Breaking the Seventh

by Allie Gail

  “Should we start here?” I smile at her gasp of pleasure.

  “Mm…that – oh, that works for me...”

  “I thought it might.” Pumping my hips in a slow and easy rhythm, I use two fingers to tease her to the brink. Stroking that heated pussy, lightly at first, then picking up the pace until I have her bucking like a wild filly beneath me. She is so eager, so receptive, so wantonly responsive to my touch. There is nothing that thrills me more than watching her come.

  And her face when she reaches orgasm – heaven help me, it’s got to be the sexiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.

  Tax audits tax audits tax audits…

  “Shane…oh, God…please, fuck me hard…”

  That’s it. I can’t hold back anymore. Sliding my hands underneath her gorgeous round ass, I raise her hips and fuck my girl just the way she requested. Hard. Hard and fast and devoid of any trace of inhibitions until we’re both moaning and grunting like feral animals rutting in the dirt. Like two people so crazy for one another, they’ve completely lost their shit and gone mad with lust.

  And I see stars…I swear to Christ, I see stars and hearts and rainbows, a whole array of fucking Lucky Charms swimming before my eyes as I blow my load like Mount Saint fucking Helens.

  I lose a piece of myself in that moment. A piece I will never get back.

  It belongs to her. Now and forever.

  And I know and accept that no matter what happens, whether she chooses to stay or opts instead to run, she will always own a fragment of my soul.

  Our breaths mingle as we pant against one another, waiting for our pulses to relax into a normal rhythm. Fearing I’m too heavy, I shift my body so I’m lying beside her instead of on top. She sighs and snuggles into my arms, a satisfied little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “That was nice,” she murmurs, toying with a strand of my hair.

  “I didn’t realize nice was what you were going for,” I tease.

  “Well, maybe nice isn’t quite the right word. Sue me, I didn’t bring my thesaurus.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d need one, being a writer and all. Come on now. Is nice really the best you can come up with?”

  “I express myself better on paper, I’m afraid.”

  “Sweetheart, you just expressed yourself in a way that definitely transcends anything ever put down on paper.”

  A pink flush warms her cheeks, and I can’t help but chuckle at the cute way she has of transforming from a wicked hellcat into a shy, demure little kitten.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks, clearly hoping to change the subject. “I thought about making you dinner but I wasn’t sure if you’d want me messing around in your kitchen.”

  “Why? Was there a danger of you setting it on fire?”

  “Hey! I’m a good cook.”

  “Baby, I wouldn’t care if you had trouble boiling water without scorching it. You have my express permission to do whatever you like in my kitchen. But not tonight. Tonight, I am taking you into Nashville for dinner. There are a thousand and one things in this area I’m dying to show you.”

  “I saw Main Street. It was…” She pauses with a naughty smirk. “…nice.”

  “What say we eliminate that particular four-letter word from your vocabulary, hm?”

  “All right. It was…convivially auspicious.”

  “Ah, that’s a good one! I like that. I’ll have to bring it up at the next planning commission meeting. Maybe propose that we make it our new slogan. I can see it now. Welcome to Franklin, Tennessee – the convivially auspicious town.”

  “I don’t think that one’s going to go over very well,” she giggles.

  “No? You don’t think so?”

  “No. Why don’t you use the one on your animal hospital sign?”

  “What, the thing about neutering? Something tells me we wouldn’t attract too many tourists if we threatened to remove their nuts.”

  “I thought it was funny.”

  “If you had nuts, you probably wouldn’t be saying that.”

  “Then how come you put it on your sign?”

  “I can’t take credit. That was Clay’s handiwork. He’s responsible for changing out the message every couple of weeks.”

  “I see. Well, don’t worry. Your nuts are safe with me.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I trail my fingers down her back, making a path through the sleek tresses of her hair. Everything about her is so damn soft. Her skin, her hair, her lips...I never before saw the appeal of cuddling, but with her it’s different. I would be perfectly content to just lie here all night, holding her close and listening to her breathe.

