by Zoe Norman
"I'm a little worried about this dress you're wearing. Could you have worn something shorter? Jesus, Liv. There are horny firemen all over the place here. Forget the horny cops, teenagers, scumbags—"
I put a finger over his lips to shut him up. "I'm five months pregnant, Owen. I scream ‘big belly’ or ‘taken’ or ‘knocked up.’ I'm not exactly a prime catch right now."
Owen grabs me and leans in, giving me a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue delves into my mouth. I immediately go damp. When he pulls away, we are both breathless.
"You are gorgeous and sexy, and if we weren't in public, I'd fuck you right here on the table next to the cash register."
I can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous."
Owen drops to his knees and kisses my belly. "Little Owen, would you please tell your mother how beautiful she is? She just doesn't believe me. Maybe she'll listen to you." He places his ear against my stomach. I giggle and run my hands through his hair. "Mmhmm. Yup, that's what I thought. Thanks, little man." Standing he pulls me to him again. "See? Little Owen agrees. He said his mother is gorgeous. Oh, and he said that what makes her even more beautiful is that she's carrying my son." Leaning forward, he kisses my neck in just the right spot. Christ, he's going to make me combust in public. "And that's the most beautiful thing of all." Owen whispers this into my neck before giving me another wet kiss just below my ear, his breath tickling my skin.
Wow.
He pulls back and takes my hand. "I can take a break now. There's one of those haunted house things over there. I hear it's scary. Wanna go? It'll give me a chance to be all manly and protect my girl."
"Sure. Let’s go." I say with a grin.
Owen shouts to Saul that we're taking a break and going to walk around a bit. Saul yells a hello to me and nods to Owen, indicating that he's good. Owen drapes his arm over my shoulder possessively, and we walk through the crowds. We stop at little booths along the way, and Owen sees a cute, little T-shirt that reads "Brooklyn Baby," which he purchases immediately.
We get to the haunted castle and Owen pays our fee to get in. Taking my hand, we make our way into the house only to be immediately greeted by a phantom and a skeleton, for whom we appropriately scream as they jump out from different holes in the wall. We both laugh hysterically as we jump every time something scary comes along. As we continue to move through the house, we get to a long hallway that is dark, lit only by black lights. About halfway down the hallway, Owen puts his hand against the wall and I see him open a door.
"Come on," he says with a lascivious grin.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask, nervous.
He pulls me into the small space. It looks like a storage space for the props, now only inhabited by a couple of broken skeletons and light fixtures. The room is dark with the exception of a sliver of light that I assume comes from outside, under a door opposite the one we entered. There must be an opening to the back of the haunted house.
"Owen, what are you doing?" I question.
He turns and guides me up against the wall. "My friend runs this house and he told me there were some hidden rooms around here. I thought we could...you know...check them out." He grins his sexy grin and bends forward, licking up my neck and taking my earlobe between his teeth, giving it a nip before sucking it.
I make an audible sigh at the contact and become wet instantly. My hands run up his arms and around his neck as he straightens and starts to kiss me.
"I'm feeling like I need to show you how sexy I think you are. You game?" He whispers this against my mouth as his tongue continues to seek mine, brushing through my mouth, over my lips, and back in again.
"Yes," I breathe out.
Before I know it, he's hiking the skirt of my dress around my waist and then unbuttoning his shorts, pulling down the zipper, and pushing them, along with his boxer briefs, down his slim hips to his thighs. He slides his hands down my back, under my ass, and to the underside of my thighs, suddenly lifting me up so my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Then he props me up against the wall.
"As much as I want to rip your panties off, your dress is too damn short," he complains.
I reach between us to grab his cock, which is so hard that I imagine it's almost painful for him. He hisses a breath out between his teeth as I fist him, confirming my thought. I drop my hand to move my thong to the side, and he grips himself by the base, rubbing the head of his cock against my opening to coat it with my wetness before slowly sliding in. I let out a low groan as he enters me to the hilt in one smooth stroke.
