by Kat T. Masen
“Drew.”
I sit beside her, moving a strand of hair away from her eye.
“What time is it?”
“A little after five.”
She sits up fast, confused and still in a tired state. “Why did you let me sleep this long?”
“You were tired and looked so peaceful. Relax, please. We’re in no rush to go anywhere,” I hush.
Her hands reach for my collar pulling me toward her as the edge of her lips find mine. The slow, sensual taste of her lips caress my own, stirring every inch of my body.
“I want to make love to you. I want to feel you everywhere. I miss you, and I just want a taste of it. Please just go slow.”
I understand what we both need, and my problem will be holding back and not blowing in zero point two seconds. But as we both lie here, almost naked, I gently caress her tits just the way she likes.
Removing her bra, her chest releases—incredibly large with veins protruding around her nipple. Everything about her has changed, but I don’t mind. I struggle with holding back my desire and trying to talk myself into being gentle.
The few times we have managed to have sex, we both found it more comfortable if I slid in behind her, both of us lying on our sides. Positioning myself behind her, I grab my dick in my hands slowly tugging on it before sliding myself in. She’s incredibly tight. With every move I make, I listen to her body and the pitch of her moan making sure she’s comfortable. When her breathing slows down, I slow down, not wanting to cause her any pain, but as soon as her skin prickles in delight I know she’s close, and in one perfect move she will explode all over me.
“I’m close,” she moans, breathless.
Running my fingers along her lips, she bites down before tightening up around my dick and letting out a long-winded moan. I can’t hold back any longer, my willpower disappearing the moment she explodes all over me.
My normally aggressive thrust is controlled, the slow, agonizing pace making me blow so quickly I’m barely able to breathe.
Our pants, loud and consuming, echo in our quiet room.
“That was amazing.”
I kiss the tip of her shoulder. “It always is with you.”
Zoey releases a loud sigh, smiling contently as we both lay quietly.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asks, grinning.
“Round two?”
Her laughter ripples, breaking out into an unwarranted cough. “Such an optimistic husband you are. I was thinking of something naughtier…”
“Naughtier than my dick inside you?”
She nods, giggling. “Yep… room service.”
Chapter Seven
Zoey
Whoever invented babymooning is a genius.
After spending the afternoon in bed and experiencing a long-overdue orgasm, we order room service and spend the remainder of the night in our room.
I don’t hold back when it comes to ordering—hot wings, fries, double-stacked burger, and a bunch of healthy crap for Drew. It works wonders, knocking me out for hours for the longest nonstop sleep I’ve had in months.
Four hours. Until the babies played hacky-sack on my bladder.
Drew booked our stay for two nights. Between his hectic schedule and back-to-back surgeries and my insane workload due to wrapping up some major projects, we both jumped at the chance for this mini-getaway.
At thirty-four weeks, time is of the essence. The obstetrician warned me that the twins can come earlier, so in a panic I did something I normally wouldn’t do—I made a list of everything I need to do or achieve before the babies arrive. The list is three pages long, and I only manage to cross off four things.
“Show me the list.” Drew took the list out of my hand. “Scrub bathtub. Really, Zo?”
“Yes, where are we going to bathe the babies?”
“You can cross it off your list since I scrub the bathtub weekly.”
“You do?” Shocked, I grab the list from him scanning for similar tasks. “What about cleaning the back of the fridge? The amount of dirt that builds up behind there is quite sickening.”
Drew places his hands on his face, groaning in frustration. “You’ve known me for what? Over five years? Give me a break.”
I nod, running the pen along the words ‘clean behind fridge’ to cross it off.
“Now, stop fixating on that list, and let’s get out of this room.”
After checking out some brochures which the resort kindly left in our room, we decide to head out and visit a local gallery, followed by lunch at this gorgeous café in the gallery gardens, and then window shopping at some antique shops. Drew never complains allowing me to browse through the stores as he keeps himself busy chatting with the shop assistants. The man can talk about anything. It always amazes me how he can strike up a conversation with a random stranger. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.
As much as shopping is fun, and there are a couple of pieces that piqued my interest, my head isn’t entirely in it. I don’t last long these days, the exhaustion setting in after two hours of walking around. By the time we get back to the room, I decide to take a nap while Drew hits the gym.
Dozing in and out of sleep, the mattress suddenly becomes uncomfortable—my back aching in this one particular spot. When I finally get settled, my heartburn kicks in, forcing me to sit up and take some non-medicated tablets.
I’m done.
Bored, tired, and wanting to leave these four walls, Drew suggests we head out to the marina for the night.
The marina is only a block away, a manageable walk for me and my swollen feet. The main drag stretches out for a mile, and beside the bustling restaurants and nightlife, several yachts line the decked pathway.
There’s a large, sparkling white yacht titled The Beaumont. It’s the biggest one docked, lit up with loud music blaring from the upper deck. It also happens to be the one full of bikini-clad women.
I laugh, squeezing Drew’s hand. “I bet you they’re going to have an orgy.”
