by Dee Palmer
“How’re you feeling?” I slide my arms around her tummy where her skin is silky soft from the bubbles, and my hands swoop up to cup her full breasts and pull her back to lean against me. Her fine arse nestles neatly against my growing cock, and she gives a tortuous wiggle. I pinch her nipple, and she bucks under the pain.
“Ow.” She slips to the side and looks over her shoulder at me. I’m pretty sure it didn’t hurt, but she definitely looks ticked-off. “Don’t start something you have no intention of finishing.” Her tone is full of sass, and her brow arches high.
“Who said I have no intention of finishing?” I release her puckered pebble and massage her breasts instead.
“You were cupping your cock like you feared for his life just moments ago, and you stopped earlier when I know you weren’t finished,” she challenges and pushes her full breasts into my firm hands.
“You needed food, and I was cupping myself because I want to relax a little with you before…”
“Before?” She hums.
“Before I resume fucking your brains out.” I move my hands from her gorgeous breasts, which do feel a little bigger in my palm. They also feel fantastic, and that is not helping with my hard-on and the need to talk first.
“Oh…well, that’s okay then. I thought for a minute you were going to go all ‘you’re carrying my baby, I can’t possibly fuck the mother when she is with child’ or some shit.” Her voice drops an octave in a mock attempt at a man’s voice…not mine, just some croaky Neanderthal.
“Nine months without fucking? Do people really do that?” I can’t hide the horror in my voice, and she snickers.
“I don’t know. I have heard it freaks some men out, the whole ‘there’s a baby in there’.” She rubs her flat tummy, and I know for a fact only a medical certificate prohibiting intercourse would keep me from fucking her at every possible opportunity.
“Hmm.” I mull what she’s said, and it spins in my head but gains no purchase. “Nope…I’m fine with fucking your brains out, but we do need to talk.”
“Oh that sounds ominous.” She tilts her head to look at me and grimaces. Her eyes are as large as saucers. I tap the end of her nose playfully, and she relaxes with a soft smile.
“You have an appointment at the Porchester Maternity Hospital on Tuesday. I booked it for after work, not for my convenience you understand, I’m happy to take time out. I just thought you’d want to show your face at your work first and maybe talk to them about flexible hours.” I entwine my fingers with hers and rest our joined hands where they gently rise and fall with each breath she takes.
“Flexible hours?” She twists again to look into my eyes. God she’s utterly stunning.
“Sam, I want you to take it really easy…zero stress. You said yourself—” Her finger presses my lips, and I fall silent at her touch.
“I know and that’s really sweet. I was thinking the same thing.” She removes her finger and slips back around. “I know most women breathe a sigh of relief at twelve weeks, however, I’m going to be holding my breath until this little fella is in my arms.” Our joined hands pat her tummy with a small splash of bathwater.
“Fella?” Back ’round she twists; she’s like a spinning top.
“Or Fella-ess.” She crinkles her nose and beams so brightly her face lights up the whole damn room. I don’t know about pregnant women glowing, Sam is like this supernova.
“Twelve weeks, eh? So this is really early days then? Have you told anyone?” My other hand is drawing absent patterns in the thin film of bubbles on her bent knee.
“No, I’m still processing. I mean we’ve not really talked about it, have we?” She shivers when I draw my nail in a line from her knee and along the inside of her thigh.
“I don’t think we should tell anyone just yet,” I say. Only it comes out a little harsh and perhaps too eager judging by her reaction. She stiffens in my arms. “Did someone just stick an iron pole up your arse? Because you have just gone rigid in my arms.” She slips all the way around and rests her delectable body on mine once more; it’s very distracting and I still have one more tricky subject to discuss.
“You don’t want to tell anyone?” Her eyes are heavy with hurt.
“Is that what I said? Or did I say it’s early days and maybe we shouldn’t tell anyone. We can, of course we can. I am surprised you would want to, that’s all.” I cup her face, and she sighs and leans into my comfort.
