Forever (Eternity #1)
Page 24
“Okay? Do you want to stay home?”
“I’m starved. When aren’t I? Are you sure twins don’t run in your family?”
He blanched before her eyes. “Pretty sure. Why? The ultrasound—”
“I was just teasing, Dean,” she said quietly. “It’s just that I want to eat all the time.”
“Then get the dress on and I’ll feed you.” He picked up the article in question and dropped it over her head, awkwardly, the buttons at the back ending up under her chin. “I’m better at taking things off,” he muttered.
Amy fought the shiver of awareness, wondering if her conversation with Sandra about thwarted love and her most recent thoughts about unwanted celibacy were contributing to awakening the beast of arousal. Dean finally got the fabric sorted out with her help and fastened the buttons. His big hand closed around something shimmering on the coverlet and lifted it to show her. It was the white gold bracelet she’d left behind.
“Will you wear this tonight, sweetheart?” His face was calm but his eyes were full of hesitancy.
Taking a deep breath, she replied. “Why?”
“Because if you won’t marry me, at least I’ll feel that you’ve forgiven me a little.”
Had she forgiven him? Maybe a little. It was hard to hold a grudge in the face of how he now treated her. She nodded and his smile touched her heart. He carefully fastened it around her left wrist, and pressed a kiss on the clasp. God.
“We should get there in time if we leave now. C’mon, let’s feed you.”
Ignoring the sudden chaos of her emotions, she allowed him to walk her out to the truck. “Pretty soon, you won’t be able to make it up inside, Amy.”
It was true. Stepping up on the running board and clambering into the front seat was becoming difficult, even with a gentle boost from Dean.
“I’ll bring the SUV home tomorrow.”
He wouldn’t drive the mommy van, she found herself thinking sourly, but he’d expect her to. Although the fact he hadn’t replaced it with a vehicle more … Dean … ridding himself of another reminder of her flight from him, said something. Besides her request for it. She knew in her heart it was because he respected how the people in Dominion City helped her when she was in need, and all the work Chaske had done on it to make it safe and reliable.
“What?” He looked into her face after ensuring her seat belt was fastened.
“I don’t want to drive the mommy van.”
“You won’t have to for awhile yet.”
“You can drive it.”
Dean began to laugh. He shut the passenger door and went around to get in on his side. She could see his shoulders shaking with mirth. He was still laughing when he swung into the seat and cranked over the engine. “I was wondering where feisty Amy went,” he finally choked out. “I thought earth mother had totally replaced her.”
She wanted to be angry but couldn’t. She laughed a little too. So he had noticed her calm, relaxed state, even more vegged-out than previously sweet Amy. Of course he had. He didn’t miss anything. She wondered if he’d noticed her reaction to him when he was helping her dress, though … she just had to accept it. He’d been patient and given her lots of time to come to it. She belonged to Dean Chambray. Now it was a question if she could open herself up to giving him everything once again.
****
Amy ate her steak with obvious relish and devoured the potato and side dishes. She declined dessert and coffee, and Dean realized she was still trying to avoid too much sugar and caffeine. She looked the picture of motherhood in her dark blue dress, the silky fabric fitted sweetly over her breasts to fall in folds around her swelling belly. He knew, without looking, that she wore heels for the evening, because she’d surreptitiously kicked off the little ballet flats just before they went out the door and toed into the fancy shoes. He’d given her that small rebellion, the little danger to her well being, because he wouldn’t let her fall.
Her hair drifted around her shoulders, the white gold of her earrings glinting through the thick strands. He was pleased beyond belief she had agreed to wear the matching bracelet, feeling it symbolized a closer move to resolving the biggest issue. She smiled at him, hopefully full and content. He wanted her relaxed because he’d decided to tell her everything. Life as they knew it would soon change. He could feel it in his bones, and Amy needed to be prepared. A movement in his peripheral vision took his immediate attention.
