Sex, Love & Lingerie (Secrets and Lies Book 3)

by Nelle L’Amour

  I glance down at the big bulge between his legs and laugh. “Well, darling, I don’t think that’s your problem.”

  For a quick second, he takes his eyes off the road and gazes at me. His eyes pierce me through the dark lenses. That dazzling, devilish dimpled smile curls on his lips. Oh yes, lunch is going to be good.

  Jaime returns his focus to the road and turns on the radio. Oh my goodness! The original version of “Gloria” sung in Italian—the inspiration for the Laura Branigan eighties hit—is blasting. It was featured in the Scorcese movie The Wolf of Wall Street. We loved it so much we downloaded the fabulous soundtrack. My big, bad wolf has sung it again and again to our twins, convinced it’ll teach them Italian. Personally, I think it’s going to turn them both into raving disco maniacs. We madly sing along. My off-tune voice pales next to his. With his sinfully sexy looks and pitch-perfect raspy voice, he could be a rock star. Take that back. He is a rock star. My rock star.

  An hour into the drive, he stops the car. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Verdant hills illuminated by the afternoon sun surround me, and in the distance, I can see scattered villas and vineyards. The late summer trees, whose leaves have begun to turn into jewels—topaz, garnets, and citrines—shade us. We’re parked on a slice of heaven on Earth.

  No need for sunglasses, we store them in the glove box. Jaime jumps out of the car. “Come on, angel. It’s time to feast.” After opening the passenger door for me, he rounds the little sports car and retrieves our blanket and picnic basket from the trunk. He takes me by the hand and leads me to leafy patch under a majestic chestnut tree. He sets the picnic basket on the ground, and I help him spread the blanket. I’m ironing out the corners when his brawny arms clamp my belly.

  “Come here, you.”

  Those three words that make every part of me melt. I know what’s coming.

  I straighten up and he spins me around. His denim blue eyes burn a hole in mine. He tickles my chin with the tip of my braid, and in a hot breath, he slithers my sundress down my body until it’s a crumpled cotton heap by my feet. I’m standing before him, clad only in my matching floral lace bra and thong from our Springtime is My Time collection. Our time. My breasts quiver in the pre-autumn breeze.

  “Tear off my clothes, Gloria,” he commands.

  Eagerly, I lift his soft tee over his head and then unbutton his jeans. I shove them down his long legs, not surprised to see he’s gone commando. His magnificent cock is already erect. He rubs the tip against my swollen belly. With a soft hiss, he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his jeans.

  “Lie down.” Another one of his bossy orders. Something I’ve gotten used to. Something I’ve come to love. He needs to control me as much as I need to lose control.

  I do as bid. My eyes gaze up at the sculpted masterpiece looming above me. He puts Michelangelo’s David to shame. His massive cock, as hard as marble, points at me.

  “I’m starving, Gloria,” he growls as he lowers himself onto the blanket.

  “But we just had breakfast.”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “I can’t fucking get enough of you.” Squatting next to me, he rips off my bra and panties in a heated breath. My pulse is racing, my pussy pulsing. Goosebumps spread across my flesh.

  “Now bend your knees and spread your legs.” I hear the leering chestnut tree ooh as I do as asked. Jaime repositions himself between them.

  With a seductive smile and eyes hooded, he reaches into our picnic basket and withdraws the bucket of strawberries. Setting it beside him, he plucks out a large perfect red berry by its stem and then circles it slowly around my nipples, one after the other. My nipples pucker and I moan with pleasure.

  His sexy voice drifts into my ears. “Did you know that strawberries are also a natural aphrodisiac?”

  Whatever. I’m too caught up in the sensual pleasure he’s giving me.

  “In art and literature, they’re called ‘fruit nipples.’ And aptly, my beautiful pregnant wife, the many tiny seeds symbolize fertility.”

  My ‘fruit nipples’ are getting me completely aroused. Now that I’m pregnant, they’re even more sensitive. Wet heat blossoms between my thighs. I moan again as Jaime trails the strawberry around the circumference of each breast, and then slowly down my torso over my swollen belly until it reaches the space between my legs. He rubs the tip up and down my slick folds and then draws circles with it around my clit. He presses harder. The wet skin of the berry mingles with mine, creating an out of this world erotic sensation. A groan escapes my throat.

