by Lauren Rowe
“You just said ‘our baby.’”
I look at her blankly.
“‘Our baby’s back,’” she says. “That’s what you said.”
“Yeah. Because I don’t want my dick to become a baby-back-scratcher. Duh.”
“Our baby,” she says reverently. “You called the kumquat our baby.” She grins.
“I did, didn’t I?” I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m feeling right now—and, honestly, I’m feeling happy and nothing else. “Our baby,” I repeat.
Kat visibly swoons.
“Our wee little baaaaaybaaaaaaaaaaaay,” I say.
Kat giggles.
“You know what?” I say. “I just realized I’m not freaked out anymore.”
“Me, either.”
“Well, actually, I’m still a little freaked out, don’t get me wrong, but not nearly like I was when you first told me.”
Kat smiles. “Onward and upward.”
“Indubitably.”
“Hey, bee tee dubs, it’s anatomically impossible for anyone’s dick to become a baby-back-scratcher, even a dick as huge as yours.”
“Really?” I ask.
Kat nods. “I researched it. The cervix is in the way. Impossible, no matter how big the donkey-dick.”
“You’re sure?”
“Look it up for yourself, Anaconda-boy. Literally impossible.”
“When did you look that up?”
“A couple days ago.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “You’re huge—I was worried about the wee little baaaybaaay.”
“Aw. Check out the momma-Kumquat looking out for the baby-kumquat. That was a very motherly thing for you to do. Well, I assume it was motherly. I haven’t seen an actual mother in the wild any more than I’ve seen an actual wife. But I think you’re having what the anthropologists call ‘maternal instincts.’”
The look on Kat’s face is utterly adorable. It’s the same look I’d expect from her if I’d just asked her to go steady.
“So, hey, hot momma,” I say, pulling her close. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” Kat says.
“Room service or dine out?”
“Room service.”
“Burgers and fries or five-star?”
“Burgers and fries,” Kat says. “And milkshakes. Oh, and will you see if they have split pea soup? I have a weird craving for split pea soup—oh, and cantaloupe—or any kind of melon, really, except honeydew—oh, and maybe some blueberry yogurt?”
“Wow, I guess that whole pregnancy-cravings thing is real, huh?”
Kat pats her belly. “The kumquat wants what the kumquat wants. I guess the little guy (or gal) burned lots of calories dodging that big ol’ anaconda who’s been trying to scratch his back all night long.”
“Well, then, by all means, let’s feed the kumquat—not to mention get it a therapist. Lemme up, babe. I’ll make the call.” I pat her thigh and she hops off my lap. I stride across the room and pick up the hotel phone. “Room service, please.”
“Yes, sir. One moment, please.”
While I’m waiting for the call to connect, Kat grabs her purse and pulls out a package of crackers.
“You feeling sick?” I ask, still holding the phone to my ear.
Kat nods. “It mostly hits me these days when I’m hungry. Or tired. And late at night, too—and early morning. Oh, and in the car.” She rolls her eyes. “It still hits me a lot, I guess.”
I make a sad face.
“Thank you for waiting,” a male voice says into my ear. “What would you like to order, Mr. Faraday?”
I place our ridiculously bizarre order. “How long will it take?” I ask. “I’ve got a pregnant woman here who needs to eat right away.”
“About forty-five minutes.”
“They say about forty-five minutes, hot momma,” I say to Kat. “Are you gonna be okay for that long?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Kat says, holding up her Saltines. “I’ll just go lie down until the food arrives.”
“Yeah, go rest, Party Girl. I’ll let you know when the food is here.”
She disappears into the bedroom.
“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got your order right, Mr. Faraday...” the voice on the phone says.
But I’m not listening. I can’t concentrate. Kat only left me to go into the next room and my heart’s suddenly yearning for her like she’s a thousand miles away.
“Is that correct?” the guy asks.
“Yes. Thanks,” I reply.
