Page 124 of The Game Plan
“Wh-what?”
“Sit on my face, Peach. Ride my face and make yourself come.”
Jesus. My thighs clench as I frantically flip over. My legs land on each side of his as I crawl up his naked torso. Strong hands grip my hips as I situate myself. I’m heavier now than I used to be, and the fear of suffocating him flashes through my mind.
“Don’t fucking hover. Sit that pretty pussy on my face and ride.”
His dirty encouragement has me dropping down, sitting on his face as his tongue laps at my arousal. My head drops back as I bite into my lower lip, and he moans as he tastes me fully. Everything this man does is perfection.
“Fuck, Sunshine. You’re so good at this,” I praise him.
I’ve been with enough men to appreciate his skills. So many others have no idea what they’re doing down there. They thrash around and sloppily lick at nothing.
But Grant Campbell knows how to eat.
All tongue and nips that make me squirm. My hips tilt forward, pressing harder on his face. His hands grip my hands as he helps rock me back and forth. As pressure builds in my core, my thighs start to shake, toes curling, breath catching.
“God, Grant. It’s too much,” I moan, hands reaching out to grip the headboard and keep myself upright.
He plunges his tongue into my entrance as he devours me.
“I’m so close,” I call out, my pussy rocking faster against him, chasing my impending release.
I can feel his eyes boring into me. Glancing down, I’m met with the sexiest sight. Dark eyes sear into mine as he bites down on my bundle of nerves, sending me over the edge.
My eyes roll back as I scream my release, thankful that my sister-in-law offered to watch our daughter for the night.
Wave after wave, Grant helps me ride out my orgasm until I’m wrung dry. Chest heaving, I pop off his face and gaze down at him in awe. His lips glisten, coated in my arousal. He’s never looked sexier.
Trailing kisses and little nips, I lower myself down his body.
“What’re you doing, Peach?”
I smirk up at him. “Taking care of my husband.”
My laptop rests on my lap as the familiar chime of the video call echoes through the speakers. I shift on the couch, curling my legs underneath me. Grant left with Lennon for a walk in her stroller while I’m in my first therapy session of the week.
We’ve been meeting twice a week, on Sundays and Wednesdays. The calls are helping, but they rip open old wounds, leaving me in an emotional state for a few hours aftereach session. As much as I hate the pain, I end our visits feeling lighter. Almost as if invisible weights are being removed from chest, pound by pound.
You can do hard things.
I repeat my mantra as the screen loads, and seconds later, my therapist’s kind face fills the window.
“Hi, Savannah,” Dr. Nia says with her warm smile. “How are you feeling today?”
It’s the same way she starts every session. I used to hate the question. Always wanting to answer with “I’m fine,” but she quickly told me that response wouldn’t fly.
Glancing around the room filled with new framed pictures of our family, baby toys scattered everywhere, I smile at the screen. “I’m feeling good today. A little tired, but in a way that feels normal.”
She nods, eyes crinkling as she smiles. “That’s great to hear. You don’t normally say how good you’re feeling, but I can see it on your face how true that is.”
I smile again. “Yeah, things are going well.”
She leans back in her chair, clicking her pen as she jots down notes. “We’ve been meeting twice a week for almost a month now. With your permission, I’d love to discuss your progress.”
A wave of anxiety rips through my chest, but I nod. “Sure.”
Dr. Nia glances at her notes. “When we started, you struggled with keeping eye contact. It was a mixture of fear and shame as we discussed your fear of being a bad mom. You were living in denial, trying to make it through the day. The fear of failure crippling your movements.”