  “How does this feel, angel?”

  “Very, berry good,” I moan. Oh does it! Our glazed eyes connect. He smiles wickedly. I so want him inside me. He’s made me so ripe for him. But to my dismay, he moves the berry away from my hungry pussy. I gasp.

  “Eat!” he orders, dangling the monstrous, soaked strawberry above my mouth. He puts it to my lips and traces the outline with the tip. I close my eyes, savoring the sublime sensation. After one rotation, I part my lips and bite into the berry. My own sweet juices mix with the juices of the fruit and create an erotic cocktail. Moaning, I swallow, and with one more bite, I polish it off.

  “Did you like that, Gloria?”

  “Mmm.” Opening my eyes, I nod with a smile.

  With a glint of satisfaction, he smiles back at me. “Good. Now, it’s my turn. I want to taste you.” I watch as he reaches into the bucket for another succulent strawberry. He repeats his actions. I repeat my reactions. Removing the glistening plump berry from my pussy, he lifts it to his mouth and languidly rolls his tongue around it. My eyes stay fixed on him as he inserts the whole berry into his mouth. Clamping his luscious lips on it, he bites down and swallows hard. It’s like a slow motion dream.

  “Mmm. Mrs. Zander, you do taste so berry good. But I’m thirsting for more.” My feverish eyes stay glued on him as he pops open the bottle of Prosecco and glogs a mouthful. The excess drizzles from his mouth. My breath hitches. So unbelievably sexy.

  “Have some,” he breathes out.

  “You know I can’t. I’m preg—”

  Before I can finish my sentence, Jaime crashes his lips on mine and forces my mouth to open. His tongue, laced with the flavor of the chilled sparkling wine, dashes inside and then dances with mine. Swirling and twirling. It tastes so good. He tastes so good. I moan into his delicious mouth, cupping his face and deepening our passionate kiss. An electric current zaps every nerve of my body. And then, without warning, he pours the rest of the bubbly all over me. I jolt.

  “What are you doing?” I scream out, breaking away.

  A cocky smile plays on his contemplative face. “I’m going devour every bit of you, my sweet angel.”

  “Don’t you want some more of the Prosecco?”

  He licks his glistening lips. “No, baby. I’m already drunk with love.”

  In a heartbeat, his talented tongue is scrolling down my body, sensuously savoring every bit of the liquid. He starts at the hypersensitive crook of my neck and languidly slides it down to the valley between my engorged breasts, lapping and licking. He flicks my nipples, making them yet harder. I let out a loud sigh. It feels so divine. The small of my back arches, and between my upper thighs, a barrage of sparks is set off. Some of the Prosecco has gathered in the pit of my navel. Jaime’s warm velvety tongue dips into it and laps it up. The fire between my legs intensifies at the squishy erotic sound. I moan again this time louder, my navel, with its lifelines to Paulette and Payton, more sensitive than ever.

  His tongue continues to travel down to my center where the sparkling wine has dripped. He licks and laps, swirls and twirls, and then it stays on my clit. Flicking and licking. Oh. My. God. My arousal is more than I can bear. I curl my fingers around this hot, pulsing length and nudge it against my hungry opening. My harsh, heated breaths sound in my ears.

  “Do you want me to fuck you, angel?”

  “Oh, yes. Please!” Please, please, please! I’m practically in tears.

  He smiles sedu
ctively. The Tuscan sun dances across his face. Lust shines in his sapphire eyes.

  Spreading my legs wider, he spears inside me and fills me to the hilt.

  We groan simultaneously as I clench my muscles around him. He begins to pummel me. First slowly to gauge me. Then faster and harder. I fist his hair to hold on. He’s taking me to the edge.

  “Fuck. You are my truffle, Mrs. Zander,” he grunts into my ear.

  So close to coming, I don’t care what he calls me in my cloud of passion.

  “Tell me when you’re going to come.”

  In a mere breath, I combust. Flames of ecstasy sweep through me. A wildfire. Its path consuming me and taking every cell in its wake.

  “I’m coming…”

  “Someone’s coming…”

  The sound of Jaime’s excited voice cuts the beautiful memory short and brings my mind back to the moment. My new reality.