After I hang up the phone, I stand for a moment, looking around like a lost puppy, not sure what to do with myself. I’m physically aching for her and she’s only in the next fucking room. What’s happening to me? Who am I? I lived across the country from Emma for three fucking years and that was just fine by me. And now I can’t stand to be more than fifty feet away from Kat?
There’s a mirror hanging on the wall a few feet away, and I stare at my reflection for a moment, marveling that I still look like me on the outside, despite the fact that I’ve apparently turned into my pussy-whipped brother on the inside. That’s my Anthony Franco suit on my body. That’s my dark hair. And those are my blue eyes. Ah, but my eyes. They look slightly deranged, don’t they? They give me away. I’m definitely a man possessed—a man who’s head-over-heels in love with the perfect woman. Or, perhaps, more accurately, a sick fuck who’s head-over-heels in love with the perfect sick fuck. I smirk. Damn, I’m a lucky bastard.
I stride toward the bedroom, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. It’s time. I’m gonna tell Kat I love her right now. It’s not perfect timing, I know—she’s not feeling well, plus our food’s on the way—and it’d probably be best for me to wait for a time when I can tell her while making love to her, slowly and gently. But fuck it. I can’t wait another minute to tell that woman how I feel about her.
I burst through the door of the bedroom, my heart bursting... and... Oh.
My heart wilts.
Kat’s fast asleep in the bed, a half-eaten package of Saltines lying in her opened palm.
I smile wistfully to myself.
Now there’s a woman I wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers.
I shake my head—oh, life—and head back into the main room.
“Yes, Mr. Faraday?” the front-desk guy asks when he picks up my call.
“I just ordered a bunch of food from room service and I need to change my order,” I say into the phone.
“Of course. One moment, please.” There’s a long pause while the call connects. “Yes, Mr. Faraday? How can I help you?”
“On that room service I just ordered, cancel everything except the melon and yogurt, plus add a couple cold turkey sandwiches and maybe five or six other cold-food items to choose from—stuff that’ll keep for hours. My girlfriend’s the one who wanted all that stuff I ordered earlier and now she’s fallen asleep. The new plan is for there to be a bunch of food ready for her whenever she wakes up.”
“Yes, sir. Not a problem.”
“And do me a favor, don’t knock when you bring the food. Enter the main room of the suite and load everything into the refrigerator behind the bar. We’ll be in the bedroom with the door closed. And please be extra quiet. My girlfriend’s pregnant and needs her rest—she hasn’t been feeling all that well.” Why is my heart racing like this? My entire body is buzzing and I don’t understand why.
“Yes, sir. We’ll be very quiet. Any requests on the food items for the new order?”
“Nope. Surprise me. Just give her lots of options. She eats like a truck driver these days. Go crazy.”
The guy laughs. “Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up the phone and lay my palm on my chest. My heart’s racing a mile a minute and I don’t understand why. All I did was order food for Kat—so why is my skin suddenly feeling electrified? I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Wow, I feel like I just ran a hundred-yard dash. Why is my heart thumping like this?
&
nbsp; I grab a cold water bottle from the refrigerator behind the bar, creep into the bedroom, and close the door behind me. Gently, I lift the package of Saltines out of Kat’s open palm and place the crackers on the nightstand along with the bottle of water—and then I stand over Kat’s sleeping body, transfixed by her beautiful face.
I’ve never felt the way I do, standing here right now. Not once in my whole goddamned life. Something new is coursing through my veins—something that wasn’t there when I first knocked on the door to the suite tonight. What Kat did for me tonight—and how she so obviously got turned on doing it—was the final piece of a puzzle I didn’t even know I was trying to solve. Kat didn’t just participate in tonight’s depraved little fuck-fest, and she didn’t need to be coaxed into doing it with me, either—she arranged it and then begged me to keep going when I tried to throw on the brakes midway through—proving once and for all she’s an even bigger sick fuck than I am.
Which makes me love this woman more than I ever thought possible.
And, now, out of nowhere, I suddenly feel a primal desire to take care of Kat’s every need, to make sure her every desire, big or small, is fulfilled—and not just sexually. In every conceivable way, top to bottom.