“’Lo, Dean. How you keeping?” Crystal’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Her slender figure was wrapped in a form-fitting revealing scarlet dress, and she teetered on extremely high heels as she leaned over their table. Was the woman fucking blind? Dean decided to see it through, although he could feel Amy’s immediate interest and her tension.
“Good, Crystal. You?”
“Not complaining. Haven’t seen you in awhile. Not since—”
Dean cut the woman off. “Crystal, busy here.”
“Hiyah, honey.” Crystal’s cold, blue eyes were vacant as they turned to Amy, ignoring his not so subtle reminder. “This the same woman? When you came to me after—”
Well, shit. “That would be none of your business, Crystal.”
This time his tone was crystal clear, and Crystal wasn’t a stupid woman. Dean wondered why she had even said it in the first place, then realized she was altered. Her pretty face twisted for a split second before smoothing out, and her painted lids dropped over her eyes before she blinked them open.
Amy shifted, and the timbre of her voice spelled huge trouble. For him. All her sweetness had soured. “Nice to meet you, Crystal.”
A tall, thin man materialized to Crystal’s right, his arm snaking around her waist. He nodded in Dean’s direction, and Dean recognized him as one of the owners of the restaurant. “C’mon, honey. They’re waiting for us.”
Dean waited for her to start something, but she relaxed into the guy and managed a little wave. The silence following their departure weighed heavily.
“Amy—”
“Don’t. I’m not talking about it here. Take me home.”
At least she called it home. Fuck. Dean stood and offered his hand. Amy ignored it, no surprise, and clambered to her feet, her usual grace and balance impaired by the swelling of her belly. He inwardly cursed both Crystal and his stupid reactive foolishness and resigned himself to an interesting discussion. Amy’s icy silence in the truck reminded him of the day he brought her back home and he longed for the time before he’d been a fool, although the return of the attitude was getting old.
Back rigid, shoulders set, she climbed the stairs ahead of him and he restrained himself from smacking that lush ass. Instead, he gave her space and waited patiently while she entered the code on the door, taking two tries to get it right. This did not bode well.
“You eased my so called betrayal with that skank?” Amy threw her purse in the general direction of the couch, and tossed her light sweater after it. Her breasts heaved beneath the fabric of her dress as furious color welled up from its neckline to paint her cheeks. Her eyes matched the color of her dress, but were absolutely livid.
Well, right into it. Dean decided not to mention that Crystal really wasn’t a skank, although considering the fact she was obviously using, he might be wrong about that. And he was actually elated at Amy’s jealousy. Gone was the calm, sedate earth mother.
“No.”
The quiet denial appeared to take the wind out of Amy’s sails. She stared at him for a long moment, an eternity, and then visibly accepted it. Whatever his actions that fateful day had done to their relationship, she obviously remembered he never lied to her. He might refuse to answer, withheld things he didn’t think it in her best interest to know, but he never lied. The fire went out and with it, her spirit. The high color in her cheeks faded before his eyes, her shoulders slumped and tears beaded on her shuttering lashes, spilling over to course in rivulets down her cheeks. What the fuck? He loved sweet Amy, but he liked to see her feistiness, too.
“That’s the problem,” she wailed, burrowing her face into his shoulder. She sobbed and hiccupped. “You’ve got me and it’s so fucked.”
“Shhh. Amy, it’s okay,” he insisted, and went with his gut.
Easing her away from his body, he wrapped an arm around her and walked her into the bedroom. The late evening sun poured gold through the slats in the blinds. Amy stood like a child, passive under his touch as he worked the buttons open on her dress and slipped it from her shoulders. It drifted to the floor to float around her ankles on a wisp of sound, barely audible over her stuttering breaths. Disposing of her bra next, Dean pressed a kiss on the top of each slope of creamy breast, seeing nothing but woman—his woman. He shrugged out of his jacket and frantically yanked his shirt over his head, fumbling with his belt and fly, all the while pushing into her space, forcing her to move backwards to the bed.
