MAYBE BABY

by ANDREA SMITH

“Eww, you so want to fuck him again, don’t you?”

  “It’s been a few hours,” I remarked thinking about this morning.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m no weatherman, but I predict you’ll be getting several inches tonight.”

  We were both still laughing as Gina pulled up the circular driveway in front of the manor.

  “There’s your perfect storm now,” she commented, nodding toward the porch.

  She flipped the latch popping the trunk open. I gave her a hug, telling her to call me next week. She and Ian were leaving in the morning to drive back.

  Trey helped me with my shopping bags. I made sure the one from the sex boutique was hidden at the bottom of the larger shopping bag. Trey closed the trunk, waving to Gina as she pulled out. I was going to miss her again.

  “So, looks like you did well at the mall,” Trey commented.

  “I did at that,” I said, smiling, “You are to stay out of these bags though. No snooping.”

  “Please don’t spend your money on me, Tylar,” Trey said, frowning slightly.

  Oh God, I hope he wasn’t going to be a Grinch about Christmas.

  “Why?” I asked.

  (Come clean, Sinclair. What’s your problem?)

  “You have limited resources. Anything that I need, I can afford.”

  “That’s really not the point of Christmas, Trey,” I pointed out in my pissy voice.

  We were in the foyer by this time. Trey helped me out of my coat, handing it to a waiting Thatcher. I grabbed my two shopping bags from Trey and headed upstairs to his suite. He could suck the air out of my happy balloon in a nanosecond.

  I tossed the shopping bags and my purse on his bed, heading into the bathroom to pee. I slammed the bathroom door behind me. I knew he had followed me into the bedroom, he damned well better respect my privacy while on the toilet.

  Trey was sprawled out on his bed when I came out of the bathroom, hands clasped underneath his head. His legs were crossed, shoes were off and he was wiggling his toes inside his socks. It was a relaxation thing for him I thought; I’d seen him do it before. Right now it was simply god-damn sexy to me. My lustful thoughts were interrupted by my Blackberry’s chiming. I fished in my purse, grabbing it.

  “It’s the doctor’s office,” I said, pressing to answer. Trey sat up immediately, resting on his elbows.

  It was Dr. Hamilton on the phone. She asked a few questions pertaining to how I was currently feeling; what had I been doing just before the fainting spell; if I was eating and sleeping normally.

  I provided the information to her. She seemed to think it might have been something as simple as a sudden drop in my glucose level. At this stage of my pregnancy she said my hormone levels were fluctuating constantly along with increased testosterone production. She had reviewed my blood and urine test results; nothing looked out of range.

  Trey was poking me, lip syncing for me to ask her about sex. He was getting on my last nerve at this point. I was tempted to hand the phone to him so that he could ask the question. He was starting to make me feel like a sex freak.

  She’s a very kinky girl; the kind you don’t take home to mother. My hormones were humming the Rick James tune.

  “Dr. Hamilton,” I said, “Can I ask you if it is normal to have an increased sexual appetite during pregnancy?”

  I couldn’t stand the word ‘horny’ it reminded me of breeding livestock.

  “During the first few weeks and sometimes up until the third trimester the production of testosterone enhances the sexual mood,” she stated, unfazed at my question. “It is perfectly normal and there are no risk factors with you that would prevent you from enjoying sex.”

  “What about orgasms?” I asked, flushing with embarrassment.

  I could tell Trey was all ears as I held the phone out from my face.

  “Tylar you are very physically fit and healthy. I suspect you are worrying perhaps because your orgasms have intensified during pregnancy?”

  (No, I’m asking because my Hot Nazi boyfriend is looking a gift horse in the mouth!)

  “Yes,” I answered, “They are more intense and multiple.”

  “That’s perfectly normal,” she said, “Your entire genital and pelvic regions, including your uterus, are more engorged with blood. That causes your vaginal area to become more sensitive. My advice is to enjoy it while you can. It's typical during the third trimester to have difficulty

  in achieving uterine orgasm due to the size of the baby.

  We can talk next week when you’re in if you’d like.”

  “Thanks Dr. Hamilton,” I said, relieved to find out I wasn’t some sort of sex-starved freak.

  “There are you happy?” I snipped, glaring at Trey.

  "Well you heard the doctor's orders," he replied, grinning and unzipping his fly.

  (Fuck that Mr. Sinclair, I’m still pissed).

  My hormones were having a hissy fit. I didn’t care. We were going to discuss his comment relative to my buying him Christmas presents. I left the bed with a confused Trey still on it. I grabbed the shopping bag that had my new shoes, stockings and dinner dresses in it. I got my new push-up bra as well. I ignored Trey until he could stand it no longer.

  “What the fuck is wrong now?” he asked in a slightly exasperated tone.

  “I want to know why you said what you said to me about spending money on you for Christmas. That really hurt my feelings.”

  “Tylar,” he said, walking over to where I was standing. “I love that you want to buy me things. You have made it very clear to me though, that I’m not permitted to reciprocate. You get pissed about anything that I buy you. You hurt me when you traded your Mercedes in without even discussing it with me. Did you ever consider that?”

