Red, White & Hers

by Ember Flint

  As the first blast cracks the quiet of the night, I feel Truman tense a bit and take a huge breath.

  “You okay, love?” I ask, concerned.

  I see something pass over his eyes and he nods, pulling me to him. “Now I am… now that I’m yours I am.”

  I feel tears in my eyes. “I am yours too, Truman. Always.”

  For a while we watch the display lighting up the dark, starry sky in silence and I’m almost lulled in the peace and comfort I feel in the circle of his arms, despite the loud bangs.

  The first blast we see is a peony flower, drawing a round tight red and blue ball in the sky and then falling to pieces in dives of sparkling comets, then firecrackers and rockets thunder above us and red, white and blue fountains, wheels and spider fireworks burst in the sky in a rapid succession.

  Crosettes whirl and squeal in all directions leaving blue, silver and red crazy sparks flying behind and horsetail shells crackle loudly, falling in a magical rain of white twinkles and sparks.

  Silvery stars and brocades burst over our head as Truman holds me tight and I feel his heart beating steadily on my back, then golden spirals and waterfall walls of sparkles rain down, leaving glittery dust and smoke behind.

  We kiss, looking up, eyes wide-open, hands clutched and the showers of colorful sparks go on and on and on just like our kiss.

  Truman pulls away slightly and gives me a pointed look. “Nice display, uh? Do you like it?”

  I give him a saucy grin, easily jumping aboard his train of thoughts. “I do, but I think I liked our own fireworks much better: there were definitely much more sparks and loud bangs happening in that closet.”

  He chuckles. “Can’t disagree with that. Not one bit,” he murmurs on my lips and then he’s once more kissing me hard and fast.

  Epilogue

  TRUMAN

  Four months later…

  I step out of the elevator and straight into the penthouse I’ve been sharing with my fiancée for a couple of months now and I can feel a wave of apprehension hit me.

  Our life together has been perfect since we finally admitted our feelings and shared those first amazing fireworks and my PTSD if not entirely gone is under control and when I feel upset about the past, I just have to remember that it’s exactly that: ‘the past’, and then I think about the love of my life, the way she smiles at me, the way she kisses me, the sweet scent of her skin and everything gets quickly back on track.

  During the last week or so, however, Ivy has had me worried quite a bit as she’s not feeling too well and she’s definitely downplaying her symptoms to spare me, which by contrast only makes me more anxious for her.

  I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s just stress or the flu, but she’s sleepy and fatigued and has no appetite whatsoever.

  I’m marching her to our family personal doctor’s office first thing tomorrow morning, no matter what’s her excuse for not going this time.

  I know she’s been pretty busy lately, what with decorating our place and helping Ash fix up her own near college —she got an early acceptance and we’re all so damn proud of her, there’s not a single person in the world that hasn’t heard about it down to the last detail, possibly more than once.

  Ivy’s also running herself ragged, trying to graduate early, following God only knows how many different projects at work and planning our wedding.

  We both wanted something small and intimate, being no fans of large crowds in general —though with each other’s support, we are much improved at handling that kind of situations— but still, even with the reception being a simple affair with only family and closest friends, the date is just a month from today, so there’s plenty to arrange and too little time to get everything done and does my woman ask for help?

  Not a chance.

  She wants to do everything herself.

  I sigh, loosening the knot of my tie and start to look around for her.

  Today she was off —I had to insist, but I managed to persuade her to take a couple of days, she’s almost as bad as Jefferson was before meeting Belle— and I needed to work late because I had about a ton of conference calls to deal with from each of our security directors across all of our offices, so we haven’t spoken much and I’m missing her like crazy.

  “Babe?” I call, but there’s no answer.

  I talked to her over the phone a few minutes ago: she sounded a little weird admittedly, but she said she was fine and that she was waiting for me to come home.

  My heart picks up speed as a sliver of worry runs through me.

  I need to get a grip: maybe she only fell asleep.

  She’s also had an upset stomach for a few days and it’s being making her sleep poorly at night.

  I enter our bedroom quietly, hoping to find her in the middle of our large king-sized bed, but she’s not there.

  I frown, my body tensing up, but then I hear the shower going and I breathe in relief, shaking my head with a sigh.

  I take off my jacket and drop it carelessly on the large wingback chair sitting in front of our balcony. We love sitting together there at night; we have spent entire evenings cuddled together on it, doing nothing but kissing and looking at the city’s skyline.

  I stride into the bathroom and I’m immediately greeted by a cloud of steam as I start to pull my tie off, but I stop moving when I catch sight of her.

  She’s so beautiful, it strikes me into freezing in place for a moment and I feel myself getting hard.

  I stare at her muted, curvy shape through the fogged glass, my memory easily supplying what I can’t make out with my eyes and I see her in my head: naked and glorious, her skin all pink and glowing ‘cause my baby likes her showers scalding hot, her red waves, darkened by the water, lying plastered to her milky back, sweet-smelling suds of freshly-scented soap glistening on her large pink nipples and down her thick thighs and her heart-shaped firm, kissable ass.