  CHAPTER 9

  Gloria

  My eyes snapped open. Coming out of my orgasmic flashback, it took me a moment to remember where I was. What was happening.

  Jaime’s blue eyes were as round as two marbles. “Angel, I see a baby’s head!”

  Weakly, I glanced down between my legs. I started sobbing with joy. “Oh, Jaime!”

  “Push again,” urged the officer, kneeling beside us.

  Using every ounce of strength I could muster, I grunted again and gave another forceful push. Uggggggggh! I heard myself shriek.

  On the next harsh breath, a wail pierced my ears, and on one more, a tiny blood-streaked lifeform was in the officer’s large hands. Loud applause broke out among the crowd gathered around us. Quirking the tiniest of smiles, I kept my heavy-lidded eyes on the beaming uniformed man as he handed the infant to Jaime. My darling looked as if he’d at once seen a ghost, then God, the expression on his face a mixture of fear and awe. I wanted so badly to run my fingers along his jaw. Exhausted, I just didn’t have the strength.

  “Gloria, it’s Paulette.” His voice was almost tearful. “She’s beautiful. She has your lips and hair.”

  I was a speechless, sweating, blubbering mess. Dazed and wasted, I eyed the little bundle of joy, her sweet rosebud lips puckering as she wailed. Our beautiful little girl. My heart swelled with emotion. Finally, one little word tumbled out of my mouth. “Oh!”

  Bending down, the kind Chanel manager gently washed our wailing newborn and then swathed her in the pink cashmere shawl. “Your husband is right. She is one beautiful baby.” She gently handed the baby back to Jaime who planted a tender kiss on her porcelain forehead. My eyes clicked open and shut like the shutter of a camera, taking a mental snapshot of this heart-melting moment that would stay with me forever.

  I was bursting with love. Oh, how I longed to hold her in my arms, but an intense shooting pain unexpectedly ripped through my core. I winced and quivered. Another baby was on his way. Our Payton. I pushed with another loud grunt, but I felt no movement. I pushed again. Still nada. Panic gripped me. Why wasn’t he coming out? Gritting my teeth, I pushed again. Nothing. Only more agonizing pain.

  My watering eyes bore into Jaime’s. Panic was written all over his face too. He knew.

  I sobbed. “Baby, something’s wrong. Terribly wrong.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Jaime

  Gloria was right. Something was wrong, terribly fucking wrong. She was a trembling bundle of blood, sweat, and tears. Forcing myself to look down, I couldn’t believe how much blood she’d lost. The lining of my jacket was soaked red. And so was the edge of her white shirt. A shudder ran through me.

  The lovely Chanel manager cupped her hand over her mouth. “Your wife, she’s bleeding heavily.”

  The officer murmured, “Holy mother of God,” and bit his lip.

  “Would you please hold our baby?” I asked the Chanel lady, not sure if I was begging or demanding.

  “Of course,” she answered, gently taking our now peaceful Paulette back into her arms.

  Right now, I needed to hold Gloria. My beloved angel.

  She was sobbing uncontrollably. Gutting me.

  “Hang in there, angel,” I said as she heaved in my arms. I kissed her everywhere I could.

  “Payton,” she cried out.

  “It’s okay, angel. We have a beautiful healthy baby.”

  She wept. Nothing I could say could comfort her. Her body contorted with pain and endless tears poured down her face.

  The cop did a Hail Mary. Securing Paulette in one arm, the Chanel lady followed suit. Never one to be religious, I silently prayed to God for a miracle.

  Our prayers were answered. Just as the President passed by in his black Lincoln Navigator to raucous cheers, the barricade lifted; a siren roared in my ears. In a flash, an ambulance pulled up to us. A team of three paramedics jumped out of the vehicle.

  They immediately examined Gloria who was losing blood by the handful.

  “Twin B is in breech,” said the female paramedic.

  “What do you mean?” I panicked.

  “He’s in a transverse position. This happens often after the birth of Twin A.”

  Our Payton. The athlete! I loved him and damned him at the same time. “What are we going to do?” My eyes bounced from my poor Gloria, who looked like all life had drained from her, to the paramedic whose expression was intense. She glanced down at my bloodstained jacket.

  “We’re going to do a breech extraction: pull the baby out by his legs.”