  The truth was that I hadn’t considered discussing it with Trey. It was my gift I thought, to do with as I pleased. Was that wrong?

  “I understand the practicality of what you did; had you come to me, I would have worked something out with you without you having to take such a loss on the deal as I’m sure you did. I get it baby that you want to make responsible and practical decisions. I support that. You haven’t given me a chance though. I can afford to give you the things I give you. When you restrict me from doing so then I have to be concerned with your spending your money on me. That’s all I meant by that.”

  “Oh, Trey,” I sobbed, my eyes tearing up.

  (Why am I so emotional?)

  I launched myself into his arms.

  “I’m sorry. I guess that I didn’t look at it from your point of view.”

  His arms were around me holding me closely against his chest. He leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

  “So,” he said, “Where were you going just now?”

  “To get a shower and get dressed for dinner. We’re still going to Morelli’s right?”

  “Yes we are,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “We have some time though. I was thinking that maybe we could shower together?”

  “Sure,” I said, “Let’s go.”

  I started to move away from Trey but he held onto me. I turned to look at him quizzically.

  “I was thinking we may want some exercise before our shower, to work up a sweat? I always think a shower feels best when you’re hot and sweaty going into it, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “What kind of exercise did you have in mind Mr. Sinclair?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” he replied walking over to the intercom.

  (Huh? What kind of kinkery is he in to?)

  He pressed the intercom button. Within moments I heard Thatcher’s voice come across it.

  “Yes, sir?” he inquired.

  “Thatcher, Ms. Preston and I will be napping for awhile. We have dinner plans out later this evening so will you please inform Mother and Father upon their return from the auction?”

  “Indeed yes, sir,” he answered dutifully. “I will make sure that you are not disturbed.”

  “Than
k you,” Trey responded, turning his attention back to me.

  “Come baby,” he said seductively, “Let’s play.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Carmelita greeted Trey and I with a shriek and a hug when she saw us enter Morelli’s. She held her meaty arms out, enveloping Trey in an Italian version of a bear hug, winking at me slyly over his shoulder

  “Signor Trey,” Carmelita gushed, “Sono molto content di vedere nuovamente con questa bella ragazza. Non posso tollerare che brutta strega e venuto qui con l’ultino tempo. Mi auguro che sia finite!”

  [Mr. Trey, I am so happy to see you back with this beautiful girl.I cannot tolerate that nasty witch you came in here with last time.

  I hope that is finished!]

  Ah hah! Trey had brought that fucking Charlotte back in here. Carmelita wanted me to know. Carmelita glanced over at me as she released Trey from her sturdy embrace. I gave her a slight nod letting her know I appreciated the ‘heads up.’

  “La ringrazio, Carmelita,” Trey said, laughter in his eyes. “Avete la mia parola la strega non sara qui con me sempre! Saremo al nostro solito tavolo?”

  [Thank you, Carmelita. You have my word the witch will not be back here with me ever! We will be dining at our usual table please?]

  “Ma per favore venite in questo modo,” she responded smiling wide.

  [But of course, please come this way.]

  My blood was boiling but I had to contain my emotions for the time being. Timing was everything as they say; I wanted to give Trey just a little more rope. What was that saying - revenge is a dish best served cold?

  Carmelita seated us at ‘our’ table.

  Yeah, right!

  She handed each of us a menu, snapping her fingers for a server to fill our water glasses.

  “Un momento,” Carmelita said, hurrying over to chew out one of busboys who was making a horrible racket as he cleared a table.

  “What was all that about when we came in?” I asked innocently.

  “All what about?”

  (Don’t play with me, Sinclair.)

  “All that Italian gibberish going back and forth between you and Carmelita when we first got here. I don’t understand why she doesn’t use English when she talks to you.”

  “She was simply telling me that she was glad to see you and me; that she thinks you’re beautiful. I agreed with her that you are by far the most beautiful woman on earth and that you are mine,” he said sweetly, taking my hand in his and raising it to his lips.

  (Not a totally accurate interpretation, Sinclair. Nice touch with the charm.)

  I smiled sweetly at Trey, squeezing his fingers that were interlocked with mine. Carmelita was back at the table, smiling at both of us.

  “Quale vino sara bere questa, Signore Trey?”

  [What wine will you be drinking this evening Mr. Trey?]

  “A Tuscano merlot will be fine, Carmelita. Just a glass for me please, Tylar is abstaining,” Trey said, not answering her in Italian this time.

  He was evidently tired of me asking him to interpret their conversations. She nodded and was off to get his wine.

  I took a sip of my water, noticing how handsome Trey looked in his suit. It was a dark grey flannel; the front pleated trousers hung low on his narrow hips. He had worn a white dress shirt, and a scarlet silk tie.

  I was wearing one of my new dresses. It was another desk-to-dinner Liz Claiborne color block shift dress. The predominant color was dark royal blue, with the top area from bust to neckline black. It had three quarter length sleeves that were black as well. It was form fitting, but not tight, falling several inches above the knees. I had worn my new black ‘fuck me’ shoes against Trey’s advice.

  (Surprise, surprise!)