“I don’t want to tell anyone yet…I just…I just need to be sure you’re okay with this.” Her voice breaks, and I fucking hate that uncertainty. But I know just the cure for that.
“I’m more than okay. There is only one thing that could make me happier.” I hold her gaze and watch her expression change from anxious to adoring, her eyes soften and her smile eclipses any concern, wide and wicked.
“One thing, hmm? Do tell?” She rolls her whole body slowly up and down, aided by the soapy water. Damn that feels good. Her eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Marry me?” I ask confident in the outcome to the question.
“I have already said yes to that one.” She rolls her eyes and puffs out a little breath.
“This weekend,” I state, because I’m less certain of this outcome.
“What?” She gasps and chokes on a loud laugh that stutters to an awkward gulp and then silence. “You’re serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Not at all. Shit!” She shuffles to her knees, and I bend and widen my legs to accommodate. Large swaths of bubbles glide down her perfect body, and I struggle to remember what we were talking about. “Shit!” she repeats, and I remember.
“You don’t want to?” It’s an option I hadn’t really considered, and it churns my stomach that she could not want to. I steel my face and keep my emotions in check.
“Now who’s putting words into my mouth? I didn’t say that, it’s just…fast.” She runs her wet hands through her long glossy hair, scrapping it clear of her face. She’s absolutely flawless. She’s going to say yes.
“We both want it. Today, tomorrow, one month, nine months, five years. We are forever, beautiful, this is just timing.” I sit up so we are nose-to-nose. “Personally, I don’t want to go another night without you as my wife, though I will compromise and wait the six days.”
“Wow, that’s some compromise,” she quips.
“Is that a yes?” She smiles and gives a short nod. “I need to hear the words, Sam.”
“Yes, that’s a yes.” I slap my hands on her arse cheeks through the water and haul her onto my lap, she manages to wrap her legs around my waist, and now, her lips are a breath from mine.
“You make me so damn happy, soon-to-be Mrs Sinclair,” I whisper. My words kiss her lips.
“And you are completely crazy, Mr Sinclair. A wedding in less than a week.” She shakes her head at the madness, but she doesn’t know about my secret weapon.
“Pfft…It’s done. Trust me, all you have to do is turn up.” Her eyes narrow and hold my gaze for only a moment when her brows shoot up with enlightenment.
“Sofia,” she exclaims.
“Sofia.” I confirm then cover her mouth with mine and consume.
“Are you sure about this?” Charlie, my permanent replacement for Leon is perched on my old bed in my apartment nimbly twirling the small, curved silver penis sound in her fingers. She snatches the end between her thumb and forefinger, points it at me, and draws tight little circles in the air, waving it like a kinky wand.
“Oh I am sure. Jason took one look at my tool box, and I swear it was the first time he was speechless.” I bite back a smirk. I know he has this reputation as a king of kink, but some of the stuff I have was clearly a little too close to his hard limits to stomach.
“So you’ve never—” She forces the sound through the tiniest hole her clenched fist can simulate, and I sniff out humourless laugh.
“—stuck anything into Jason’s cock?” I finish. “That would be a big no.” I lean
forward and take the slim Dittle and replace in my kit of graduating sizes. I clip the velvet case shut and place it in the much larger cardboard box with the rest of the toys I will no longer need. I’m not having a thorough clear out, not by a long way. It’s just I happen to know these tools of torture I will definitely never get to use again.
“So this is really it. No more Mistress Selina?” Charlie is peering into the stuffed box that I’m gifting to her. She smiles at the contents, but her face drops with an exaggerated downturn of her lips when her eyes meet mine. I beam my brightest smile back at her and chuckle.
“It’s why you’re here. So you can give the fake remorse a miss, Charlie. Besides, I couldn’t be happier.”
“That I’m taking over?” she offers brightly and nods.
“That I’m hanging up my whip.”
“Won’t you miss the kink?” Her perfectly pencilled brows draw close together and utter confusion fills her face.
“No.”
“Really?” She practically gasps in horror.