"Baby... So wet for me... You kill me." He moans into my neck and starts to lick it again, sending shivers up and down my spine.
He slowly pulls out and then pushes back in. He's moving so deliberately, and it's driving me crazy. I'm both worried about someone finding us and desperate for him to fuck me harder.
"Faster, Owen..." I whisper into the dark.
He adjusts his grip on my ass, where he is now holding me steady against the wall.
"Faster?" he asks, continuing to kiss and lick up my neck. He finds my mouth and whispers into it, "I can do faster..."
With that, he grips my ass harder and starts to pump into me. It's not a punishing rhythm as we do at home, but it’s fast paced, controlled. I'm already starting to climb, having been close to orgasm before he even touched me.
"Like that! Oh, like that, Owen."
"You're close...aren't you, baby? So close... I'm close... Too quick... Can't help it."
I'm sure there is some part of his mind that feels inadequate at coming so fast, but this is so hot that it's almost impossible not to.
"Yes. Now. Oh God. I'm going to come! It's coming! Oh God!" I groan this into his shoulder, trying to not be too loud.
He grunts and pushes into me with three hard thrusts. I burst, my orgasm tearing through me as I bite his shoulder to stifle my screams.
"Mmmm ughhh shitttt," he grunts into my neck as he comes copiously inside me. He collapses against me then quickly pulls away, panting. "Baby...can't...squeeze...baby." He slowly lets my feet down until they touch the floor.
My legs are like jelly from the combination of the orgasm and having been held in that position for so long. Owen tucks himself back in before he zips and buttons his shorts up. I adjust my thong and pull my skirt down. My eyes having adjusted in the light, I can see him grinning. Owen reaches into his pocket and produces a handful of what looks like napkins from the food stand. He reaches under my skirt, pushes my thong aside, and gently wipes me clean before tossing the used napkins into a trash barrel behind him.
I gawk at him. "Did you bring those knowing you were going to fuck me?" I ask, a mixture of amusement and shock on my face.
He gives me a sheepish grin. "Maybe."
I shake my head but can't stop the smile on my lips. "You are something else. You know that?"
He grins and leans down, kissing me softly on the lips. Before he pulls away, he says, "Hmmm, so are you, baby. So are you." Then he straightens and takes my hand, leading me out of our secret hiding place and back into the hallway to finish our tour of the haunted house.
As we walk back to the stand, Owen tenses. He has his arm around my shoulders again and pulls me tighter to him unexpectedly, pulling me off balance.
“Hey, babe!” I yelp as I almost fall over. “Give a break to the woman with the unbalanced torso.”
Owen looks down at me, contrite and apologetic. “Shit. Sorry, baby. I, um... I…”
I follow his line of sight and see Molly standing over at a jewelry stall with some girlfriends. She is staring at us, her face looking grim with her eyes pulled together and a forced smile on her face
“Oh. Yeah. I know Molly is here.”
“What?” Owen comes to a full stop in front of me, now effectively blocking my view of her. “What do you mean you know she’s here?”
“Was that not in English? She said hi to me before I got to your tent. No worries. It was cordial. Actually, I felt a littl
e sorry for her. When she saw I was pregnant, she clearly was surprised and it seemed a little sad.”
Owen turns to look at Molly, who I can see in the periphery of my vision. She is still staring at us.
“She wanted us to get pregnant. I told her no. I didn’t want kids.” Owen turns back to look at me, realizing what he just said. His eyebrows are drawn together, sad looking and on the verge of saying something. I’d be lying if I said that I am not getting nervous. “Liv, I learned a lot when Molly left me. I don’t think I ever really loved her. At least not how I know now I can love someone.”
I gasp at his words. Not only do they surprise me, but I’m shocked to hear them here in the middle of the carnival. It’s not exactly the right place to spill your guts.
“When she said she wanted to have a baby, it was an absolutely unconscious decision to say no. I didn’t even think about it. When I found out you were pregnant, surprised as I was, there was more of me that immediately wanted this baby than there was that didn’t. That scared the shit out of me because I know, although you didn’t, how meaningful that actually was.”
