by Holly Hart
When I met Charlie, he had a 737. I don’t know what it is with men and machines, but Charlie loves his jets.
We had only been married a couple of weeks before he was talking about upgrading. He claimed we need the extra space! I knew from the twinkle in his eye that space had nothing to do with it…
A tall blonde air stewardess greets us with the familiar hiss of the champagne cork leaving the bottle. Her hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and her uniform precisely tailored.
“Sir, Madam, welcome on board,” she says. “Would you like a glass of –?”
Charlie nods his head gratefully. “Please.”
I wave away the offered glass. It’s been a hell of a day. A cool glass of champagne is all I can think about, but I know I can’t taste it.
“Oh,” I add, turning back to the stewardess as Charlie and I walk arm in arm into our private cabin. “It would be a shame if it went to waste. Why don’t you have a glass?”
The stewardess – Marie, according to her name tag – shakes her head sadly. “I’m afraid I can’t, Madam. Safety regulations, you know?”
I grin back. “Ain’t that always the way! Tell you what – when we get to the Caribbean, we’re not going anywhere for a couple of weeks –”
“Months!” Charlie says, pinching my ass playfully. “If I have my way…”
“Ignore my husband,” I say, giggling. “There’s no way he’d stay away from his daughter that long.”
My husband.
God, it feels good to call him that. Of course, it has been technically, legally true for four years. But the buzz I get when I say – even think – it now is on a whole other level. It’s electric. It courses through me.
“Our daughter,” Charlie growls. “She’s as much yours as she is mine, now.”
Marie can’t hide the smile that greets her lips when she sees Charlie and I playing like this. She nods her head, and starts to make her exit.
“I mean it, Marie,” I call after her. “When we get there, you guys can use the plane, anything in the galley, whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Thorne,” she says.
Charlie kicks the door to our private cabin closed with the underside of his foot.
“Did you mean that?” I whisper. I stroke away a tear that’s already beginning to form in the corner of my eye.
“Mean what?” Charlie frowns, taking a sip of his champagne. He gestures at me with his bubbling golden glass. “You sure you don’t want any? You haven’t touched a drop all day! Besides, it’s an eighty-seven…”
I close my eyes. The sight of the champagne flute is tempting – but nowhere near tempting enough. Not with the secret I’m hiding.
“Mean that Tilly is as much my daughter is yours?”
Charlie’s furrowed forehead creases yet more. He takes a step towards me. For some reason, the world seems to slow down as I wait for his response.
I watch as Charlie’s chest rises and falls in slow motion, as the tiny tuft of chest hair sticking out dances against his shifting open collar shirt.
“What the hell are you talking about, Penny?” He says, setting the champagne flute down on the nearest surface. Underneath us, the private jet’s huge engines cough into action, and the whole jet seems to rumble into life.
“I’m sorry –,” I whisper. “It’s just – nothing. I’m probably being emotional.”
Charlie takes my hands. He draws me close to him. I wriggle free of his interlocked fingers, and smooth down the collar of his crisp gray suit. Anything to avoid looking into my husband’s eyes right now! I’m overcome with emotion.
“Hell no,” Charlie growls. “You’re one of the – no, scratch that. You’re the most level-headed woman I’ve ever had the joy of knowing. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, the only one I ever wanted to settle down with. So you know what, Penny?”
“What,” I croak. My throat feels all closed-up.
“If you ask me, Tilly has been your daughter from the day you put your dad’s life on the line to save her. Maybe she’ll never call you mom, but that’s fine. You’ve got to know how much she loves you, Pen.”
“I wouldn’t want that, anyway,” I mutter. “For her to call me mom. I’m not, and I’ll never be that to her…”
It’s true. It wouldn’t feel right. Tilly and I have more of a – a little sis, big sis relationship going on.
“Pah,” Charlie says, flicking his fingers scornfully. “I don’t do labels, Penny. You know that. You’re as much a mom to Tilly as any woman in the world has a right to be. More. You’ve given everything for that girl.”
Charlie reaches for his glass of champagne. He lifts it into the air and toasts me.
“To Penny Thorne – the kindest, most beautiful wife any man has ever known, and the most caring mother – and big sister – any man could ask for. Whatever she wants to call it…”
Charlie holds my gaze with perfect stillness, raises the glass to his lips and takes a little sip. I watch, entranced by his glittering gray eyes. His honesty is palpable.
“I mean it, Penny,” he says on the way down. “Four years ago, I could never have imagined we’d end up so close. You’re the only girl I ever want in my life. You better believe that.”
“I do,” I whisper.
How could I not?
“Here,” Charlie grins. “It’s time we celebrated! We’re finally on our honeymoon!”
“Only four years late,” I grin.
Charlie pushes his champagne flute toward me. “Take a sip, and come play with me. You’ve been good for all our guests. It’s time to let your hair down…”
I bite my lip anxiously. This is the moment I’ve been avoiding for the last couple of days. I knew there was no way I could hold out for the whole honeymoon, but how the hell am I supposed to broach a topic like this?