  I was planning to wait until later to do this, but somehow I just can’t summon enough self-control to wait. I have to know now. There’s no way I can get through the rest of the night with this weighing on my mind.

  So before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, I find myself whispering my request.

  “Stay.”

  For a fraction of a heartbeat she doesn’t answer, and I pray it’s because she didn’t hear me and not because she’s trying to come up with a way to let me down easy.

  But then against my chest I hear a muffled, “What?”

  “Stay,” I repeat, a bit more firmly. “With me.”

  Lifting her head to gaze up at me, she blinks uncertainly. I get the feeling she doesn’t quite comprehend what I’m asking. “Until…when?”

  “There is no until. Stay. Just stay. I’m asking you not to go.”

  “I…I don’t think you’ve really–”

  “There’s a nice little office upstairs. It has lots of windows and a beautiful view of the woods, perfect for inspiration. I’ll fix it up any way you want. You can write here just the same as you can there, right?”

  “Well, yes, but–”

  “Or you can have any room in the house. Whatever suits you. Doesn’t matter to me, take your pick.”

  “Um. Shane. I only brought enough clothes for a few days…”

  “We’ll drive back down to Florida this weekend and get your things. Leah can rent the place out to someone else if she needs the money, or I’ll pay her myself. Whatever. That’s not important. We’ll work it out.”

  Her mouth parts slightly as she stares at me in amazement. “Are you…are you asking me to move in with you?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking. Until the time comes when I’m able to get down on one knee and propose to you in a manner that’s suitable. But not now. Not like this. You deserve something far more romantic and refined than this.”

  I must have truly and thoroughly lost my mind. I’m actually getting myself all worked up trying to imagine what might be the best place to ask her to marry me.

  A horse and carriage ride downtown? No, no, no – too cliché. Some picturesque little spot in the Smoky Mountains, maybe? A sailboat cruise on Old Hickory Lake? Shelby Street Bridge at sunset? Oh yeah, that would be perfect…

  “Shane. Are you sure about this? We barely know one other.”

  “I know you well enough to know that I’m crazy about you. And if you’re worried about knowing me well enough…well, this would be the fastest way to remedy that situation, wouldn’t you say?”

  She looks off into space silently, and I am terrified by the doubt I see in her eyes. Or is that my imagination? Maybe she’s just thinking it over. But should it be taking this long? Did I scare her? Am I coming on too strong? Fuck, I hate this. Not knowing what she’s thinking. I hate it.

  My mouth, true to form, decides to press on.

  “Don’t do it, baby. Please don’t bring up the past as an excuse. You know I’m not the same asshole I used to be. And I’m not like that other guy, either. I want you to be mine, I can’t deny that, but I don’t expect to possess you. Or control you. And God only knows I would never do anything to hurt you. All I want – all I’ve ever wanted – is to love you. That’s all, baby. It’s as simple as that. All you have to do is let me.�
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  Cupping her chin in one hand, I gaze into her eyes and hope that she can see how sincere I am.

  “Just let me. Will you do that, baby?”

  Her beautiful eyes glisten, and for a second there I’m afraid she’s going to start crying.

  Instead, she says softly, “Yes. On one condition.”

  A flood of relief washes through me, and the overwhelming elation that follows has me fighting back tears myself. “Anything. Name it.”

  “You promise to let me love you back. With all my heart.”

  Smiling broadly, I accept the terms that I was hoping to hear.

  “Melanie, my love, that is a promise I will honor every day of my life.”

  ~ Epilogue ~

  June, twenty-one months later

  “Not exactly what I had in mind when I volunteered to do this.”

  Sidling up from behind, Shane slips his arms around me and props his chin on my shoulder. I feel his broad hands on my eight months pregnant belly, warm and protective, and the baby elbows my bladder in response.

  “What’s wrong with it?” he wants to know.