  My desire for her ratchets up another notch and I rip off my tie throwing it on the floor while I unbutton my shirt, then I glance to the side and something catches my eye and my fingers come to an abrupt stop.

  There’s something that looks like a pen, but it’s definitely not, resting on the edge of the sink.

  I take a few steps, feeling my heart race madly and I pick the long, flat piece of pink plastic up to take a look and confirm that my eyes are really seeing what I’m thinking.

  My eyebrows arch up into my forehead.

  This can’t be…

  Can it?

  Ivy can’t be on the pill because that kind of shit makes her sick, but we’ve been careful.

  I hate the idea of using condoms with her with an utter passion, but since our reckless and unforgettable first time together in that closet, I’ve forced myself to never forget the rubber once.

  We both want a ton of babies, but we decided we would wait for Ivy to complete her degree first.

  “Hey, love, I’m home. Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

  “Much better, sweetie!” she answers from the shower, her voice barely rising over the rumbling noise of the falling water.

  I clear my throat. “Why is there a pregnancy test on the sink?” I ask, my voice a little too thin for my taste.

  Ivy turns around, tilting her head back under the spray and giggles. “I know it’s not possible, but aunt Peggy told me it was worth giving it a try, just to rule it out, she said the doctor would have made me take one anyway… so I went out and bought one and peed on the thing before I got in the shower like five minutes ago. It should be already displaying the result by now.”

  My hands shake. “Oh…”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Tru. I don’t think I’m pregnant…” she tells me and there’s a note of disappointment in her voice.

  I’m totally with her: I know we weren’t even trying, but just the possibility of there actually being a baby inside of her right now fills me with so much joy, I can’t help but want for i
t to be true.

  “What should I look for?”

  She slides her hands over her face. “It should be pink, if it’s positive, love.”

  I look down at the test clutched in my fingers carefully.

  “Sweetheart, this whole thing is pink…”

  Ivy giggles. “Not the outer plastic case, Truman. You have to look at the tiny white square window in the middle: it turns pink if positive.”

  I feel my lips stretch into a big smirk. “There’s no white square at all, love. Just a pink window!”

  I turn the test around to look at the other flat side, just to make sure I’m not getting both our hopes up only because I don’t know how to read this stupid thing.

  No white squares anywhere in sight.

  I walk over to the shower stall and slide the door open, startling Ivy a little and I beam at her, unable to speak around the lump of happiness lodged in my throat. I’m pretty sure I have a ridiculous dopey grin on my face, but I don’t care.

  “Is it positive?” she asks, wiping water from her eyes and shivering slightly as cold air hits her warm wet skin.

  I only smile bigger and then just step into the shower with her, picking her up and clutching her to my chest.

  “There’s only one square window on this thing, babe, and it’s pink,” I tell her, my voice breaking and my vision blurring.

  Ivy throws her arms around my neck and her legs encircle my hips as she wraps completely around me, squealing and giggling while I laugh in pure joy.

  “We’re having a baby, Ivy!” I shout ecstatically and she gives me a smile that could put the sun to shame.

  “We are! I’m so, so happy, love… so happy!”

  By now she is not only laughing, but also crying.

  I kiss her smiling lips, deliciously bruising my own until Ivy suddenly pulls away.

  “Your clothes!” she blurts, still laughing and that’s when I remember that I’m fully dressed.

  I’m standing under the hot stream of our rainfall shower head as it jets down on us steadily, irreparably ruining my priceless tailored suit and Italian leather shoes and I don’t give a flying fuck.

  This is utter bliss and all I can do is seek her lips once more as we kiss again in the only way we know how: hard and fast and with a definite loud bang to it.

  Epilogue 2

  IVY

  Four years later…

  I feel my husband’s arms come around me from behind and I smile when he kisses the side of my neck.

  “Are you okay, baby?” he asks.

  I sigh. “Yeah…”

  He tilts his head until he meets my eyes, giving me a disbelieving look.

  I shrug. “I’m okay, just a little overheated, I guess. It’s too damn hot to have an indoor party with these many people.”

  Truman nods against my shoulder, his hand coming down to rest protectively over my baby bump.

  We are four months pregnant and having another little boy we’re going to call Lincoln.

  “Let’s go upstairs, babe,” he murmurs on my shoulder.

  Our baby boy gives a little kick against his large splayed palm and I can feel a smile pull at his lips.

  “No, I want to stay up a little longer… watch the fireworks with you. Maybe we can go outside?” I ask, turning back to look at him.

  “If that’s what you want, then yes. We could spread a blanket on the lawn… don’t think aunt Peggy would mind if we sneak out.”

  “That sound perfect, sweetie,” I say, looking up at him and he clasps my hand in his, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss; his sexy beard tickles my knuckles and I giggle.

  “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose and then he leaves me standing at the window.

