More Than a Hotline Fling

-45-

Damian's POV

June returned back to work at the animal hospital for two months. Each day was a challenge for her, the first being the hardest, but my strong, stubborn, amazing wife pushed through.

I was so, so proud of her.

I lasted ten months longer in Vice, turning down the permanent Captain's position for a different direction. Losing June realigned all of my priorities and I refocused my life. I only wished I hadn't needed that kick in the ass to get my head out of it.

Like usual, grunts and toenail scratches greeted me at home, followed by thrashes of Bullet's tongue over my fingers.

"Hey buddy." Kneeling down, I rubbed my palm around his ears. "You good for Mommy today? Of course, you were, weren't you?"

The more I doted on my buddy, the more his body wriggled around the floor. Pure doggy happiness radiated from him as he looked up from his back, paws lifted for a belly scratch.

A soft squeal lifted my eyes up. June stood, one hip jutting out to the side, wet stains on her T-shirt and sweatpants, and exhausting soaking all of her. I would've chuckled at her stealing my pants, going by the cuffs puddling around her ankles, but her bloodshot eyes pressed my lips closed. Dark circles ringed her sunken eyes, and her hair... best not to describe her hair.

Fucking beautiful.

"Thank fuck you're home." She extended her arms with a grunt, her daily strain coating each word. "Take him."

My arms reached out to the wide, brown eyes and toothless squeal directed at me. "Hi, Bud! There's my -"

"Just take him." June's arms buckled, wiggling two chubby, fat roll legs where they were suspended. "There's a bottle in the warmer, I'm going to pump and crash."

Eight weeks after June's birth control was removed, Alex came into our life. June became so sick that she was hospitalized four times, then quarantined at home for most of the pregnancy. She never once complained - except whenever she threw up in her hair - and glowed with happiness.

Her being so sick dampened my excitement with concern, but I snuck my glances at her. She cradled her belly, dipping her chin and murmuring the sweetest words of love and loftiest ambitions. Every day, I grew more appreciative of her carrying our son, even when she groaned at every movement, side rolled to get out of bed, and gained the ability to lose her keys within a confined space.

Daily.

"You go pump and crash." I leaned over and pressed a kiss onto her dry lips. She tasted like exhaustion. "Do you need a shower?"

Her head tilted back, and she shot me a harsh glare. "Is that your way of telling me I stink?"

"No." I moved my lips to her oily forehead. "It's my way of getting you some alone time to relax. I'll take him to walk Bullet, feed him, and put him to bed."

"Feed the bottomless stomach first." She grunted over her shoulder. "That's what we were struggling with before you arrived. Someone here's more obsessed with my tits than you."

I laughed, bouncing my shoulders. In a cruel twist, June's breasts grew larger when she was pregnant, then doubled once she started breastfeeding.

And I'm not allowed a single touch.

June's, "They're leaking and too sensitive!" was all I needed to snap my hands to myself.

My dick, confined to an eight-week time out, was beyond ready when her doctor cleared her for sex ten painful days ago. June confessed, in her words, that she was, "drier than the Sahara down there and exhausted as fuck," so we waited.