Page 140 of Lyric Squared

Self-centered.

Vain.

But, beneath it all, that heart was gold. She’d do anything and everything for the people she cared most about. That’s why she’d kept our union a secret for so long.

What Luca had gone through for her, she refused to risk again. And just because I was ready to love her loudly, it didn’t negate the fact that she had shit she was dealing with. She was still traumatized. She was still coping. She was still trying to trust herself.

My exigency didn’t eliminate her troubles. My urgency wasn’t her emergency. My neediness wasn’t her issue. My readiness wasn’t her preparedness. My heart’s longing wasn’t her responsibility. My yearning wasn’t hers to smolder.

And as time passed, I understood that more. I understood her more. Lyric wasn’t trying to muzzle our love. She was trying to trust herself again. Her thoughts. Her feelings. Her decisions. And before she involved her family, she wanted to make sure this was forever.

“Shit,” I groaned, stroking her backside as she lowered her warm mouth onto my tool.

“Mmmm.”

She felt good to me. Inside and out. It didn’t matter the day or the location. The time or the circumstances. My wife was my world.

She bobbed her head, finding her groove. Her saliva coated me. Her eyes coaxed me. They consumed me.

Big.

Brown.

Beautiful.

Lyric was having my baby again. The pride that stemmed from her willingness to recreate with me for a third time had my chest swelled every day. And there was hardly a day that I didn’t consider the life we’d lost or the strength it took us both to free ourselves from that darkness and pain.

Her stomach was growing and so was my love for her. I used to think I couldn’t love her any more than I already did, but I was sadly mistaken.

Each day I found something new.

Each day I found something more fascinating.

A new freckle that appeared overnight.

A new strand of gray around the edges of her hair.

A new word to describe her.

A new way to surprise her.

A new sleep position.

A new emotion.

A new reason.

Lyric handled my dick with care. Though sloppy, she treated it like fine China. Her head lifted and fell over and over. My toes locked. And the moment my eyes closed, she halted.

“Ly–”

“I want to sit on it,” she moaned against the tip of my dick.

The vibrations from her voice were intoxicating.

“Sit on it, baby,” I whispered, hardly able to keep my composure.

I held both of her hands to help lift her up. Then, I made sure her core was stable by dropping my hands to her waist. When she was well-balanced, I used my left hand to push her g-string aside. Lyric lowered herself onto me, one hand wrapped around my tool to guide him into his place of residency.