I gaze in wonder at Kat’s sleeping face, my heart straining for her. God, even without animation, Kat’s features are spectacular. Her lips slay me. Her high cheekbones. Her bold eyebrows. That little cleft in her chin. If the kumquat-inside-the-Kumquat pops out looking anything at all like its freakishly beautiful mother, the kid’s gonna fucking rule the world.
I pull off all my clothes, flip off the lamp next to Kat, and quietly slide underneath the sheet behind her.
Her breathing is rhythmic and slow. Her hair is soft against my nose.
I scoot right up against Kat’s naked backside and wrap my arm around her—and then I lay my palm flush against her flat belly and cradle our little baby-to-be, the kumquat I didn’t even know I wanted until this very moment.
I lie still for a long time, breathing in her scent, pressing my hand against her flat stomach as it moves with her breathing—thinking about the words I’m gonna say to her when she wakes up. After a while, I hear the main door to the suite open, followed by a soft clatter—and then the sound of the main door opening and closing again. Silence. Nothing but the sound of Kat breathing and the beating of my heart against her back.
“I love you, Kat,” I whisper softly. I shift my palm on Kat’s belly, spreading my fingers out, trying to cradle every inch of it. “And I love you, too,” I say softly.
And that’s the last thing I do before surrendering to serene and blissful sleep.
One Hundred Three
Kat
I wake up with a start. Josh’s arm is around me.
I’m in a warm bed.
I glance around the moonlit room, momentarily confused about my whereabouts.
Oh, yeah—now I remember. The hotel room where Josh and I let our sick fucks run amok with Bridgette.
Delicious.
But I’ve no sooner had that highly pleasant thought than bile rises in my throat and my mouth waters. Shit.
In a flash, I disentangle myself from Josh’s muscular arm and bolt out of bed, straight into the bathroom—where I proceed to hurl every Saltines cracker and drop of fluid out of my body with loud, ghastly heaves. Oh, God. I’m so gross. Gah.
I flush the toilet and whimper. I feel like I’m made of cardboard, not flesh and blood. I need to eat something right now or else I’m gonna die.
I wash out my mouth, rinse my face, and hobble back into the bedroom, expecting to find Josh sitting up in bed and staring at me, aghast at the horrendous noises I just made in the bathroom. But, somehow, Josh is still fast asleep, completely oblivious to the T-Rex I just wrestled in the toilet.
I stand over Josh’s beautiful sleeping body for a moment, looking at his peaceful face in the moonlight. Normally, when I think of Josh, the first word that pops into my mind is sexy. Typically followed by funny. And generous soon thereafter. But right now, standing over his striking features in the moonlight, the only word coming to my mind is beautiful.
I sigh.
I love him.
With all my heart and soul.
More than I ever thought possible.
And I’m aching to exchange the words with him—to finally give full voice to my overwhelming feelings for him.
My stomach clenches hungrily, drawing me out of my Josh-induced stupor, so I pad carefully out of the darkened room to the main room of the suite, desperate to find something to eat.
I flip on a lamp and instantly spot a room-service tray on a table, so I head over there like a starving hyena looking for a carcass.
Along with utensils and tiny salt-and-pepper shakers, there’s a handwritten note on the tray: “Mr. Faraday, per your request, an assortment of cold-food selections are in the refrigerator. Please let us know if you require anything further.”
I make a “yay” face to myself and happily beeline over to the refrigerator.
Sweet Baby Jesus, I’ve hit the mother lode. If I didn’t already love Josh, I would have just fallen in love with him. How’d he know to have food waiting for me when I woke up? Is he some sort of pregnant-woman whisperer?
For a solid fifteen minutes, I’m a ravenous animal, stuffing food into my mouth with both fists and making “nom nom nom” sounds in the quiet room like Homer Simpson at a doughnut shop—and when I’m done eating and feeling fan-fucking-tastic again, a steely determination suddenly washes over me: It’s time to get my man.