  They were black 4-1/2” spikes with chrome metal heels. They had ankle wraps; the toes were pointed with a metal toe plate in chrome to match the heels. When Trey saw me putting them on he did a double-take.

  “You aren’t seriously wearing those shoes outside are you?” he had asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Those shoes are not meant to go beyond the bedroom, Tylar.”

  He had examined the chrome metal heel on the shoe I hadn’t put on yet, turning it around in his hand, smirking.

  “What?” I had asked, piqued that he was making fun of my new shoes.

  “Baby, these shoes were made to dig into somebody’s back while he’s fucking you; these shoes were not made for walking.”

  “Give me that,” I had said, snatching my shoe from him.

  I couldn’t help smiling at his assessment. I had filed that away for future reference.

  Trey was silently studying me from across the table. I took another sip of water, trying to figure out what was on his mind this evening.

  He had been fairly quiet after our “nap” this afternoon. I blushed remembering it. It was quite warm in the restaurant this evening.

  Carmelita returned with a glass of merlot for Trey.

  Trey ordered for both of us, knowing that I was not picky when it came to Italian cuisine. He held up his glass of wine for a toast.

  “To the most beautiful woman I have ever met, being here with me tonight in our special restaurant.”

  (Oh hell no he did not just say that!)

  “Per la salute, Tylar,” he finished, clinking his wine glass against my raised water goblet. I waited until he was taking a long, leisurely swallow of his wine.

  “Trey, vorrei sapere se questa e la tabella con le prostitute Charlotte? A proposito, hai fuck lei?”

  [Trey, I would like to know if this is your table with your whore Charlotte as well? By the way, did you fuck her?]

  Trey choked during the last swallow of his wine which happened to coincide with my second question. He grabbed his cloth napkin, holding it up to his mouth to stifle the involuntary coughing that ensued. Carmelita heard the commotion, running over to make sure that Trey was alright, patting his back rapidly.

  “E il vino non a tuo piacimento, Signor Trey?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

  [Is the wine not to your liking, Mr. Trey?]

  Trey was still coughing, unable to respond to Carmelita’s question. I took the liberty of answering for him.

  “Il vino va bene, Carmelita. Era qualcosa che no andava bene.”

  [The wine is fine, Carmelita. It was something else that did not go down well.]

  I saw the flicker of amusement cross her face; Trey was still busy composing himself and did not notice the look that passed between Carmelita and me. She left the table seeing that Trey was regaining his composure. He took a couple of sips of water, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “So,” I said, “Are you going to answer my questions?”

  “Why did you pretend not to understand Italian,” he asked curtly.

  “That’s not an answer,” I retorted. “Have you fucked anyone else since we made our baby?”

  I wasn’t sure why that was so important to me, but it was.

  “For God’s sake, Tylar, please lower your voice a bit,” he pleaded, looking around at nearby tables where a few snickers could be heard.

  “I’m waiting,” I said, lowering my voice.

  My arms were crossed in front of me, and I was tapping one of my ‘fuck me’ heels impatiently against the leg of my chair.

  Trey leaned in close to me, looking directly into my eyes.

  “No, the answer to your question, to both of your questions, is ‘no.”

  I believed him but he still had some further explaining to do. The server brought our salads and warm bread on a cutting board. My hunger had dissipated. I needed some answers.

  “I know that you were seeing Charlotte again, Trey. I remember quite well that you made it a point one evening of blowing me off because she was at the manor, with you.”

  “Tylar, as God as my witness, I have never done more than kiss the witch. I promise you that. If you recall, I thought that you were seeing Mark; that you two were involved. It hurt me
. As sophomoric as it sounds, I admit

  that I contacted Charlotte again to make sure you saw that I was getting on with my life. I don’t deny that.”

  “I see,” I said calmly, wanting to dig a little deeper into the matter.

  I mentally put on my Nancy Drew hat.

  “So, Trey, you believed that I was seeing Mark.

  Did you think that perhaps I was fucking Mark as well?”

  He visibly blanched at that question so I already knew the answer.

  “Yes, the thought crossed my mind, more often than I liked as a matter of fact.”

  “So admittedly, you were behaving sophomorically in trying to get on with your life. I find it difficult to believe that fucking Charlotte wouldn’t have occurred to you. Perhaps it would have given you some closure in some way on our relationship?”

  He lowered his head and I could tell by his body language I had hit pay dirt. Did I really want to continue with this line of questioning? What purpose did it serve? I had to know what Trey was about I decided. Good or bad, I needed to know.

  “I’m going to be honest with you Tylar, because you deserve that and it might sound fucked up, but it is the truth.”

  (Oh God, what is he going to tell me?)

  “I know everything about your sexual history; you know none of mine. That is not fair and I believe that you have a right to know. So here it is. The first girl I was ever with was Tess. I was seventeen; she was sixteen. I was faithful to her until she ended it. After that, I didn’t get involved in relationships. I had no desire to ever put myself in a situation that would devastate me like that again."

  He took a sip of his wine and then continued.

  "I’ve had casual dates which included casual sex with several women over the past few years since Tess. That is probably what Charlotte would have been to me had I not met you. Once the woman wanted an exclusive relationship, I