My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care - Chapter 6: Chapter 6
You are reading My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care, Chapter 6: Chapter 6. Read more chapters of My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care.
Our bodies pressed together so tightly I could feel every hard plane of Richard's frame through my clothes. He must have been equally aware of my curves, the heat between us like a living thing.
For thirty endless seconds, we clung to each other, neither willing to break the contact first. His breathing turned ragged, that prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Those big work-roughened hands spanned my waist like he was memorizing its shape.
"Vivian..." His voice came out rough.
I tilted my face up, my own thoughts drowning in reckless want. Unlike Eric's smooth charm, Richard had this quiet, earthy strength—the kind that made me want to burrow into his chest like some sheltered little thing.
The moment broke too soon.
"Vivian, what are you doing here?" He sounded dazed as he finally let me go.
Flushing, I dropped my gaze—and immediately regretted it. The thick outline straining against his jeans was impossible to miss. Margaret had been throwing herself at him all evening without reaction, yet just holding me had him half-hard already.
My face burned. "I—just needed water. I should go."
Richard looked equally flustered, just nodding. "Right. Be careful."
Back in my room, William's sharp cries cut through my racing thoughts. I scooped him up, unbuttoning my blouse with practiced ease. As he nursed, I noticed it again—that uncanny resemblance to Richard. Same slightly protruding mouth, same shape to the eyes.
A traitorous image flashed: Richard at my breast instead—
I shook my head hard. "God, what's wrong with me?"
Even wanting revenge on Margaret had limits. Some lines couldn't be crossed.
I shoved the shameful thought away, settling William back down. Sleep never came.
Morning found just Richard in the kitchen, stirring congee with his undershirt damp with sweat. "Margaret's gone to her folks' place," he said, like announcing the weather. "Needs 'space.'"
I didn't know what to say to that.
He turned with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't fret. I've got you." After setting breakfast down, he disappeared with a load of diapers.
Pushing food around my plate, I finally went to check on him—and froze at the bathroom door.
Those rough, rhythmic grunts. The unmistakable sound of skin on skin.
Through the cracked door, I saw him—jeans around his ankles, shoulders tense, working himself with desperate strokes. His whole body shuddered, and then—
"Vivian." A broken whisper.
My breath caught. Had he known I was there?
For thirty endless seconds, we clung to each other, neither willing to break the contact first. His breathing turned ragged, that prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Those big work-roughened hands spanned my waist like he was memorizing its shape.
"Vivian..." His voice came out rough.
I tilted my face up, my own thoughts drowning in reckless want. Unlike Eric's smooth charm, Richard had this quiet, earthy strength—the kind that made me want to burrow into his chest like some sheltered little thing.
The moment broke too soon.
"Vivian, what are you doing here?" He sounded dazed as he finally let me go.
Flushing, I dropped my gaze—and immediately regretted it. The thick outline straining against his jeans was impossible to miss. Margaret had been throwing herself at him all evening without reaction, yet just holding me had him half-hard already.
My face burned. "I—just needed water. I should go."
Richard looked equally flustered, just nodding. "Right. Be careful."
Back in my room, William's sharp cries cut through my racing thoughts. I scooped him up, unbuttoning my blouse with practiced ease. As he nursed, I noticed it again—that uncanny resemblance to Richard. Same slightly protruding mouth, same shape to the eyes.
A traitorous image flashed: Richard at my breast instead—
I shook my head hard. "God, what's wrong with me?"
Even wanting revenge on Margaret had limits. Some lines couldn't be crossed.
I shoved the shameful thought away, settling William back down. Sleep never came.
Morning found just Richard in the kitchen, stirring congee with his undershirt damp with sweat. "Margaret's gone to her folks' place," he said, like announcing the weather. "Needs 'space.'"
I didn't know what to say to that.
He turned with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't fret. I've got you." After setting breakfast down, he disappeared with a load of diapers.
Pushing food around my plate, I finally went to check on him—and froze at the bathroom door.
Those rough, rhythmic grunts. The unmistakable sound of skin on skin.
Through the cracked door, I saw him—jeans around his ankles, shoulders tense, working himself with desperate strokes. His whole body shuddered, and then—
"Vivian." A broken whisper.
My breath caught. Had he known I was there?
End of My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care Chapter 6. Continue reading Chapter 7 or return to My FIL’s Forbidden Postpartum Care book page.