I head back into the dark bedroom and fumble around in the moonlight until I find my laptop. I scroll into my music and stop when I see Audra Mae, my new obsession. “Addicted to You” with Aviici leaps out at me from my song list. Oh, how I want to make love to Josh to this redonkulously awesome song—but I’ll just have to wait. Josh and I have already confessed we’re addicted to each other—now it’s time for us to take our words to the next level. But to get Josh over the line, I’m thinking I’m gonna need a song that’ll beat Josh over the head with an “I love you” sledge hammer—a song that leaves absolutely no room for misunderstanding.
As I scroll through my music, I realize I’ve got lots of options—the lyrics “I love you” aren’t exactly a rare commodity when it comes to pop music—but I stop scrolling when I see “1234” by the Plain White T’s. I absolutely love this sweet little song—and the lyrics are so literal, Josh would have to be a pill bug not to catch their meaning.
I set the song to play on a loop, tiptoe slowly to the bed, and, as the song begins, slip naked under the covers onto my left side, facing Josh.
When I slide my arm over Josh’s sleeping body, his skin is warm and smooth. Delectable. I nuzzle Josh’s nose with mine and kiss his soft lips and run my fingertips over the ridges in his abs. Gently, ever so gently, I stroke his dick from his balls to his tip, and then stroke his shaft with the barest of touches, and the sensation of him hardening in my hand, even before he’s fully awakened, ignites me.
I throw my leg over Josh’s hip and slip his full length inside me and ride him slowly, reaching between my legs to feel him slipping in and out of me as I do, and in no time at all, Josh’s lips find my neck, his warm hands find my breasts and belly and hips and clit, his tongue slips inside my moaning mouth, and his movement inside me deepens and intensifies. And all the while, the Plain White T’s sing those three little words repeatedly, telling Josh exactly how I feel—and more importantly, instructing him there’s only one thing to do: say “I love you.”
“Kat,” Josh breathes. “I missed you.”
Not the words I’m hoping for, but this feels so damned good, I don’t even care. I gyrate my hips passionately, coaxing Josh to his release, but, much to my surprise, Josh pulls out of me, pushes me onto my back, and begins pleasuring me in every conceivable way. He kisses my breasts and neck and face and runs his hands over my thighs and sucks on my fingers and toes and kisses my in
ner thighs, and, finally, laps at me with his warm, wet tongue, licking my clit with particular fervor. A warm and delicious orgasm rolls through me, almost lazily, like it’s taking its time on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Finally, Josh slips inside me again and gyrates on top of me until he comes, too, just as the Plain White T’s are telling him, as explicitly as song lyrics can possibly do, it’s time for him to freaking tell me he loves me already.
When we’re done, we lie nose to nose for a long moment, stroking each other’s warm skin in the dark.
“Did you choose this song or was it the next song on your playlist?” he asks.
“I chose it. Because of its lyrics. Specifically. For you.”
There’s a beat.
Josh takes a deep breath. “I love you, Kat.”
Every hair on my body stands on end. Thank you, Baby Jesus in the Manger.
“I love you more than the air I breathe,” Josh continues. “More than life itself. I love you so, so much, Kat.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Thank you, God. I throw my arms around Josh’s neck and kiss the hell out of him. “I love you, too,” I blurt. “I love you, Josh. Oh my God. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Josh clutches me fiercely. “I love you with all my heart and soul, Kat.”
“I love you to the moon and back again,” I say.
Josh is trembling, covering my face and neck with kisses. “I love you more than I knew was even possible,” he says.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I reply.
“No one’s ever said those words to me before,” he whispers. “Thank you. Oh my God, thank you.”
“What?” I say, but my words are muffled by his furious lips.
“I love you,” he says, over and over, kissing me without reprieve.
I laugh and cry at the same time, I’m so completely flooded with joy. “I can’t live without you,” I murmur into his lips. “I can’t breathe without you. I can’t—”
Josh pulls away from kissing me. “Move in with me, Kat,” he blurts.
My heart leaps. I don’t even need to think about it. “Yes.”