  With a fork, I poke the gnarled crust of my first sad attempt at a made-from-scratch apple pie. “What’s wrong with it? Look at this thing! It looks like a two-year-old made it out of Play-Doh. And then sat on it.”

  “It smells good,” he offers helpfully. Even though I can tell from his voice he’s doing his best not to laugh. “Seriously, babe, it looks fine. I told you, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. We could have gone out for dinner. You shouldn’t be on your feet so much.”

  “Why? There’s nothing wrong with my feet. Besides, you did most of it.” When he told me his family was coming up for the weekend, I insisted on having a nice hot meal ready for them when they got here. And being the sweet, doting husband that he is, Shane stayed right by my side and helped out. He’s actually pretty adept in the kitchen.

  And the bedroom.

  And the bathroom.

  And basically every other room in the house. Believe me, we’ve christened them all.

  Damn these crazy pregnancy hormones. I look and feel like I swallowed a beach ball – how can he still turn me on with so little effort? Like earlier, when he was humming to himself while chopping the vegetables. I swear, something about watching him do that made me want to jump his bones.

  Maybe it’s seeing him do the domestic thing. It’s just so darn cute.

  “I think Mommy needs to go sit down and let Daddy straighten up in here,” he croons to my tummy as he rubs it. “What do you say, doodlebug? You didn’t want any stinky old apple pie anyway, did you?”

  “When he starts answering back, let me know. And what do you mean, stinky?” Right on cue, I am kicked sharply from the inside by the overactive little bun in my oven. “Whoa! Easy there, shorty!”

  Shane chuckles as he hugs me gently. “I could be wrong. Maybe he is hungry.”

  “I don’t see how, after everything I just shoveled in my face.” Lately I’m hungry all the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if I give birth to the only thirty-pound newborn in existence.

  “He probably just wants to come out and meet his beautiful mommy.”

  “Well, it sure as heck isn’t for the pie.” I pat his arm with a wry smile. “I probably shouldn’t have tried to get fancy with the lattice on top. How does your mom get hers to turn out so perfect?”

  “Years of practice, sugar.” Bursting into the kitchen with the leftover chicken noodle casserole, Louise plunks it on the counter before bending down to rummage through a cabinet. “You think I was born with a rolling pin in my hand? Shoulda seen me the first time I ever tried to fix a roast. I figured it wasn’t supposed to have any pink in it ’cause that must mean it was underdone, right? So I cooked that durn thing good and done, and buddy, I do mean done. Couldn’t hardly get a knife through the thing by the time I got finished with it, much less chew it. The dog wouldn’t even have anything to do with it. Licked it once and then put his nose down and took off with his tail between his legs, yelpin’ the whole way. Didn’t see him again for three days.”

  Grinning, I reach above my head for the glass Corningware lid and hand it to her. She’s just teasing, of course. My spunky mother-in-law is always cracking jokes. “Well, I’m glad I bought some ice cream to put on top is all I can say. It looks like I was stone cold drunk when I put it together.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it.”

  “That’s what I said,” Shane agrees.

  “Who was stone cold drunk?” Leah wants to know as she bounces in, empty bread basket in one hand and wine glass in the other. Tossing the basket on the counter, she sips her wine and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

  “No one, yet.” With a playfully stern look, Louise plucks the glass from her hand and empties the contents into the sink. “Thought you were gonna clear the table?”

  “I’m working on it! Can’t I even finish my wine first? Sheesh.”

  “Not unless you plan on chasing it down the drain, little miss lush.”

  Rolling her eyes, Leah props herself against the counter before noticing the pie in front of me. Her nose wrinkles as she eyes it skeptically. “Um…no offense, but what the heck is that supposed to be?”

  “It’s supposed to be dessert.” I have to laugh at her dubious expression. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, the pound cake turned out better.”

  “I don’t have room for dessert anyway,” she announces indifferently. “I’m stuffed. Dinner was really good – you’re gonna have to show me how to make that stuff with the cheese and Ritz crackers on top, whatever you call it. It was awesome.”