“Probably.” He shrugs his shoulders. “What else is there to do on a yacht with one old guy and five young chicks?”
“How would he even rotate them, you know? He looks like he’s pushing eighty.” I cringe at the thought. The man is wearing a sea captain’s hat and barely able to swing his hips to the beat. “Jesus, can he even get it up?”
“We’re about to eat dinner. Please don’t talk to me about some old dude getting it up. I’d like to enjoy the expensive meal.”
“I miss having sex.” Sighing loudly, my gaze travels toward the perfect night sky.
Drew stops mid-step, demanding I do the same. “Excuse me? You can have sex anytime. In fact, let’s go back to the room now because I’ve been hard since yesterday’s session.”
With a playful slap on his toned arm, I add, “You know what I mean. I just miss being skinny, being able to throw my body around and actually orgasm repeatedly.”
“When did you ever throw your body around? You’re the laziest person I know. Trying to get you on top is always a mission,” he teases.
“Every time you stick your dick in me, I feel uncomfortable, and then one of the babies start kicking so that ruins everything. What about when the babies are born? We’ll have the bassinette in our room, and they can see and watch us.”
“Zo, they can’t see for the first few months. They can detect light and motion but don’t have clear vision like we do. Please stop talking about this.”
We stop in front of a restaurant called Fisherman Joe’s Love Shack. With the Zydeco music playing inside and families lining up, we decide to try the place out.
Drew and his charm manage to get us a table near the window. The view is gorgeous with a sea breeze cooling the area, and while the restaurant is crowded there’s this upbeat vibe for a Thursday night.
With the menu in hand, I scan the options and struggle to make a choice. “Everything looks mouth-watering.”
“No seafood,” Drew scolds.
&
nbsp; “What? Why?”
“It’s not good for the babies. The risk of contamination with salmonella which can cause developmental delays and—”
The young waitress arrives at our table pulling out her tablet and requesting our order. Her timing is perfect. Drew can talk your ear off about Salmonella poisoning.
“Fine…” I whine, “… I’ll have the rack of ribs, fries, onion rings, and Caesar salad.”
“I’ll have the rib-eye steak and side salad,” Drew adds to my order.
“Um, could you bring out some sauces?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nothing makes you feel more like an aging grandma than being called ma’am.
“Oh…” I wonder out loud. “What about bread rolls?”
“How many would you like?”
“Two... no three. Gravy?”
Drew raises his hand. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re going to get indigestion.”
Slumping in my chair with a pout, I shoot Drew my dagger eyes. Never get in between a pregnant woman and her food.
“Excuse me…” A lady, sitting at the table behind us leans over with a smile. “I couldn’t help but notice the bump. How far along are you?”
“Thirty-four weeks,” I respond, politely.
Marie—as she introduces herself—is married to Buddy, and they have two children. Her children keep themselves busy coloring the kids’ placemats with the crayons the restaurant provides.
We get to talking, and somewhere during our quick chat, I mention we’re having twins.
“Twins! Congratulations,” she gushes, grinning. “We had Bodhi via invitro four years ago, and then Cara naturally about two years ago. Two’s a handful, but we were running out of time. I’m pushing forty next year and having kids is something we always wanted.”
Marie looks great for someone pushing forty with two young kids. Okay, there’s probably a hint of Botox happening since one side of her face doesn’t move. But nevertheless, for someone raising two young children, she has a great figure from what I can see behind the table, and her hair’s on point.
“Buddy works in the city, so it’s been hard relying on him for the day-to-day things. I’m a stay-at-home mom now, left my job as a paralegal,” Marie opens up, leaving me no time to get a word in. “You’ve got to have a good support system, or you’ll go insane. My mom and dad live about three streets away, and Buddy’s parents are in the next suburb over. Plus, the godparents.”
Buddy nods, agreeing with his wife. He seems like a man of few words, shifting his gaze to the large television screen which hangs at each corner televising some baseball game.
I look at Drew for reassurance. “We haven’t thought about godparents yet. We’re not exactly practicing any faith.”
“Oh, you must. Finding good godparents can be tricky. You’ve got to get in early,” Marie warns us. “It’s a big decision, and you’ll want to make sure the godparents have the same values in case… you know?”
“I guess Mia and Troy?”
“Please…” Drew rolls his eyes, uninterested, “… they can barely hold their marriage together. I’m thinking your brother, Kane, and his wife.”
“Kane, really? The guy can barely get out of bed in the morning let alone be responsible to raise kids. What happens if anything happens to us? Who would the kids go to?” I begin to panic.
“Your parents,” Drew states.
“Over my dead body.”
“There’s no one else,” he reminds me. “Perhaps this is something we should discuss in private.”
Marie laughs, patting my shoulder. “It’s okay, we had the same argument. Now schooling, get in early. We started to enroll Cara because places fill up fast.”
“Isn’t she two?” I point out, glancing at the little girl with a pacifier in her mouth.
Marie nods, opening her mouth until Drew cuts her off. “We may be moving, so no point looking in the city.”
