by ANDREA SMITH
We had dressed warmly for our afternoon ride. Trey had a tan suede bomber jacket on that made him look like a model for GQ magazine. He had jeans on that hugged his muscular legs and tight ass nicely. I was in my jeans, sweatshirt and hoodie. I didn’t make quite the fashion statement that my man did.
We were straddling a log, Trey was sitting behind me. He had pulled me close, wrapping his suede covered arms around me.
He leaned his face in, his hand raising my ponytail up so that his lips could kiss the back of my neck. I shivered with pleasure.
“You’re giving me goose bumps, Mr. Sinclair,” I said, trying to use my best southern drawl.
“Is that a bad thing, Ms. Preston?”
“Not when they’re from you.” I snuggled closer against him. My hands closed over his hands that were resting on my belly. We both felt the baby at the same time; it was stronger movements than before.
“I think he’s happy when we’re happy,” I said giggling because it almost tickled.
“So it’s a ‘he’ is it, Tylar?” Trey whispered against my neck, sending shivers down my back.
“I’m kind of hoping we have a boy,” I admitted, “for you.”
“Why for me?” Trey asked, I could tell by his tone he was frowning.
“I thought all men wanted sons, you know, to hang out with; to follow in their footsteps, that sort of thing.”
Trey snorted, “I’ve always had the impression that sons were closer to their mothers; daughters to their fathers I suppose.”
“I guess I wouldn’t know about that,” I replied, shrugging against him.
“Be patient, Tylar. We may unravel the mystery of you yet,” he said, giving me a squeeze.
“Very nicely put, counselor,” I said, raising my hand to stroke his dimpled chin behind me.
“Boy or girl, I want our baby to have this dimple.”
“You do, huh,” he whispered, putting his lips on the back of my neck once again.
“What about you? What is your preference for this baby, boy or girl?”
“It absolutely makes no difference to me, sweetie,” he said, nuzzling his face into my neck, nipping my earlobe.
“As long as we agree that he or she is not going to be
an only child.”
I smiled when he said that. That was a perfectly sweet thing for him to say.
“Aside from Jack and Danielle, have you any other names in mind for our child?”
I actually had come up with my choices, but I wanted to see Trey’s reaction to them when I told him. I pulled away from him, turning around on the log and straddling it to face him. I noticed his crotch was bulging. My eyes met his amused gaze.
“Really Trey?”
“Oh come on Tylar,” he laughed good-naturedly. “It’s not as if you haven’t fucked my brains out the whole time we’ve been here. I’m spoiled now.”
“Just so I’m the only one that gets to spoil you; it’s mine, remember?”
“Of course,” he said, leaning forward and kissing the tip of my nose playfully. “Now tell me the names you have picked out.”
“Okay,” I said, “I thought it might be kind of cool to name a boy after me and a girl after you.”
He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
“So, if it’s a boy, Preston; and if it’s a girl, Treyla. What do you think?”
He momentarily considered the names I had come up with.
(Uh-oh he hates them).
He scooted forward on the log so our knees were touching. He put both arms around, me scooting my backside closer, nuzzling at my neck again. I’m waiting I thought.
“I think, Tylar, he whispered hoarsely into my neck, “that this child better be a boy.”
I could feel the grin on his face as he tried to stifle a chuckle. I pulled back, looking at his amused face.
“What, you don’t like ‘Treyla’ for a girl?” I snapped.
“I appreciate the thought, baby,” he conceded.
“But your daughter may grow up hating you for pinning a name like that on her.”
Now I was pissed. I liked the name and was hurt that Trey didn’t share the same opinion. After all, it was to honor him.
“Don’t be mad at me; you did ask me what I thought,” he reminded me.
“I know I did. You might have considered my feelings though before trashing the name.”
I pulled back from him and turned around on the log, presenting my back to him. This was one issue where he wouldn’t get his way. I had decided that. I was the one housing the baby for nine months; I was the one that would go through god-only-knows how much pain to deliver the child. I would decide the name, period.
