After the End of the World

"I'm pregnant again."

Usually I can read my husband like a book, but not this time. His deep, powerful stroking never falters, though, which I interpret as a good sign.

"Uh, how did that happen?"

Despite what we're in the middle of doing, that's a very reasonable question.

After having three more children in the first five years of our marriage, we'd agreed that we would stop procreating when he turned forty. That was five months ago. On his birthday, I had already been nursing Steven for ten months and was planning to go the full year before his weaning, but Caiden was punctual and went down to Stanley to get snipped anyway.

Then, a week after cutting off our last child from the nipple right on schedule, we had celebrated my never having to abstain from alcohol again by getting about as drunk as we'd ever been. Sex had ensued, and when the moment approached, I'd told him that since my period hadn't started up again and it had been months since his vasectomy, it would be safe for him to let loose inside me. I was dead wrong, and it wasn't. He's got a right to be upset.

Instead, he whoops in joy, kissing me hard. Then his arm snakes under me, holding me close to his chest as he jumps to his feet. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist as he hugs me tight and spins us around the room, his cock still buried to the hilt inside me.

"So you're not upset with me?" I ask, probably unnecessarily.

"Oh God no, Lana," he exclaims. "I wanted number ten so badly. When we made love that night, I was hoping against all odds that this would happen!"

He kisses me hard, and I return his kiss with enthusiasm. God, how I love this man!

"So did I," I murmur into his mouth. "Ten is a nice round number."

I cling tightly to him as he slowly moves in and out of me. Our urgency is gone and we're glorying in simply being with each other.

I feel a warm droplet run down my cheek and watch it fall onto his broad shoulder.

These are happy tears.

The End