It takes a moment for me to catch up. We had discussed moving to a bigger home, but I assumed it would be within a reasonable distance to the hospital.
“Um, where are we moving to?”
Drew takes a long-winded sip of water, adding to the procrastination. “I’ve been offered a role as the head of CCU.”
I almost leap for joy until I realize I can’t physically leap. “Oh wow! Babe, you never told me that—”
“It’s in Australia.”
My brain has a momentary lapse. “Australia? As in down under a million miles away, Australia?”
He nods, barely making eye contact.
“Australia… as in throw a shrimp on the barbie, large spiders and crocodiles, Australia?”
Still unable to look at me, he twists the napkin in his hand, nodding at my question.
“Whe… when did you find out?”
“A few weeks ago.”
My fist curls into a ball, and my heart is racing with anger. I know Drew better than he knows himself. In his mind, he has already made his decision. I know Australia is his home, and he has always dreamt of going back. Combine that with being offered a role of a lifetime, something he’s worked so hard for, he won’t be able to turn them down.
“I need to go.”
In my panic, anger, and frustration, I slide off the stool and walk as fast as possible out of the restaurant and onto the walkway greeted by the light rain. My chest, rising and falling, makes it difficult to breathe. To add to this, my back begins to hurt even more, but I ignore everything just to escape.
“Zoey, come back here!”
The rain buckets down, the splash sizzling against my warm skin. Drew continues to yell, but I don’t give a damn. It’s now clear, more than ever, that my role in our marriage is to follow my husband. Screw the career I built for myself. I’ll be Suzi Homemaker while he’s barely home because of his high-profile role. I might as well raise these kids on my own since I’ll barely see him.
My waddle and large stomach make it difficult to get any traction, and before I know it, Drew is standing in front of me equally drenched with his hair falling over his eyes. He makes a quick attempt to slick it back, his frustration evident.
“Would you please just stop and listen for a moment? Why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the time?”
“Me… stubborn? You’re the caveman expecting me to stay home. I worked my whole life to get where I am. And then you come along and expect me to drop everything to support you. God, you hid this from me because you’re going to take the job. And you think it’s easy for me just to pick up and move to Australia. Everything is going to change… everything.”
“Zoey, of course, it’s going to change. You can’t stay in your little ‘80s’ bubble forever.”
“Oh, wow, you’re such an asshole,” I yell back until a sharp pain ripples beneath my stomach. I topple over, clutching at my belly while wincing.
“Zo, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing… apart from you being an ass.” The agonizing pain hits again, this time traveling to my back causing me to cry out loud. “Ow, it hurts…”
Drew grabs my arm in a mad rush until a warm liquid travels down my leg.
“I think my water just broke.”
Chapter Eight
Drew
Too many thoughts are running wild inside my head.
I want them to slow down, give me space to breathe, but all I can think about is driving this car to the hospital without killing anyone before we get there.
Throughout my career, I have performed many life-threatening surgeries with only a few resulting in death. Yet, amid these intricate surgeries and races against time, nothing has compared to the sheer panic of knowing your wife is in labor with your twins in the back seat of your car.
My hands grip the steering wheel tight, sweat building inside my palms as the sea of red lights ahead of us seems impossible to weave through.
“Zo, baby, just breathe. Your contractions are ten minutes apart.” I keep my voice calm, not allowin
g her to catch onto my panicked state while checking the clock and timing her contractions.
Fuck, they’re getting closer, and we’re not getting anywhere in this ridiculous traffic.
“It hurts,” she whimpers, softly, spreading her legs in the back seat. “I’m… I’m scared. The babies shouldn’t be coming now.”
My fears are tumbling out, unchecked by my brain, unable to remove the heightened emotions for me to think straight. Repeatedly checking the rearview mirror, my racing heart only begins to slow down between her contractions when her eyes close, and she’s breathing in and out slowly.
I turn the radio on, glad it’s playing a song she likes which hopefully will distract her. The GPS tells me fifteen more minutes, so trying to gain time, I stomp my foot on the accelerator whenever there’s a gap in between cars.
In just two minutes, her contractions will begin, so to lessen the pain I begin rambling about baby fun facts.
“Did you know babies are born without kneecaps?” I tell her, remembering this information from my studies. “Babies have a structure of cartilage that resembles the kneecaps and doesn’t develop until after six months.”
Zoey moans, gritting her teeth, head resting against the back seat. “What? I can’t even… that doesn’t make sense.”
“Okay, wait. You’ll like this one.” I veer right taking the exit and hightailing it on the straight road. “Babies recognize the music they hear in the womb for up to four months after the birth. So, all that rubbish you play, you might as well continue because it’ll probably soothe them.”
I check the mirror for a split second watching as she closes her eyes, practicing her breathing. “I’ve been listening to a lot of Billy Idol. I just don’t know if I want them jamming to that so early on. It’s punk rock, you know…”
I didn’t know. I have no clue what she’s going on about and will openly admit that I can’t name one single Billy Idol song.