“Hey you,” he stood up, coming around in front of me. He pulled my arms up so that I was standing in front of him. His fingers gently lifted my chin up to meet his gaze.
“Tylar you name the baby whatever you wish, okay? The only thing that I would ask of you is that the baby has my last name. Do you agree?"
His eyes were serious and his gaze was penetrating. I nodded affirmatively, my eyes tearing up yet again.
“That’s fine with me, Trey,” I said softly.
“I would also like for you to carry my last name but you’ve already made your position on that perfectly clear for the time being so I won’t pressure you on that issue right now.”
I nodded again, putting my arms around him, molding my body close to his. I know that my mood swings had to be giving the poor guy whiplash.
“C’mon,” he said his playful tone back, “Let’s get you and me back on Derringer and head back up to the house. We need to get dressed for dinner.”
He gave my rump a playful smack as we headed over to where Derringer was grazing. We were heading back to Radcliff tomorrow. The long weekend had flown by. I was anxious to get back if only to start the preparations to leave again.
I was chilled by what Trey had shared with me today. It explained a great deal as to why he had been so protective and domineering with me. Gina was going to freak out when I told her the latest.
Trey and I got through dinner without incident. We retired to his suite to watch television. He stretched across his bed and flipped a football game on while I was gathering up my clothing to pack. He was in his stocking feet again, ankles crossed toes wiggling. He had to know what that did to me by now.
He seemed oblivious to it at the moment, cursing at the television for a bad call by the referee. My hormones were calling him a ‘pussy tease.’ I tried to tune them out. I needed a bath and definitely needed to get some sleep. We had to be up at 4 a.m. in order to make it for a 6:15 a.m. departure.
I grabbed the two shopping bags out of Trey’s huge closet, to consolidate the stuff into my suitcase. I wanted to make sure that Trey didn’t see what I had bought for him.
I put the bags over on the floor next to the side of the bed where I slept. I opened my suitcase out onto the bed. It had all kinds of zippered pockets and flaps. I managed to get everything I bought Trey into a zippered flap that divided one section of the suitcase from the other. Trey was not paying attention to anything but the television at the moment.
I padded back over to his closet, grabbing my new shoes. They would fit into the suitcase with no problem, along with my new dresses and underwear. That was everything with the exception of my present from Gina from the The Sextique Shop. I decided just to leave those items in the gift bag they were in, tissue paper covering what they were. I set the Sextique bag next to my suitcase, deciding to pack it last after my bath.
My robe was hanging in Trey’s closet, along with his shirt that I had worn to bed the previous night. I had made sure to hang it with my robe so the staff wouldn’t launder it.
I grabbed both, and a clean pair of underwear and headed for the bathroom. I would pack my toiletries afterward and lay out my clothes for tomorrow when I finished in the bathroom.
“Are you going to pack your stuff tonight, Trey?” I asked. “You’re staying
longer and you need to pack more than what you brought down originally in that leather duffel.”
“I’ll do it at halftime, baby,” he said, not taking his eyes off of the flat screen.
(Whatever).
“I’m going in to take a bubble bath Trey,” I said, passing by him on the way to the bathroom with my stuff.
“Okay, enjoy.”
I filled his sunken tub with cocoanut scented bath foam. I stripped off my clothes, grabbing a fresh towel and bath sponge from the cabinet, along with my razor and shaving gel. I settled comfortably into the warm, soapy water. I decided to turn the jets on to relax my muscles. I’d had quite a workout this weekend in many ways.
The jets were quiet but powerful. I backed up to one of them and let the powerful pulsating water hit my lower back.
Oh my God, that felt so good.
I stayed there, letting the jets do their work while I washed the rest of my body with Trey’s body wash. I shaved my legs and underarms, then sank down, putting my head underwater preparing to shampoo. When I came back up I had soap in my eyes.
(Shit that stings!)