“I won’t miss it, because I’m not giving it up.” I let out a loud laugh and shake my head at her misunderstanding. I clarify. “I am only giving up the job.”
“Phew, hate to think we’d lost you to the vanilla brigade.”
“Unlikely,” I scoff. “You do know whom I’m marrying, don’t you?”
“Yes…yes I do, you lucky bitch.” She draws in a deep, slow breath, and I watch her closely as her eyelids flutter shut and she flattens her lips with her teeth. She lets out a breath and a huge sloppy smile spreads across her face.
“Did you just have a moment?”
“I did.” She sighs unashamedly.
“For my Jason?”
“Hmm.” She nods slowly.
“I’m not sure what to even do with that.” I drop my mouth wide as a token of my mock outrage.
“Don’t do anything. Look at you.” She waves her hand up the length of my body, pointing with her extra-long, black acrylic nails. “He struck gold with you. Just allow a girl to mourn the loss of one more hot guy to the ranks of the wedded wastelands.”
“You have a problem with marriage?” I drop my hip and raise my brow.
“Not at all. I would love to take a man as my wife. I’m just not sure where I’d find such a sucker,” she replies with a completely serious, flat tone and a twitch of her lips.
“You’re funny,” I snark.
“I know. I’m hilarious.” She grins and wrinkles her nose playfully. “Really, I just don’t think it would be for me. I’m happy you’re happy though. You deserve it, Sam. And I’m over the fucking moon I get all your kit. This shit would cost me a fortune.” She goes to lift the box, but from her sitting position, it’s actually too heavy. She turns and casts her eye around my room, hovering a little too long on my closed wardrobe doors. “I don’t suppose you’re dumping any of the outfits or this perhaps?” She stretches over my bed, to pick up my favourite handmade red bullwhip and strokes it seductively with her long fingers.
“Not a chance.” I hold out my hand, and she pouts, quickly placing the whip in my palm. “I never said I was a saint. I do have one more thing for you that is much, much better.” Charlie sits up straight and almost bounces with anticipation. I walk over to my bedside table and open the top drawer.
My contact book. I pick it up and wipe the thin layer of dust from its rough silk cover. Walking back around my bed, I sit next to Charlie and hand her my old life in a neat and meticulously kept record of all my clients.
“I never save contact details on my phone, and every night, I wiped the emails clean once I had transferred the appointments to my diary. This is the only hard copy of my clients’ details, and I would recommend, if you don’t already, do the same. Anonymity and privacy are extremely valuable commodities, and I’m only handing this to you because I have spoken to every person in this book and they agreed. Just so you know, you come highly recommended by me.” I nudge her lightly because I can see from her expression she completely understands the significance of what I am doing.
“Thank you. I won’t let you down, Sam. You can trust me.” Her gaze is sincere, and her voice unwavering.
“I already do. I would never have given you Leon if I didn’t.” Charlie flashes a wide smile and slips the contact book into her satchel, patting it once the straps are buckled securely. “Speaking of…how is it going with him?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” She raises a knowing brow, and I shrug my apology. I had to give her one last test; after all, my reputation is on the line.
“Honey, I’m home…Oh wait, she doesn’t fucking live here anymore.” I hear Leon mutter, supposedly to himself as I sip my tea, flicking through the newspaper while sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, waiting for him. Charlie left about an hour ago, and I decided to stay and spend a little time with Leon. Maybe break the news that I’m getting married this weekend.
“I think you need a cat, Leon.” I snicker as he freezes in the doorway with a comical, albeit momentary, look of scared shitless on his face.
“Babe!” He beams and strides toward me, wrapping his strong arms tight around my waist and lifting me clear off the stool. I struggle to breathe, letting him have his fix. “I don’t need a fucking cat. I need you to come ’round more often. I get that you’re not gonna dump the guy, but do you have to be surgically attached to the fucker all the damn time? I was here first, you know.” His tirade started off with a jokey undercurrent, but his tone sounded thoroughly pissed by the time he finished. “You’re not married yet.” My face screws up in a breath-holding grimace as he releases me and falls silent. I can feel his heated glare. “You’re not married? Are you?”