  The cop crossed his heart; the Chanel lady bit down on her lip, and some in the crowd folded their hands in prayer.

  Before I could utter a word, the paramedic inserted her long-fingered hand into my Gloria, now delirious. I held my breath. And could hear my heart pounding. A few long minutes later, a miracle appeared. My son. Our son. Payton. He was wailing at the top of his lungs. I swear the little guy already had my don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. He was going to be one handsome cocky little devil. Just like his father.

  Another paramedic, a young Latino, washed him off and then grabbed the blue cashmere shawl from the Chanel lady and wrapped him up. He was still wailing loudly.

  “I think your wife has just given you one fine, healthy boy.”

  “Gloria, did you hear that?” My smiling eyes connected with Gloria’s, except hers were rolling back in her head. My heart leapt into my throat.

  “Gloria’s, what’s wrong?” Blood was still pouring out of her by the bucketful.

  The female paramedic, her dark eyes wide with alarm, quickly took Gloria’s pulse. She bit down on her lip.

  “Is my wife okay?” My voice wavered.

  To my utter horror, Gloria, white as a ghost, began to convulse. “Gloria!”

  “Your wife is hemorrhaging. She’s in hypovolemic shock.”

  The next few minutes were a total frenzied blur. Surreal. For the second time in my life, I was in the back of an ambulance with my beloved angel…this time unconscious, strapped down on a gurney hooked up to IVs and wearing an oxygen mask. Her breathing was labored. Our beautiful babies slept peacefully in my arms. But my reality was an ugly nightmare. Gloria might die.

  CHAPTER 11

  Jaime

  Dr. Marcy Bernstein, Gloria’s gynecologist, met us at the emergency entrance to Cedars. She was a handsome, dark-haired woman in her early forties, the sister of my best bud, Blake Burns. Several paramedics and nurses accompanied her. The pinched expression on her face told me she knew Gloria was in trouble.

  “Move it, move it!” she shouted out as the paramedics swung open the ambulance doors and worked at breakneck speed to get Gloria out of the ambulance.

  Everything happened so fast. A couple of nurses took the swaddled, still sleeping babies into their arms, telling me they were bringing them to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where they would be fully examined and fed. The thought that something could be wrong with Paulette and Payton never occurred to me, but now another dark, petrifying cloud hung over my head.

  “Are they okay?” The words race
d out of my mouth.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” replied one of the nurses as I jumped out of the ambulance. “They look healthy and beautiful. The NICU is where we take all preemies for a thorough examination.”

  With a heavy sigh of relief, my attention returned to Gloria. The paramedics were hooking her up to a portable IV unit.

  “Get her legs up,” ordered Marcy.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, my voice frantic. My heart was thudding so loudly I could hear it.

  “She’s probably torn her uterus,” she replied and then addressed the paramedics, who were still hurriedly hooking her up to various tubes. One of them covered her with a thick blanket, sparing me the sight of seeing her blood-soaked shirt.

  “Let’s go!” the stern doctor barked.

  On my next rapid breath, the paramedics burst through the automatic doors with Gloria unconscious on the gurney and all hooked up to IVs. My angel was as white as chalk, but I focused on the rise and fall of her chest. Thank fucking God, she was still breathing. I held onto the railing of the gurney, racing with them as they rushed her down a long corridor and into a wide elevator. Dr. Bernstein kept pace beside me.

  “Where are you taking her?” My heart was beating a mile a minute, my voice breathless.

  “For an MRI and then surgery.”

  At the word surgery, my stomach twisted into a painful knot.

  “What blood type is she?”

  “O.” Gloria’s blood type was the same as mine.

  “She’s likely going to need a transfusion. She’s had significant blood loss.”

  I quickly shared the fact that Gloria and I shared the same blood type.

  “We’re going to need you,” she breathed out. “Stay with us.”

  Two hours and three pints of blood later, I restlessly sat in the waiting room, my unhinged body a jittery bundle of nerves. What the fuck was taking so long? To distract myself, I checked my iPhone; I’d turned it off while Gloria was giving birth on the street. There were now dozens of texts and messages awaiting me. One was from Blake whom I’d call later, but the great majority were from Kevin. I owed him a call. He was like a brother to Gloria; they had been through thick and thin together. He needed to know what was going on. I speed-dialed his number.