I squeezed my eye shut, heading over to the side to get the towel I had placed there. The jet was still pulsating powerful streams of water. As I stood up on my tiptoes to grab the towel for my eye, I felt the pulsating water jets pound between my legs.
(Oh wow!)
I stood there, wiping the soap out of my eye with the towel, and feeling extremely pleasured down there. Why hadn’t I thought of this before I wondered? I spread my legs out just a bit, opening myself up to the sensations of the water pulses. I remembered Trey saying the jets were adjustable. (Interesting!)
Just then I heard Trey’s voice from the bedroom.
“What the fuck is this shit?”
(Huh? Is the game going badly?)
The bathroom door abruptly opened and a puzzled Trey walked in, carrying my Sextique Shop gift bag in with one of the items inside no longer wrapped in tissue paper. Oh God, it was a boxed dildo of some sort. Why the hell was he going through my shit?
He stood over me next to the sunken tub, now noticing how I’d positioned myself in front of the water jet prior to him barging in. He was holding a box that said ‘Jack Rabbit Wallbanger W/Suction Cup.’
(Holy crow! He looks pissed.)
Trey leaned down and shut off the jets, shaking the water off of his hand as he straightened back up, glaring at me.
“Did you buy this?” he asked, sharply, obviously pissed.
“No,” I answered honestly.
“Gina bought it for me as an early Christmas present. Thank you for ruining my surprise.”
I grabbed the shampoo from the edge of the tub and lathered my hair up. Trey continued to gawk at me.
(Why is he so pissed about this?)
“May I ask why you were going through my shit?” I snapped, my turn to be pissed.
“Hey, I was just trying to see if you had room in your suitcase for some of my stuff. I saw this bag and didn’t know if you intended to pack it or what. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t breakable.”
“Well, it’s not,” I answered turning away from him to rinse my hair under the shower head on the other side. His expression went from pissed to confused.
“Did you say something to Gina to make her think I don’t satisfy you?” he asked.
“Of course not Trey. Don’t be ridiculous. Why does this have to be about you?”
He eyed me warily as if he doubted what I was telling him. I wondered if all men thought they were the only mechanism for female orgasm. Trey acted like having a sex toy was an insult to his masculinity. I was surprised that he would have such a parochial attitude.
“What? Does it offend you?” I finally asked.
“No, I just wanted to make sure that well, you know, that I’m making you feel good.”
“Trey,” I nearly shrieked, “My God you must have a clue by now how much I love our fucking.”
“We don’t always fuck, Tylar. We make love as well.”
I softened toward him in that moment. I didn’t know why, but it was important to him that I understood the difference. My Trey was romantic and sweet. He actually thought I could replace him with Mr. Jack Rabbit Wallbanger with a suction cup?
“I know Trey,” I replied softly, my hair thoroughly rinsed.
He helped me out of the bath, wrapping my towel around me. He grabbed another towel for my hair, gently wrapping it around my head.
“Maybe we could make love tonight after the football game is over?” I asked, my eyes searching his.
“Fuck the football game!” he said, drawing my toweled body to him.
He pressed me against him intimately. He lowered his head to mine, kissing my lips gently as his hands framed my face.
“Ready to go to bed baby?” he asked huskily. I smiled and nodded.
“Me, too,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me out of the bathroom.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Trey and I spent a little more than a week in Radcliff. I was surprised upon our return to find that Trey had facilitated having all of the locks changed and an alarm system installed while we were in Bristol. Given the circumstances he had shared with me the previous week, I could hardly dispute the logic behind his actions. I think he was relieved having braced himself for an argument.
I had given notice to the agency the Monday morning I returned. I explained a portion of the situation to Tiffany at the agency, and shared most of it with Jill at the law firm. Both of them were understanding and empathetic to my situation. I finished out the week as planned.
