"Because it's difficult to catch an excited Alexander you've mistaken for a match," Bob Brennan concluded. He closed the book and passed it to his wife. Jeanette laid it carefully on the nightstand, but she made no effort to conceal the laughter shaking her belly a few inches from Bob's face.

"If you had any idea how many fathers don't ever read to their kids you wouldn't make fun of my early start with Oswald. Besides it's a Grant ritual. Do you think my mother is a goofus?"

Jeanette had too much respect for Katherine Grant Brennan to answer that question. "The books say that Penelope doesn't have any aural nerves yet. I think that you are rushing things. Come on up and talk to me."

"Okay. Sleep tight, little Quentin; it's time for Daddy to pay Mommy some attention." He began to kiss a circle around her navel. When Jeanette pulled at his shoulders, he slowly moved higher, stopping to kiss and lick the underside of her breasts. He moved on to the nipple on the far breast, not leaving it until Jeanette was breathing shallowly.

"Now what..." He kissed her lightly on the lips " ... did you want..." He pressed his mouth on a slant across hers and licked her lips inside and out. " ... to talk..." He went into a full- kiss mode, with his tongue playing with hers when it wasn't exploring her whole mouth. " ... about? Huh?" He dropped back on the pillow and looked at her with eyebrows raised in dramatic inquisitiveness.

Jeanette took a minute before replying. "Oh, I don't know," she said. She stroked slowly downward across Bob's chest and abdomen. "Use any oral communication that you consider appropriate." Bob caught her hand just as it reached his pubic hair. He brought it to his mouth and sucked each finger briefly.

"Oh, I love you," he said before rolling over to resume the kiss. And he did love her, the quick mind almost as much as the graceful body. He wanted to ravish her, bury himself in her until he was sharing space with the atom of life that their love had created; but he wanted to shelter her, and that atom, from all possible injury. He caressed all that he could reach of her during the kiss. He stroked her arm and torso as well as her breast and thighs. Finally he hugged her as tight as the position allowed.

She returned the hug. Lying under Bob was always comforting, whether it was the shelter of that muscular body, the comfort of his evident love and regard for her, or the expectation of pleasure to come. There was both love and desire in her hug, but mostly there was possessiveness.

When Bob broke the hug, he broke the kiss as well. He scattered a few quick kisses over her chin and throat, but he slowed down when he got to her near breast. He kissed a spiral path upward until he reached the peak. There, he tried to lick her areola without touching the nipple. Jeanette shivered and pulled his head down where it belonged. "Get your fill, dear," she said. "Rachel will have precedence soon enough."

"I wouldn't get my fill if I stay here for the next seven months," he protested. "Samuel will have to learn to share." But he went back to sucking her nipple all the same. His hand, which had been holding her breast up to his mouth, strayed lower. She squeezed it between her thighs for a moment, before opening them in welcome.

Bob would have denied under oath the mere possibility of petting his wife's vulva absentmindedly. This time, however, his attention was on her breast. While he licked, lipped, and sucked an elaborate pattern, his hand did what it had a thousand times before. Jeanette, too, was concentrating on the dear head that she still held. The welcome tension was a background heightening the pleasure from Bob's teasing attack on her nipple.

Her climax took both of them by surprise. She let go of Bob's hair to grasp his wrist. She pulled his hand into the epicenter of her shuddering pleasure. Bob did his best to stroke her bud in time with her hips' motions. He sucked in time with her moans.

God! but he loved her. His love was continual; his desire flared a dozen times a day ignited by random glimpses, sounds of her in another room, memories while away. The sensual ultimate, though, was to feel her ecstatically writhing under him in response to his loving ministrations.

Jeanette held on to him as she soared and blazed in joy. This was her love, the man who brought her to this glorious point, the anchor who could be trusted to bring her back. Then she was back; and the glory was fading to a memory, a memory to be treasured.

The hand which had clutched his hand to her now pushed it away. He abandoned her breast immediately. Dropping down beside her, he held her one shoulder and kissed the other while she panted in his arms. "Words cannot express how much I love you," he said. He tried anyway. "Darling, sweet; lovely, lovely, Jeanette. Oh, God, you are so wonderful."

Held in his arms, lulled by his voice, she rebuilt herself slowly. He was reciting impossibilities, but she was too busy to refute them. Her breath and his spate of words slowed at the same time. "Beloved," he said, and hugged her across the shoulders so as not to interfere with her breathing.

"Beloved," she responded. She turned her face toward his and they had a quiet kiss. He sprinkled her face with kisses when she needed to breathe again. Finally, he rested on one elbow. He was far enough above her that they could both focus their eyes. Love flowed between those eyes until she had to look away.

"Are you ready to turn on your side?" She turned away in response. A minute later, he was resting his head on the inside of her right thigh, while her left leg was bent and turned to give him room. She turned a little more so she could look between her breasts to see his eyes. She reached back with her left hand, and he moved his right calf forward until she could hold it comfortably. He gave a ritual kiss to the bottom of her mons before spreading her lips and inserting his tongue.