As her legs came up against the mattress, she sat, abruptly, and he shoved his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprang free, towards its woman. He hadn’t taken off his boots, and his clothing hobbled him, stuck around his ankles. Dean didn’t dare take the time to remedy the situation, afraid Amy would collect herself. He had to believe he’d interpreted her anguished proclamation correctly and was going to capitalize on it and bind her to him while soothing her angst.
Kneeling at her feet, he gently pushed her legs apart and hitched between them, feeling very much the supplicant. The crotch of her panties was damp and he pressed an open mouthed kiss against it, huffing his breath as he did so. Amy moaned above him and he chanced a glance. She was leaning back, weight supported on outstretched hands, her eyes closed.
“Lie back,” he urged, gratified when she did so, flopping back like a rag doll. The growing swell of her belly obscured his sight line to her face and Dean’s heart swelled in reaction to the evidence of his child until he could barely get a breath against it.
Insinuating both hands under her buttocks, he grasped her underwear and pulled it to the tops of her thighs, then reached to pull it away from her mound, the view of the full, pink lips of her labia taking what breath he had left. He fought against the light-headed sensation and stretched the material ruthlessly to work it over her thighs and down over her feet. Folding her legs, he set each foot on the edge of the mattress, splaying her wide. God how he’d missed this, the sight and smell of her!
He fell on her, hands returning to fit beneath the globes of her ass, lifting her cunt to his mouth. He feasted, relearning all her crevices and sensitive spots, stiffening his tongue to thrust up inside her channel, ignoring her clit. Amy whimpered and writhed, but his shoulders kept her knees wide, and her position didn’t allow her to sit up or retreat. Her honey lubricated her folds and he lapped it up as fast as she made it.
“Please, Dean.” A whispered choke of begging sound. At last.
Whirling his tongue over the knot of nerves at her apex, he exerted more pressure, then sucked it against his palate, hard. Amy screamed and arched high from the bed, feet battering against his upper arms, a flood of cream drenching his chin. Dean released her clit and lapped gently, bringing her down. His cock was doing its own form of whimpering and weeping but he ignored it. He straightened and lifted his head, looking at her over the proof of their passion all those months ago, a curved, sweet bulge covered in silky skin. Amy’s tearstained face rose up and gentian eyes met his own. Was there forgiveness and acceptance mirrored there?
****
Pussy still clenching on emptiness, Amy fought the languor brought about by the amazing orgasm. Dean knelt at her feet, the lower part of his face covered in the evidence of her release, watching and waiting. In that instant, she surrendered. She loved him past sanity, and needed all of him, not just the caring, involved father of her child. Withholding, avoiding sexual intimacy, hadn’t protected her heart, hadn’t allowed her to build a wall between them. If anything, it had forced her to recognize everything Dean was without the sex. And she wanted it all. Ignoring the nervous little voice way back in her mind, the one reminding her of his perfidy and asking why she’d think he wouldn’t fall again, she smiled and reached out for him. He smiled back, and there was no triumph or smugness, simply joy mixed with relief.
As he got to his feet, she wiggled her body sideways and up towards the headboard, finding a pillow to set her head on. Dean wavered, big body swaying, and he grunted, an annoyed sound, swivelling to sit beside her. He bent over, and she admired the long, strong lines of his back and the way his tightly muscled ass barely compressed against the mattress.
“Forgot to take my boots off.”
Laughter burbled up from her belly, and his head came around, silvery gray eyes fixing her with a glare that couldn’t hold its integrity as his sense of humor asserted itself. He returned to his task, and she heard each boot hit the floor with a thump followed by the clank of his belt buckle.
As he turned and worked his way to her, carefully slinging a leg over the swell of her belly, planting a hand on either side of her head, she noted the amazing length and thickness of his cock, before it nuzzled her mound, precum anointing her skin. Dean dropped his mouth over her own and she gave over, opening to allow his tongue entrance, his chest hair gently abrading her sensitive nipples. She pushed up with her hips to press against his cock, reveling in how he shuddered. In an instant, he levered his weight up and set his knees between her widening legs, pushing them wider, the immediate sense of welcome vulnerability making her pussy cream.
