping from the anticipation, you try to squirrel out from under his arm with a wicked shriek of, “Brendon Alexander Park, you swore you wouldn’t do this tonight!”

“-before we can cut that cake and continue the evening’s festivities-”

You manage to get out of his grip and make a sprinting break for the yard, careful not to run by the pool area because you will never hear the end of it from Benji after several summers of yelling at him for the same. “You are so in for it, Bren!” 

“-my beautiful wife absolutely must get into the pool she insisted we put in-”

Brendon catches you easily since you aren’t really trying to evade him as all your friends and family clap. You hiss, “I will murder you after this.”

“-by any means necessary!” Brendon grabs you under your ass and hoists you above his head onto his shoulders with ease. Holding your legs tight to his chest while you balance above him, he walks to the edge of the water and you pretend to put up a fight by squirming just to annoy him. Brendon grabs his beer from the table and lifts it to the sky. “Everyone, please raise your glasses and join me in celebrating the love of my life, the mother of my five perfect spoiled children, who is way too good for me even on my best days, and now my fellow PTMC attending physician, Dr. Park!”

As everyone lifts their drinks and claps and whoops, Brendon takes one celebratory swig of his beer, sets it down, and then jumps into the deep end, plunging you both into the water. It’s the perfect temperature for swimming even without the heated feature turned on and you surface with mock offense on your face. Laughing and wiping water away, you push him on the chest and say, “I hate you. You’re by far the worst husband on the face of the planet.”

He nods in agreement as he pulls you toward him, able to touch the bottom of the pool several steps before you can. As you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, he kisses you and murmurs, “I’m so fucking proud of you, baby. I know there was never any doubt you’d finish your residency-”

“Damn straight.”

“-but the fact that you did it all while being such an attentive mom and wife and-”

“Please don’t make me cry,” you whimper gently. You hug him tight. “Thank you so much for supporting me and us all these years. We really did it.”

“We really did,” he confirms with a laugh. Then he leans in close and murmurs, “By the way, I managed to pawn all the kids off to their friends’ places for sleepovers while you were mingling, so we have the house to ourselves tonight.”

“You’re joking,” you reply, mouth open in true shock. You cup his ear and giggle, “You’re telling me we get to fuck loud and uninterrupted tonight?”

With a shit-eating grin, he nods and kisses you hard. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, angel.”

Then, having absolutely housed a corner piece of cake in a matter of milliseconds, Benji raises his pool noodle and proclaims, “No kissing in the pool! Get ‘em!”

You shriek and bury your face in Brendon’s neck as four of your kids cannonball in at once, spraying water everywhere and immediately latching onto your and Brendon’s backs.

Late that night, with the house and yard cleaned up and the kids at their friends’ or grandparents’ places, Brendon pulls you into the oversized shower and rubs your shoulders under the water. For a few minutes, he just lets you soak in the steam and the quiet as he greedily touches you, no shouting children running around or banging on the door. It’s been a while since the two of you have been able to shower together for more than practical time-saving reasons, so Brendon’s eager to hold you close even as he massages shampoo and conditioner through your hair. You can feel the pride and adoration in his every touch and in his content little groans when you return the favor, working him over with a sudsy loofah and following it with your hands.

Brendon trades off once he’s clean, cupping your soapy breasts and sighing happily into a slow kiss that you step onto your toes to give him. His fingers slip down your waist, over your thighs, through your pubic hair. He even drops down to his knees and lifts each of your feet to wash them, kissing your knees once the water’s washed away the suds. Standing up again, he murmurs gently, “Turn around, sweetheart.”

With a big yawn, you move so he can get your back, definitely not selfishly working your muscles with his hands too.

“Don’t tell me you’re too sleepy for sex,” he teases as you yawn again, leaning your weight against his chest as he rubs the loofah down your lower back.

You reach down and pinch his thigh vengefully. “Did I say that?”

“Ouch! Fuck, baby, I take it back,” he laughs, tightening his arms around you. He bites your shoulder playfully before saying, “Let’s get you out of here so you can prove it to me, hm?”

“I like the sound of that.”

You turn around slowly and give him one more kiss before reaching behind him and turning off the water. Brendon’s quick to grab your fluffy towel robe, wrapping you in it before your skin can even consider getting cold. Before he can turn away, you rest your arms around the back of his neck and tug him into another kiss. He holds your face between his large hands and lets out a soft, breathy sound close to a moan. You love the little noises he makes when he’s so perfectly content. Noises that only you have ever gotten to hear.