I start to tear up. How could I not? My hormones are already crazy, I just had a mind-blowing orgasm in the prop room of a haunted house, and my boyfriend is baring his soul to me next to a stand that sells the world’s largest smoked turkey legs.
“She is probably hurting a lot about seeing you pregnant. And you can’t imagine how much more I love you, knowing that you were cordial to her.”
Owen places his hand over my stomach, rubbing in circles, his other hand grasping the back of my neck and urging me forward into a kiss that is slightly less appropriate than acceptable at a family fair. When he pulls away, he continues to stroke my belly, and I take his head in my hands.
“You have no idea how amazing it is to hear that, although it only amplifies the fact that I feel bad for her.”
“Don’t feel bad. I dumped her ass for a reason, remember?” Owen laughs.
He puts his arm back around my shoulders and looks back at Molly, giving her what is really a genuine smile and a head nod. She smiles back and gives him a nod as well, the international symbol for ‘hello’ from afar.
As we walk back to the stand, I feel a lightness around us that wasn’t there before. I wonder how long Owen has been thinking about that situation with Molly, and I thank God that he was able to spill it today. One step further in our relationship, my hopeful heart growing every day.
I AM DAYS AWAY from my due date and I feel enormous. I swear to God, this child is going to be fifteen pounds, not the six pounds Dr. Evans says he’ll be. Owen packed my bag about two months ago and has had it by the front door since. Overkill? Yes. But my letting him do this when he wanted to saved me hours of listening to him worrying about it.
I slowly get myself out of bed. I practically have to roll off the side of the bed, terribly embarrassing when lying next to my super-sexy boyfriend. Boyfriend... I wonder for the hundredth time in the last months whether I will always refer to him as my boyfriend or my son’s father. Baby daddy? Eww. One day will I refer to him as my husband?
I’ve started to become embarrassed when I have to introduce him as my boyfriend at the various things we’ve attended when talking about the baby, like at Lamaze class and the hospital tour. I tear up a bit thinking about this. I tell myself that he is committed. I know he loves me. I know I should have patience with him and just be okay with the commitment he can give me. But I’m a girl deep down inside, and I want the fairytale.
Pushing these thoughts aside, I sit on the side of the bed, absently rubbing my belly. I am all baby. I think he’s dropped recently, and Owen agrees, which set off a whole new wave of anxiety for him. He’s still at the firehouse, having worked an overnight shift. He’s supposed to stop doing the overnights, but he offered to do one last one due to understaffing. It worries him to have me home alone all night, but I assured him that we were fine. That didn’t stop him from calling a couple of times through the night.
I take a look at the clock. It’s six thirty a.m. He’ll actually be home in about forty-five minutes. Sleeping is pretty much done for me and has been for months, but I chalk that up to getting ready for the little angel that’s coming. I have taken a leave of absence from work for six months. I’m lucky that, in the academic world, they allow that, and I waited until our last research project was done so I wouldn’t leave anyone hanging. I do eventually want to go back to work, but I’ll be happy to have some time home with the little guy.
Ahhh. Our little man.
As I wake myself up, I reminisce about the many discussions Owen and I have had about naming the baby. Name picking has been...entertaining…
Three months earlier:
“We are not naming my son Zane. That sounds like a...magician or something!” Owen protests. “The Amazing Zane!”
“Well I don’t like those boring names you like. Joshua, Joseph—those have all been done. Don’t you want him to stand out in a crowd?”
“Stand out in a crowd, yes. Be ridiculed in a crowd? Not so much. Olivia, the names I like are classic, standard, manly. This is my boy. He is the son of a fireman. He needs a studly name.”
Owen sounds like he’s kidding, but I assure you, he is one hundred percent serious. The names he’s chosen? Adam, Henry, Matthew, James. The names I’ve picked? Brody, Cash, Jax, Reed. He’s hated every single one.
