Golden Luckenbooth

Twenty-Four

"Harry!" I protest, but not too loudly. After all, that pesky little pregnancy side effect is still hanging around. You know, the arousal one. "What are you doing?"

"Making love to the mother of my firstborn." He spits out the final word like it's a mouthful of worms.

He places me on the bed, and I use my elbows to prop up my body. "What are you on about, you numpty? I'm not planning to date Arran. I'm looking to hire him."

He's already drawn his ratty vintage t-shirt over his head, throwing it aside as he reaches for the button and zipper on his pale blue ripped jeans.

"You think I'm worried about Arran? Ha! I can make you scream in ways Arran only dreams of." He rants, stripping his jeans down his legs so that I can see both the tiger tattoo and the one for his former girlfriend. I swear, if he ever tries to tattoo my name on him, I'll grab his cock and twist until he changes his mind.

Trying to be rational to his irrationality doesn't seem to be working, but I make an effort anyway. "He might have a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Or both. He just wants to learn."

"Mhm. Learn how to bring my –" He stops then, clearly ticking through names for me in his head, and I wonder which one he'll land on: 'girlfriend', 'woman', 'baby mama'? "--favourite pussy pleasure."

Yuck. That's what I am to him? Defensively, I cross my hands over my crotch as he starts to stalk towards me in only his pants. "I don't even know what that means, Harry, but it sounds disgusting."

"Oh, I'll show you exactly what it means," he cautions, as he shoves aside my hands, working on the button I'd spent 10 minutes trying to push through its corresponding hole just that morning. "Damn. What did you do to these jeans?"

"Harry..." I caution, "you better not say a single word about the weight I've put on while carrying YOUR child."

But he doesn't say anything else, just frees my belly before sliding my jeans down my legs, stopping to remove my boots and socks.

"My feet are cold!"

Standing between my naked legs, my jeans in one hand, my socks in the other, Harry shakes his head, and I see the beginnings of one of his infamous smirks. That's when I know I've cracked his angry exterior.

With brute force, he yanks both of my legs so that I slide towards him on the bed, my feet extended near his head. Turning his head to the right, he kisses my ankle and replaces my sock. Twisting his head to the other side, he repeats both gestures, the kiss and then the sock. Then, without any warning, he reaches between my legs and slides his finger under my knickers.

"Your hands are cold!" I protest, wiggling to get away from him, but he uses one arm to anchor my legs to his upper body. With his free hand, he draws his pointer and middle fingers through his mouth, the wet saliva leaving them glistening before he uses that damp pointer finger to move my panties to the side and slip his middle finger into my pussy.

I can't help it.

I cry out his name.

"Still cold?" That damn smirk is back, and he knows very well that the cold isn't going to last long. "Should I stop?"

Biting my lip, I roll my hips and my head, releasing a moan that would make a porn actress blush.

"I didn't hear you, Anna. Should I stop?"

"Fuck, no." I pant as the movements of that single finger draw me closer to the edge until he adds the other finger. "Jesus, Harry. I'm going to..."

At that, he withdraws his hand from my knickers and licks his fingers, stepping back and allowing my legs to fall to the floor.