Murmuring into the kiss, you offer, “Take me to bed, handsome.”

But Brendon shakes his head no and picks up your moisturizer from the counter behind you, presenting it to you with a pointed look. “Do your post-shower routine first. You’ll be all cranky if your skin starts getting tight and I don’t want you thinking about anything that’ll distract you from feeling so fucking good you go brain-dead. Got it?”

You pout as you take the moisturizer and unscrew it, “To be loved is to be seen or whatever.” 

Brendon starts in on his own routine, too, opening up the medicine cabinet. “You’re almost out of the one you take in the morning – the modafinil,” he says as he collects your handful of bedtime pills the way he does every night, taking care of you in the small moments. “You have an appointment set up for that already?”

“Yes, I do, Dr. Micromanager,” you reply, all faux-huffy. With your skin care done, he hands off your pills and you take them with a few gulps of water from the sink. “I might ask to try something else, though. It’s been a month on them already and I don’t feel like they’re actually helping me feel less tired. Plus, now that I’m gonna be an attending, I’ll only be on day shift, so the whole Shift Work Sleep Disorder situation might resolve itself.”

“I hope so,” he sighs, softly rubbing your back. “I know we all go through it as doctors, but I hate watching you deal with something I can’t fix myself.”

“Mmm.” You give him a soft kiss on the cheek and smile. “My knight in shining armor.”

He kisses your temple. “And you’ll always be my princess.”

Then you toy with the tie on your robe, give him your most sultry eyes, and ask, “Now can you fuck me, Sir Brendon? Or are there any more tasks I have to complete first?”

“All you have to do for the rest of the night-” he slides your robe down your shoulders, returns it to its hook, and begins to push you backwards, into the bedroom “-is let me worship you.”

As the back of your knees hit the plush, high-thread-count comforter, you softly laugh, “I think I can do that for you.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises as he spreads you out on the bed, making sure you’re comfortably arranged among the pillows before he pushes your knees apart. When he sees your pussy, framed by those perfect dimpled thighs and your curls of hair, his cock throbs against the sheet and he groans, “Fuck, baby. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

You roll your eyes and smile down at him. “I’ve been yours since I was 19, Bren.”

“And you’re only getting better,” he purrs as he leans down and laps at your slit. With your tartness coating his tongue, he pulls back, nods solemnly, and groans like he’s just chugged a nice cold beer after a long day of work, “Yeah, that’s the stuff right there.”

You giggle and cover your face with your arm. “Stop being silly; you know it turns me on.”

“And the worst thing I’d ever want to do when I’m here between my wife’s legs,” he muses as he slides his two middle fingers inside of you agonizingly slowly, “is turn her on.”

Your back arches while you stretch around him. Once he’s touching you, there’s no more room in your brain for teasing or comebacks. All you can think about is him. His tongue makes familiar contact with your clit and you’re done for. You let yourself sink into the pleasure of being with a man who knows every centimeter of your body as well as his own. He eats you out the way he operates: Precise, practiced, self-assured, and with ten years of training under his belt.

Loose and warm from the night drinking and the hot shower with your hot husband, you’re easily enveloped by Brendon’s obvious desire. You slip into it as naturally as you breathe. His tongue pulses against your clit and his free hand travels upward until he can take your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He pinches and rolls until he finds that combination of pressure and skill to make you moan loud and uninhibited.

Brendon’s got you right where he wants you once he’s using both his hands and his mouth to get you off. If he could use something else at the same time to heighten it for you, he would. When he feels your walls tightening slowly around his fingers, he slows way down and makes you work for it. You whine pathetically at the change in pace and grind your hips down against his fingers to get them deeper and faster the way you need.

Finally – it feels like finally even if it’s been thirty seconds because you’re so worked up – Brendon pushes you over the edge. You clamp down tight around his fingers, thighs tensing around his head, and bliss burns down the candle of your body. Brendon surges forward as you instinctively try to squirm away, his hand going to your hip to hold you against his mouth. He always insists on you riding out every single ounce of pleasure he can give you.

Your gasps turn to little hiccuping moans in the wake of your first orgasm – because, as Brendon makes it very clear, there will be a second. And likely a third if he can get you into the right loose headspace where you’ll go along with everything he says. He pulls off slightly, gently rubs your hip with his thumb, and asks, “Doing okay, baby?”

With half-lidded eyes, you giggle, “Very good, Bren. Gonna come fuck me now?”

“After you’ve only cum on my face once?” He wrinkles up his face in offense. “No fucking way.”

