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Going to be a father

He pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it. My eyes soaked in the cut abdominals and solid curves of his deltoids and biceps. I could stare at him for hours, but usually didn't get nearly my fill of looking.

He pushed my shirt up and over my head, leaving it bunched around my left arm. It would have to stay there, because I was still connected to the IV. Ile drew his hands down, hovering just above my skin, not touching as he swept his eyes over me. It reminded me of a pianist poised just before beginning to play a piece. It was beautiful to watch him.

He bowed over me, starting at the hollow of my throat, and drew downward with his tongue as far as he could go. He dragged it achingly slow over my ster- num, down my stomach and to my navel, where he gave some special attention to the indentation. He never got near my breasts and the obvious evasion got me undulating for him, my body already on fire. craving his touch.

He looked up from my navel just before reaching for the waistband of m
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