The highlight of the week was my last doctor’s appointment with Dr. Hamilton. Trey accompanied me and it was not difficult to see that he managed to charm the female doctor as well. She performed an ultrasound which is typical at this point in a pregnancy; Trey and I had both decided we didn’t want to know the baby’s gender. Dr. Hamilton assured us both that the pregnancy was moving along well. I signed a record release form, taking a copy with me to present to my next OB/GYN.
Trey had convinced me to go to Atlanta with him. It wasn’t really that difficult of a decision once he promised me that I could work at least part-time at his law firm. Gina was ecstatic when I called her to let her know.
The house was listed with a real estate agent who felt very comfortable that it wouldn’t stay on the market too long. The location and price range were good indicators of that she assured us.
I was curious as to what he drove while he was in Atlanta since his Lamborghini stayed at the house in Bristol. He looked sheepish when he told me he had a Mercedes SL Roadster. He also told me that his apartment had an
underground garage so my SUV wouldn’t have to stay outside. His apartment was located on West Peachtree in mid-town. I wasn’t sure how close that was to Gina and Ian’s apartment. I knew that it would take me awhile to get comfortable driving in a city the size of Atlanta. Trey told me not to be overly concerned about it; he was happy to take me anywhere I needed to go.
Hmm…being around each other 24/7 was going to be interesting . . .
It was dark when Trey pulled my Santa Fe into the parking garage underneath his apartment building. I had been asleep for quite awhile. I woke up as soon as he shut off the engine. I awoke, yawning and stretching. I looked around and spotted his Benz in the next parking space.
(Nice ride, counselor).
His parking spaces were just feet away from the elevator. Trey grabbed my suitcase and his leather duffel from the back.
Trey’s apartment blew me away. The floor of the foyer was ceramic tile done in a Tuscan pattern; the interior walls were stucco, with high ceilings and arched doorways. The flooring in the main living room and dining room was polished hardwood; gorgeous thick patterned area rugs graced the décor. Everything was tasteful and had a warm feel to it. I was worried his apartment would be all black, glass and chrome; contemporary and cold. I was pleasantly surprised.
There
was a working fireplace in the living room. His wall art blended in nicely with his furnishings, the color schemes done predominately in warm gold’s, brown and russet. His apartment was a corner apartment. Curved windows rounded like a half-moon overlooking the lit skyline of mid-town Atlanta. I ran to look outside.
“Trey, this is breathtaking,” I commented, impressed with the interior and exterior view his apartment offered. He came to stand next to me, wrapping an arm around me, and pulling me in.
“I’m glad you approve, Ms. Preston,” he said in his smooth and silky voice.
“I think having you here will definitely make it complete.”
That was such a sweet thing for him to say. Sometimes he amazed me with his sensitivity. I looked up at him with an impish grin.
“Where’s my room?” I asked innocently.
Trey chuckled, pulling me close to him.
“Your room is wherever I am,” he said, “Understand?”
I nodded affirmatively. Trey took my hand, leading me down a hallway that was off the living room. One of the bedrooms had been made into his study. There was a guest bedroom next to the study which contained a bed, small dresser and nothing else except a throw rug and small cedar chest at the foot of the bed. It had an attached bathroom and walk-in closet.
Continuing on down the hallway, the master suite was obvious because of the double wooden doors that opened into it.
“Oh my God,” I said, “This is huge!”
He had a king-size bed that seemed almost dwarfed because of the high ceilings and general expanse of the room. The room was carpeted in thick, plush dark green carpet; the furniture looked to be mahogany; it was very dark and rich. There was a cozy sitting area in one corner of the room. A giant ornately scrolled wardrobe was against the wall next to the bed. There were two walk-in closets located on opposite sides of the room. A Bose theatre system with surround sound was installed in his room with a large cinematic flat screen mounted on the wall opposite his bed.
The master bath was as large as the one at the manor, but a bit more elaborate. It had a built in linen closet with shelves and drawers done in dark wood; the floor was ceramic tiled, and the light fixtures looked antique.