“No, no.” I shake my head, and he lets me slip to the floor. I plant my bottom back onto the stool and nervously spin my teacup, deliberately not meeting that searching look he’s throwing my way. “That’s this weekend.” I hunch my shoulders, waiting for the booming reprimand. What I get is much worse. I get silence.
I open my screwed up eyes, and my shoulders drop from the weight of sadness I see in his eyes.
“Leon, don’t look like that. I need you to be happy for me. You’re my best friend. Please.” My voice catches, and before I can say another word, my face is squished hard into his chest muffling any sound.
“I am happy for you Sam…I just wasn’t expecting the rush. Why the rush? I thought you were going to take your time and plan the big day. You deserve a big day, babe.” He releases some of the pressure in his hold, and I tilt my head back. He is trying to smile, but it’s so far from reaching his eyes, it breaks my heart.
“I’m getting a big day, Leon. It’s just after my accident Jason was really spooked, and what with the baby, it just didn’t seem so important to wait anymore. It’s not like I’m going to change my mind.”
“I know. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. It sort of seems really final…the whole marriage thing.”
“It is final. It doesn’t mean you aren’t still my best friend. It doesn’t mean you’re not important to me, Leon. You’re the first and only person I called about the baby for one thing. We had agreed not to let anyone know but I told Jason that didn’t mean you.” I reach up and hold his face. “You are so important.”
“I was only just getting used to you not living here.”
“It’s just a piece of paper, Leon. It doesn’t really change anything.”
“Then why do it?” I let out a heavy sigh. I wasn’t really expecting such a philosophical discussion, yet the question deserves more than a flip response.
“I love Jason. I’m going to have his baby, and he wants me to be his wife. It’s not rocket science and as much as I don’t need the piece of paper, I kind of want it too. Jason wants to claim me publicly as his wife…just his, and I love that he does. Whatever we do privately, he wants the world to know I belong to him and he belongs to me.”
“Hmm.” He leans in and kisses my forehead, his tone thick
with doubt. “I still don’t get the rush.”
“It’s not a rush. Well, it is, but for no reason other than…why wait any longer, when it’s what we both want? I’ve never been a fan of delayed gratification.” I wink, and that gets a small burst of laughter.
“Lucky you. I can vouch you don’t feel the same for your clients. You are a fucking sadist when it comes to that shit.’
“You loved it.” I slap his flat tummy, which tenses on impact, anticipating my strike.
“I did…I do.” He grabs my hand and holds it in his, his eyes searching mine, but there is peace there now. Maybe not total happiness, somewhere in-between, and it’s all I can hope for, for now. I pull my hand and break the intensity of his gaze and our conversation.
“How is Charlie working out?” My attempt to not so much change the subject, as to divert it away from me, doesn’t go unnoticed. Leon’s wry smile carves a slight curl in his lips.
“Good. Not as good as you but she’ll get there. She has a real mean streak that I fucking love.” He wiggles his brow salaciously, and I chuckle.
“I’m glad. That makes me really happy, Leon.”
“She’s not you, but she’ll do.”
“You want me to tell her that? She’s just picked up my tool box, I—”
“She’s here?” he blurts his interruption, and I snicker at the sheer panic in his voice. Wow, she must have a mean streak.
“No, she left an hour ago, and has all my torture toys now.”
“Like she didn’t have enough of her own… Shit. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He places his hand on his chest over his heart that must actually be thumping a strong beat by the heave of his deep breaths.
“That bad, eh?” I tease.
“That good, babe.” He releases his hold on me and walks to the fridge, pulling out two beers then replacing one on seeing my dropped jaw.
“Sorry. My bad.” He shrugs off his mistake. “It’s not like you look like you’ve swallowed a beach ball or anything. When I look at you, pregnant woman is not the first thing I see.” He pauses, and I raise a brow for him to continue his musing. “What I do see is a great rack.” He takes a pull of his ice cold beer, his lips smirking around the neck of the bottle.