You fake-pout. “Maybe I want you to cum on my face for a change.”

Brendon rolls his eyes and gets back to your clit. You laugh for a second until the contact of his tongue turns it into a moan. He makes a knowing little sound and you grind down on his tongue to get at him, which only makes him more of a menace. He gets lost in it with your juices coating his hand and your pussy still fluttering greedily around his fingers. When he slips a third thick finger into you, the corresponding groan is music to his ears. You’re used to how ridiculous fat his cock is by now, but he’s always sure to stretch you out with fingers or toys beforehand no matter what. No way is he ever going to hurt his perfect girl, not even on accident.

As you get positively stupid, making high-pitched pathetic sounds like ah ah ah, your hands find their way into Brendon’s dark curls. When you tug against his scalp, he whimpers into your pussy, madly in love with your taste, your touch, your tenderness. Everything about you turns him on, but especially the way you totally stop thinking as you lose your inhibitions. Your hips start to roll and your fingers get greedy and Brendon is the happy recipient of each unconscious writhe and wail.

Your second orgasm is slower, looser, less a train barreling through and more a ship rising with the gentle tide, unnoticed at first but unrelenting. You chase his fingers and, this time, he doesn’t mess around with any teasing or slowing down. He stays the course, certain and steady as a compass, until he feels you burst around his fingers. Your moans turn to breathy coos as he eases you through the overstimulation and back down to earth. 

When he’s satisfied with his work, Brendon crawls on top of you and kisses your parted lips. You lean up into the kiss with a happy groan, tasting yourself on his tongue. He kisses you deeply for a minute, one hand needy on your breast as he rubs your nipples, and you feel his hard cock grinding against your thigh. You reach down and palm his length, breathily begging, “C’mon, Bren, I need you.”

He kisses your neck, his tongue and teeth worshipping the skin behind your ear, over your pulse, above your collarbone. Sounding too self-righteous for his own good, he rasps against your ear, “Yeah? Need to get fucked?”

You roll your eyes and groan at him, “I didn’t get married to beg for dick when I want it.”

“Possessive, much?”

You squeeze his bicep – hard, a little mean – and whine, “Holding out for absolutely zero reason because you want it as bad as I do, much?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Brendon reaches down and pumps his cock a few times as you spread your legs wider to accommodate his thick thighs. As he lines himself up with you, feeling your warm wetness inviting him in, he murmurs, “You’re always right.”

You grin as he ever-so-slowly pushes inside of you. “God, you know how to talk dirty.”

He groans as your eyes roll back with the pleasure of him bottoming out inside of you, already looking so fuck-drunk from his time spent between your legs. This is his favorite thing in the world: Getting you off so well and so thoroughly that he can use you however the hell he wants and you’ll just be a crying, moaning mess as you happily take it. He bends so that he can hold you close, your clit bumping against his coarse happy trail. Gazing down lovingly at the way your slick, swollen pussy lips envelop his shaft, he croons, “There you go, baby. My pretty girl.”

Clutching his shoulders, you keen pathetically, “You feel so good.”

“You have no idea, baby.” He grips your ass hard, holding your body against his by the ample fat there. Grunting and trying to control himself, he breathes, “I swear you feel better every time I fuck you.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulder blades and demand, “Then how about you stop chit-chatting and fuck me?”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles darkly, grabbing your hips to keep you locked in place, unable to do anything but take his cock. And he pounds you. He uses the full force of those sculpted thighs and ass and stomach to snap his cock forward, only pulling half of the way out before slamming back in. His blunt head punches against your cervix; it would be painful if you weren’t so perfectly molded to be his and his alone, your bodies knowing one another as well as your minds.

Once you’re whimpering and biting your lip and struggling to keep your eyes open from the unrelenting force, Brendon’s dominant hand travels away from your waist and between your legs. With a delicious roughness to his tone, he purrs, “I think you can give me one more, can’t you? A big one, too, maybe even get me nice and wet if I play my cards right.  What do you think, baby? Can you do that for me?”

When you can’t come up with a response, Brendon takes your face in one hand, pushing your cheeks in and forcing you to make eye contact. “Aw, sweetie, too fuck-drunk to speak? That’s okay; I think you can do it, so you’re gonna have to.”

Brendon’s rough thumb pad connects with your puffy, agonized clit and he rotates his hand so he can also press down on your mons, right where his cock is thrumming. Your hips buck from the sudden wave of intensity and he laughs at just how pathetic you look and sound. Immediately, you feel the head of his cock massaging your walls ten times as strongly.