“Can’t wait,” he muttered, and his cock pushed between her folds, lancing unerringly to find her gate. A surprising pressure, familiar yet distant, assailed her as he jerked his hips forward and thrust inside, fighting his way past tender, swollen tissues. It had been such a long time. He finally seated himself as deep as he could push, and it made her eyes water with pleasure, her sheath stretched, that certain place high up near her cervix prodded by the wide mushroom head of his shaft.
“Are you okay? Is this alright for you? And the baby?” His desperate question touched her.
“It’s fine. The doctor said so.”
Beginning to thrust, to withdraw and retreat, each time with a little twist to torment her G-spot, Dean worked above her, now twining his fingers with her own, a sweet imprisonment, looking deep into her eyes. The storm brewing in his gray gaze mesmerized her, coupled with the talented plunging of his cock. Amy’s release again built, impossibly, and she closed her eyes against it. After such a drought…
“Look at me, sweetheart. Please.” Forcing her lids open in response to his agonized plea she once again connected on an emotional level … and flew. Dean’s eyes dilated, the pupils swallowing the gray of the iris, and she saw not only her own anguished pleasure but the depth of his, backed by tenderness and something even deeper.
“Love you.”
Unsure if he actually voiced it, or telegraphed the pledge in the intensity of the moment, she nevertheless believed him with all that she was. Tugging one hand free, she raised it to cup his cheek, accepting his weight as he collapsed upon her, noting how he kept the bulk of him from where their child rested.
After a time he moved away, their skin grudgingly separating. Settling on his side, raised up on one elbow, he cupped first one of her breasts, then the other, sweetly pinching the nipples. His big hand coasted down to her belly, fingers spread wide to rest with a gentle pressure. Baby awoke abruptly and a little bump visibly pressed between Dean’s forefinger and thumb. Their collective breath seized as his hand froze in place. The bump disappeared and the smoothness of the curve reasserted itself.
“Think that was a comment?” Dean’s tone was wryly amused.
Laughing, enjoying the fact she’d expressed mirth twice in one day after the careful monitoring of her emotions with him over the past months, Amy nodded.
“I’m sure it was. Probably don�
��t want to know what she said, though.”
“He.”
“Unless you can read ultrasounds, babe, don’t be so sure.”
Dean kissed her, a hard, possessive press of lips. “It doesn’t matter, although the idea of two of you scares the living shit out of me.”
“It should.” And that was all she would ever say, a fitting final comment about his actions that awful day.
Dean watched her, eyes narrowing, that familiar silver hue quite evident. And smiled. “The next one can be a boy. He’ll have a big sister to look up to. And Amy? I’m sorry. For everything, but mostly how I didn’t trust you. I promise it’ll never happen again. I’ll be sure to fuck up, but never about that.”
Searching his eyes and face, believing in the veracity of his assertion, Amy allowed herself a tiny smile, then snuggled into him, suddenly exhausted. She felt him drop his head to the pillow before she went under.
****
Lying beside Amy, his future wife, and their unborn child, in the now waning sunlight, Dean catalogued his options. The big shark was circling. He didn’t know how he knew it, other than the renewed little hints of careful probing of the outlying businesses, but he was certain. His intuition rarely failed him, despite that one spectacular failure he wasn’t going to think about anymore, seeing as Amy had shut that door. Idly drifting his fingertips down the length of her, over her shoulder, down her arm, feeling each delineated bone of her ribs, the baby taking most of her caloric intake, he drew a deep breath. He’d tell her over a late dinner tomorrow, one he’d put together with his own hands. It might stir up a pile of crap, but she had to know, because a shitstorm was coming and Amy needed to be prepared.
Chapter Fifteen
“You’re a good cook, Dean.” Amy nibbled the potatoes au gratin he’d fixed to go along with the thick pork chops. “I’d forgotten.”
“Hard to fuck anything up when there’s cheese.” He wondered if he should tell her before dessert, a thick slab of chocolate cake loaded with fudge icing. He’d unearthed it from the depths of the freezer, probably secreted there by Amy in the throes of her sweet tooth.