While at a stalemate, my father calls. I sigh. The last person I feel like talking to is my equally overprotective father. I pick up my cell phone and answer the call anyway, knowing he’ll keep calling until I do.
“Hi, Daddy. How are you?” I ask, knowing I sound exasperated. Irritated, even.
“Hello there, pumpkin. How are you and my grandson feeling?” I can hear the proud grin coming from across the phone, and I can’t help but soften.
“We’re good, we’re good,” I say as usual. I’ve really had an easy pregnancy all things considered, so being constantly asked how I’m feeling annoys me to some extent. But it’s what makes people feel good to hear, so I oblige. “We’re just talking about baby names,” I tell him.
“Are you? I’ve been thinking about that too,” he says, shocking the hell out of me.
Are grandfathers supposed to think of baby names? Shit. Will he expect us to use whatever name he picks? I have no idea what the etiquette is here. I am suddenly in a cold panic.
“You, um... You, uh... Really, Dad? What were you thinking?” I have no idea where this is going to go. I look over to Owen, who is offering me his rapt attention and has one eyebrow cocked, equally interested in our conversation.
“Well, yes. I was wondering... What was Owen’s father’s name?”
My heart stills for just a second. I wasn’t expecting this question and I’m not sure how Owen will respond when I say it. “It was Andrew,” I whisper quietly.
Owen’s face falls. He turns away, and my heart breaks for him. No matter how many years pass, Owen is as devastated by the death of his father as he was the day it happened.
“Andrew. I like that. We, I mean Mom and I, we were thinking maybe you could use his name or incorporate it in some way. You know? We thought that would be nice for Owen.”
My voice is stuck in my throat. I never thought of that as an option, and it’s...brilliant. An idea suddenly formulates in my mind, and our son’s name appears from the ether, bold and highlighted in my mind.
“Daddy, that’s a great idea. I need to talk to Owen. Can I call you back in a bit?”
“Sure, pumpkin. Give that belly a rub from Grandma and Grandpa and send Owen our regards.”
We say our goodbyes before I set my phone down. Owen has since gotten up and moved to the kitchen, busying himself by pouring a glass of water. I come up behind him, bringing my hands around his waist, my body a good foot behind him thanks to my belly. He relaxes into me and eventually turns around to look at me. I gaze into his blazing, blue eyes. I love those eyes, and I pray every day that our
son has those eyes.
“I have a name. I think it’s the name.”
He rolls his eyes, readying himself for one of my crazy names. “Go for it.”
“Andrew William Maxwell. We’ll call him Drew.”
Owen sucks in a breath and holds it in.
“It’s a proud name. A name that reflects two important men in our lives. A name that holds with it pride and masculinity. It’s...perfect,” I continue.
He raises one hand to cup my cheek and then lets it slide to the back of my neck, pulling me in hard for a kiss. A deep, gratifying, breath-stealing kiss. After a minute, he stares into my eyes.
“I can’t think of a more perfect name for our son. My mother will love it. My father would have loved it. I love it. I love you.”
He leans down and kisses me again.
The memory is a good one, and I smile as I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and pull on a robe. I’ve been sleeping naked lately because I’m hotter than hell at night, despite our air conditioning. Poor Owen sleeps in sweats most nights because I have the air cranked up and the ceiling fan going.
I walk down the hall to the baby’s room. It’s a few steps from our room, but the configuration of the hallway makes it feel far away for both of us, so we intend to have the baby in a bassinet in our room for a while. It’s already long since been put together, and it sits waiting for our son in the corner of the room.
I still like to spend time in the baby’s room though, and I find myself more and more often sitting in the rocking chair, admiring the room. Owen did all the work himself, and it’s amazing. The walls are a grey blue with simple modern decorations. Owen would have covered the walls with FDNY memorabilia, but I convinced him to go a little lower key. There are some fireman items throughout, but they blend in nicely. There is a daybed in one corner so we can still, on occasion, accommodate guests. It’s perfect.