  I look around at our family scattered amongst the guests and I smile.

  My parents and I were always a small entity when I was growing up and when I thought about the future, I never imagined this could happen, that I could be a part of such a large, boisterous, loving family, but it did happen and I couldn’t be happier.

  My parents actually moved here to Philly to be close to us after my father retired. They are here somewhere right now; probably dancing. I grin.

  I spot Ash with the love of her life and then my eyes move to Truman’s brother, standing in a quiet corner with Gina and one by one I make out his cousins and their families and my smile gets bigger.

  In a few days we’ll be all leaving for a month-long holiday in the Fiji and it’s going to be definitely interesting with all the kids coming along, but I wouldn’t trade our annual fantastically messy getaways for the world.

  I fish my cell out of my purse and quickly send a text to our nanny. We’re staying the night so she’s upstairs enjoying a book and keeping an eye on my son Reagan.

  When I left him with her, his father had just put him to bed along with some of his younger cousins after reading them a story and for as much playing in the pool as he did together with his daddy and his uncles and all the kids, I’m pretty sure that energetic or not, he’s probably still out cold.

  My phone beeps with a reply from Cynthia, our nanny, almost immediately.

  There’s an attachment to the text.

  It’s a picture of our little boy, all tangled up in his Ant-Man red and blue sheets, limbs stretched completely out in four different directions, pillow under one of his tiny feet. I giggle.

  “What?”

  I look up and see my hubby is back, a little basket in one hand and a blanket draped on the crook of his arm.

  I show him the picture and he chuckles.

  “He sleeps just like you: taking over all of the bed and hogging the sheets,” I tut, smiling.

  Truman crouches forward to kiss my temple.

  “Never heard you complaining about it and you easily could, since you’re most likely to be either under me or wrapped all over me while I’m doing the hogging,” he teases; his low, gravelly voice sending a decided pulse to my clit.

  I grasp his free arm and pull him toward the hall. “Let’s go…”

  In a matter of minutes, we are hidden in a dark corner on the sprawling lawn, lying on the blanket, our fingers entwined, eyes focused on the black velvet of the sky, it’s perfectly smooth and there’s a light breeze around us.

  There’s no moon hanging over us and not even a single star is breaking the darkness and it makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the universe for a moment and then the loud crackling sounds and bangs start and fireworks light up the night, painting it with multicolor glittery dust.

  “Happy Fourth of July, baby,” Truman whispers softly in my hair, pulling my head down on his chest.

  I look up at him and see the firebolt of a golden brocade reflected in his dark eyes, the spidery tendrils of the pattern shining down on us.

  “Happy Fourth of July, love.”

  He pushes up a little on one elbow and gives me a sideway look and the little smirk on his sinful mouth is more than enough for me to understand what he’s thinking about even before he speaks up.

  “Wanna have some fireworks of our own?” he asks.

  I giggle, rolling on top of him. “Absolutely!”

  I lean down on him and kiss him deeply.

  He growls into my mouth, the sound making me grow wet for him as his hands grasp my hips and his steely cock drives up into the cradle of my thighs, pressing up into my panties and then I feel him reach between us and push them to the side.

  “Oh, God, Truman, yes! Get inside of me!” I moan, my body tensing up in desire as my hands fumble with his belt’s buckle and the zip of his pants to get to what I want: his massive, hard cock. I immediately guide the blunt head, shiny with pre-cum, between my already soaked lips to briefly tease my clit and then kiss my slit and I moan at the feel of him against me, so hard and yet so silky-soft: like hot, wet velvet spread over unyielding metal.

  He grabs my wrist and help
s me push his large erection inside of me in one deep, powerful thrust and I fall down on him, our mouths devouring each other, my breathless moans and whimpers and his grunts and groans filling my ears and almost overshadowing the blasting noises of the fireworks going off in the sky.

  Truman breaks the kiss and, keeping me pressed against him with both hands on my ass, drives up into me hard; his lips trail down my neck and to my chest and then stop at one of my nipples and latch onto it through the thin material of my pale blue linen dress.

  I grip the back of his head to hold his mouth closer to my breast, feeling my body start to soar already.

  The amazing sensation of his mouth sucking on the hard little peak actually enhanced by the wet fabric grazing my puckered skin. It makes me grow even wetter and tighter around his length, my climax already approaching as I clench him inside of me, ripping a tortured growl from his chest as he arches up into me with every thrust.

  He keeps a steady rhythm, kneading both of my cheeks in his large, warm hands and before I know it, pleasure is trembling all over my body like a stroke of lightning and my walls are gripping his thickness fiercely, pulsing against him as I scream his name and he hits my core with the sizzling bullets of his seed, emptying inside of me with a snarl that shakes my very soul.

  “Love you, so much… Ivy… so much,” he rasps in between pants.

  I fall down on him, cuddling onto his chest. “Me too. I will always love you, Truman. Always.”

  THE END

  FALLING ON THE FOURTH SERIES

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