Reason Enough. Megan Hart

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      Reason Enough

      Megan Hart

      It wasn't the sort of question I could answer at once, without hesitation. It took me hours to pick out which bath mats to put in our new bathroom. How on earth could I decide in one split moment if I should agree to have a baby?

      “Yes? No?” Dan nudged his chin into the curve of my shoulder and neck from behind as his arms slipped around my waist. It made washing the dishes difficult, so I let the greasy pot in my hands slide back beneath the soapy water and leaned back against him. “Maybe?”

      “Where did this come from?” I asked--practically, I thought.

      Dan's hands moved up and down my waist and crept below the hem of my shirt to link over my belly. “I was just thinking about it, that's all.”

      “Hmm.” I turned to face him, my hands going behind me to grip the edge of the sink. “A baby is a big responsibility.”

      He grinned.

      “Dan…” I had nothing to say, really. No real protest.

      “Never mind, Elle.” He kissed me. “It's just something I thought about, that's all. When you mentioned the pills.”

      I'd had a hangnail gone awry. My doctor had prescribed antibiotics to help get rid of the infection. Antibiotics can interfere with the effectiveness of birth-control pills. I'd offered to use my mouth on him instead of making love.

      “I thought you'd like a blow job.” I heard the slightly cool tone of my voice and imagined the slightly cool expression on my face, to match. “I mean, you usually do.”

      Against me, on the places where our bodies touched, I imagined heat growing. He pushed his hips forward a little bit to nudge a definite bulge against my stomach. He kissed me again, our mouths opening, and his hands gripped tighter on my waist.

      “You know I do,” Dan murmured against my lips.

      “Here? In the kitchen?” I raised a brow but kept my mouth from the smile threatening to tip it. “How shocking.”

      “Shock me.”

      We'd only been in the new house, our first together, for a few months. We hadn't yet made love in every room--though not for lack of effort. I let my hand slide to his belt buckle. I tugged it open, moving his body as I did.

      Dan let out a small grunt. “Use your mouth on me, right here.”

      It would kill my knees, that tile floor, but I didn't protest. I liked sucking Dan's cock. He thought he was lucky. I was the lucky one, though. Lucky I'd found him, and that he loved me.

      Luckier I loved him back.

      I pushed him, not too gently, until he took a couple steps back. I unzipped his dark trousers, his work clothes, and pulled them over his hips. I went to my knees as I pushed the cloth over his thighs and down to his ankles. His cock tented the front of his soft boxer briefs, and I got rid of those, too.

      I looked at him for a minute with my hand on the base of his prick. I licked my mouth to wet my lips, and Dan's hands slid into my hair. Not pulling, not pushing. He was waiting for me to move. He could be patient if he had to be. If I made him.

      I tilted my head to take him in as deep as I could. The groan of his response thrilled me. Sucking Dan was about him, but it affected me, too. My nipples tightened. My clit rubbed against my panties, and I reached with the hand not holding Dan to pull my skirt up my thighs. My knees protested the cold, hard tile without the cushion of my skirt, but I ignored the sensation. My fingers crept under the skirt to touch, just once, the silk between my legs.

      “Yes,” Dan said. “Touch yourself.”

      I didn't answer, my mouth occupied with other tasks. I sucked him a little harder, my lips closing over the head of his cock and meeting. Like a kiss. A second later, the pause so brief it was hardly there, my mouth opened again and I took him down the back of my throat. Up again, this time with one hand following and the other rubbing the front of my panties.

      Dan's fingers slid deeper into my hair, and he pulled out the spring-clip I'd used to keep it up. Dark lengths tumbled around my shoulders. I smelled the shampoo I'd used that morning when I'd bound it up, still damp. He finger-combed it, careful not to pull too hard as my head moved under his hands.

      His breath hitched, in and out, faster. It wouldn't take long for him to come. The question was, how long would it take me?

      I closed my eyes. The kitchen went away. So did my job, the bills I meant to pay later, the message on the answering machine from my mother. The discomfort in my knees and jaw vanished, too.

      My world became the taste and smell of my husband and my hand between my legs. I rubbed faster over my panties, my clit a tight, hard bump under my fingers. I sucked Dan's cock a little harder, a little faster, losing my rhythm once or twice when my own pleasure made me sloppy.

      “I'm going to come, baby.” Dan's regular voice was often enough to get my hormones jumping, but the way he sounded just before he came was the trigger on my cunt's pistol. He spoke. I shot off.

      I teased myself with rapid flicks of my fingertip on my silk-covered clit. A harder touch would send me over faster, but it felt so good I didn't want it to end. Pleasure built. My muscles tightened. I couldn't breathe. I had to breathe.

      With a low moan, Dan bucked his hips forward. His taste flooded me. His hands tightened in my hair and I swallowed, hard, so I could find the breath to moan.

      I pressed my palm between my legs as my body shook. I'd become a fist, closed tight, but now I opened wide. I shuddered and swallowed again. Dan pulled back.

      I blinked as my orgasm subsided, and looked up at him. Sweat fell at that moment from his face onto mine, onto my lips, and I licked it away. Dan reached to help me up with a hand beneath my elbow, and I groaned at the creak of my joints.

      He pulled me close and kissed me, then hugged me, my face against his chest. “You are so good at that. You know that?”

      I smiled against the familiar, fresh scent of his shirt. A shirt I had washed and dried and hung in his closet. The closet in the house we shared.

      “I know,” I told him, just to hear him laugh.

      He hugged me tighter, and we laughed together. The phone rang. I knew who it would be, and though I didn't really want to answer it, I knew my mother would keep calling until I did. I looked up at him.

      “I love you,” I said, and meant it.

      “I love you, too,” Dan answered, and didn't talk about babies again that night.

      * * *

      “Hot,” my brother said in a no-nonsense tone. “Don't touch!”

      The little girl reaching for the canister of fireplace matches pulled back her hand and gave Chad a reproachful look. But she didn't reach again, just turned her attention to the stack of magazines on the coffee table.

      “Sorry,” I said. “I should've put those away. We're not baby-proof, I guess.”

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