The building pressure is enough to have you squirming and twitching and you cry out, barely able to speak, “I can’t, Bren, I- Fuck! It’s too much. I’m gonna- I can’t-”

“Aw, come on,” he coos, all condescending and achingly sexy, “my wife isn’t a quitter. Just get out of that big beautiful brain and let go.” He presses down more on the bulge at your lower abdomen where his cock is filling you, the pressure bordering on unbearable. His voice takes on a truly selfish darkness that brings turned-on tears to your eyes. “I can tell you’re gonna squirt, honey, and you’re doing that thing where you try not to because you’re all bashful and embarrassed.”

You whimper as your toes curl into the bed, head thrashing back and forth as, yes, you try and try to resist. “Brendon, I swear to god-”

“None of that,” he chastises. He pulls up the hood of your clit and puts more pressure on the exposed, swollen nerves below. Pressure, pressure, pressure. His voice lulls you into a softer, more open headspace as he assures. “You know there’s nothing to be embarrassed about with me. I want you to fucking soak me, baby. Let go. That’s all you have to do and you’re gonna sleep so good. Just let me take care of you. Let me take care of everything.”

Your eyes open and meet his, dominant blue, encapsulating as the open sea, holding you in the moment the way they always do. When you find his devoted, intimate expression just waiting for yours, your pussy starts to tighten. It comes with that overwhelming urge to pee that Brendon’s made you beyond familiar with over the years. Even though you know exactly what’s going on, your brain still tries to yank up a wall to stop you from bursting.

But Brendon knows exactly what you need. His guidance. His patience. His insistence. His voice is nothing short of a growl now as he talks you through it. “There you go. Just a little more, baby, and you’re gonna get there. Focus on my voice, not anything else. Let yourself relax and it’s gonna feel so fucking good for both. Gonna fill you up like you need.”

You’d be weeping if you could manage any sound above a whisper. With your nails cutting into his skin now, you squeak out, “Cum inside me?”

“That’s right, princess,” he grunts as he works hard to stave off his own orgasm. You’re just so gushing wet and perfectly tight and pulsing and everything he’s ever wanted and more. Losing track of his rhythm and falling apart in his love for you, he swears, “I need to fill your cunt. Need to feel you cum while I do it. C’mon, pretty girl, cum with me. Please. It’s all I need.”

And you have to obey. Your brain whites out as the orgasm thrashes through your entire body, back arching, toes curling, thighs clamping. Wetness floods from your body, soaking your husband’s hand and thighs. Brendon thrusts sharp and short through it, burying his forehead in your neck while your cunt milks him just right. He shudders as he spills inside of you, tasting your sweat on his lips and loving every moment of your orgasm that heightens his. While his cock softens inside of you, he plants kisses like a diamond necklace over your skin, murmuring sweetness and love until you’re completely, perfectly content.

You’re so loose and comfy that you hardly register him scooping you off the bed and carrying you to the bathroom, where he cleans you up and kisses over every place his fingers dug in hard enough to leave marks. He’s so strong he can’t help it. You come back into your body properly sitting on the countertop with Brendon in front of you, kissing your cheeks and studying your expression. 

After a moment of just gazing at you, he cups your cheek and drops his voice low and slow. “I love you, baby. You know that, right?”

You grin at the memory of his first ‘I love you,’ which came alongside your first ultrasound with Benji. Just as you said then, you tell him, “More and more every day.”

He kisses the tip of your nose and smiles, shaking his head boyishly like he did when he had a flop of lazy curls that he never put product in. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You glance at the clock on your bedside table and tease, “It’s barely ten, love. Are we that old?”

“I don’t know about you, but I just had my brains fucked out.” He once again lifts you up easily, this time bringing you into your walk-in closet and grabbing some of his favorite skimpy pajamas of yours and guiding them onto your body. “I’m gonna need a solid eight to ten to recover.”

You shimmy into your clothes and then hand him a particularly sexy pair of gray boxer briefs you like the feel of against your ass in the morning. “Does that mean I get wake-up sex?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he promises, nipping more kisses up your neck. He follows less than a step behind you back to the bed, arms around you and destabilizing you until you’re laughing. When he tugs you into his arms beneath the covers, he offers, “You know what I was thinking?”

Snuggling into his chest once he turns the lights out, you half-heartedly murmur, “Hm?”

“Once you’ve had your first day down at the Pitt,” he muses to your half-sleeping form, “we should come up with an order for who we think is gonna figure out we’re together when. Trinity can get in on it, too, so we can swear her to secrecy.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes.”