  “I got the recipe off a bag of noodles,” I confess. It did turn out really good, though to be honest these days I’m not very discerning. Pregnancy has given me a voracious appetite. I ate so much tonight I’m starting to wonder if I might need to go track down an Alka-Seltzer.

  Well, maybe after a little sliver of cake. And some ice cream. And a dollop of Cool Whip.

  I wonder if we have any chocolate syrup?

  “I gotta learn how to cook something besides popcorn and microwave pizza,” Leah complains. “I’m just so busy, I never have the time. Do you know that everyone at the McDonald’s drive-thru knows me by name? Myles swears if I ever miss a day there, they’re going to call the police and report me missing.”

  Myles is her current flavor of the month. She’s been playing the field with reckless abandon ever since her short-lived fling with Brad. That jerk had us all fooled with his shy, nice-guy act. Turns out he was a major creep. After he fired her, she got a part-time job working at my father’s law firm and is now focusing on legal studies rather than journalism. She’s doing pretty good, I guess. Personally I’d like to see her settle down and stop partying so much, but she seems happy enough. Which is what matters.

  “Don’t listen to her. She knows how to cook, she just doesn’t like cleaning up afterwards.” With one hand, Louise pinches her stepdaughter’s cheeks so hard Leah’s mouth puckers out like a goldfish.

  “Well, der is dat,” she admits through her fish lips.

  “He’s really turning somersaults tonight, isn’t he?” Shane murmurs, still cradling my belly in his hands. He’s tuned everyone else out and is concentrating instead on feeling the baby kick. He loves that. I do too, except when it’s the middle of the night and the kid’s practicing his karate moves in there while I’m trying to sleep.

  “Did you two ever decide on a name?”

  “Are we reconvening in the kitchen?” Louise’s question is interrupted as Hank comes strolling in from the dining room, bearing a serving dish with only a few stray peas left in the bottom. He passes it to his wife before turning his attention to me. “Oh hey, almost slipped my mind – I understand congratulations are in order. I hear your book was quite a hit. Made the New York Times best sellers list, didn’t it?”

  “That’s right!” Louise puts the dish in the sink and wipes her hand
s on a dishtowel before putting an arm around me for a quick hug. “Congratulations, sugar. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

  “Thank you,” I smile. My latest book was released over a month ago and sales are still jumping. I’ve already started on the next one, but it could be a while before it’s out. Kristine Lane may be taking a hiatus so her alter ego can focus on mommy duties.

  “So, have you decided on a name?”

  “We’re thinking of Jeremy Elliott.” Shane winks at me and I slip my hand in his, trying not to cringe against the nagging discomfort in my middle. My stomach is cramping again. A little stronger this time.

  On second thought, that cake and ice cream doesn’t sound so good after all.

  Suddenly noticing the clock on the wall, Leah gestures at it with her thumb. “Hey you guys, I think we better get a move on. Look at the time. Dessert might have to wait ’til later.”

  We have plans to go to the synchronous firefly viewing at the Elkmont campground inside the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It was Shane’s idea. I can’t help but adore how romantically sentimental my husband is. How on earth did I get to be so lucky?

  “That’s true, it is getting late,” Hank agrees. “We better get going. The first shuttle leaves at seven.”

  “All right…everyone scoot. Go get ready and we’ll head out in five minutes.” The kitchen empties out, leaving me alone with Shane, and he tugs at my hand as I try to follow everyone into the living room. “Not you, woman. You wait just a minute.”

  I look up at him questioningly.

  “I need a kiss first.” His eyes twinkle as he gathers me in his embrace and steals the kiss that has me melting in his arms. “I love you, Felony.”

  “I love you too, Pain,” I tell him, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

  “Yeah, you do.” With a playful tweak to my nose, he turns to head out.

  But instead of going with him I freeze in place, rooted to the floor as a sudden gush of wet warmth soaks the crotch and thighs of my stretchy maternity pants.