“Charlie…” I say as the jet rocks.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, if you could take your seats, we have been given clearance to leave, and will be lifting off in about thirty seconds. We’re expecting mild turbulence…”
I don’t hear the rest. My mind is roiling, thoughts swirling like a tropical thunderstorm.
My husband grabs my hand and leads me over to a comfortable cream-leather executive chair, and buckles me in side-by-side, next to him. How am I supposed to tell Charlie something this momentous when I’m not even facing him?
“There,” he says as his seatbelt fastens with a click. “Now – what is it you were saying?”
I groan. “I wasn’t exactly planning on telling you here.”
I’ve been picturing this in my mind for days. Standing hand-in-hand with my husband and lover, on a pearly white beach, the sound of surf hissing in the background. Instead, I get the rumbling of two jet engines!
“Telling me what?” Charlie presses.
He leans forward, takes my hands once again and gives me a kiss. I taste the bubbles on his tongue. It’s a reminder what – for the next seven months, at least – is completely off the table.
It’s worth it. I decide to go ahead and say it. Beating around the bush is only getting me more and more anxious…
“I’m pregnant,” I say.
Charlie doesn’t react. Not for a second, at least. It’s like the revelation simply bounces right off him. Then, like the sun dawning, realization breaks. He doesn’t know where to look, or how to act.
“Can you fly?” Charlie spurts out, his face suddenly drawn with worry. He goes into full-on protective dad-mode.
Half a dozen different anxious statements fallout of his mouth at once, each bumbling into the back of each other. His nerves are strangely charming.
“Wait – I’ll call the pilot. Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be back on the ground in ten minutes. Do you need a doctor –?”
“Charlie!” I yell, grabbing my husband’s hand. His fingers are already reaching for his seatbelt. His muscles are tense. His neck snaps to face me.
“What is it?” He says, flustered.
“One, we’ve been planning this honeymoon for more than a year. If you ruin it for me, I won’t forget! Two, I can fly for another four months yet. Three – I’ve seen a doctor. Three actually. If another forty-year old man puts me up in stirrups, I think I’ll slap him! And four…”
“Four?” Charlie repeats. Thankfully, the worry on his face is beginning to fade, replaced by a warm – if uncertain – pride.
I load my tone with as much innuendo, as much hidden meaning as I can muster. “It’s not whether I can fly I was hoping you’d ask about…”
“What do you mean?” Charlie asks. He strokes my arm anxiously, as though he thinks I’m made of china.
I bite my lip, and look longingly into my husband’s eyes. “Read my lips, Charlie,” I say. I move my hand, resting it on his knee. “You know what happens inside a pregnant woman’s body?”
“She gets –”
Charlie stops himself just in time, just before he says big. He knows better than that.
“No, not that,” I wink. “Not yet, anyway…”
Charlie breathes a sigh of relief.
“Something better,” I say. “My OB/GYN told me all about it. For the next few months, my brain’s going to be dumping hormones into my bloodstream. Anything it can get its hands on to convince the little kid to grow. You know what the byproduct is?”
My fingers creep up Charlie’s leg.
He glances down, licks his lips, then back at my face. The telltale bulge at his crotch tells me exactly what he wants. I admire his self-restraint. Just… It’s not his restraint I want right now.
It’s something bigger. Thicker.
I lean forward, and beckon for Charlie’s ear. Once he clocks what I want, he turns it toward me with the eagerness to please of a horny teenage boy.
“I get horny,” I growl, right as the private jet lifts off the runway. My stomach drops away, but my palm meets Charlie’s cock. I massage it, savoring it’s length, dreaming of its heat inside me. “Really, really horny. So what I’m asking, Charlie…”
“Yes?” Charlie breathes.
“Is when are you planning on doing something about it.”
My heart beats once, twice.
The seatbelt sign flicks off.
Charlie unbuckles his seatbelt.
I let out a breath.
Charlie lets me out of my seat.
My heart beats once, twice.
Charlie grabs me by the hips.
He carries me to the bed.
The plane vibrates beneath us.
“Charlie,” I moan. “Don’t you dare go slow.”
That’s the sound that breaks the camel’s back, or torpedoes the dam. Whatever your metaphor, Charlie’s resolve shatters into a thousand pieces, like shards of a tumbling mirror.
“It’s safe, right,” he moans as he undoes his fly.
“Perfectly,” I say. “I’m not some China doll.”
“Thank God for that.”
And then Charlie’s hands are on me. He undoes his shirt with one hand, my jeans with his other. I reach for his cock, and suddenly we’re lost in a tornado of fumbling hands and snatched kisses and flying clothing.
“God, you’re hot,” Charlie groans. “So fucking hot.”
“You won’t be saying that in a couple of months,” I say lightly. It’s a joke. Mostly. “Not when I get fat.”
Charlie gives up trying to unbutton my top and grips it off me. The three-hundred dollar shirt rips at every seam, and he tosses it carelessly onto the floor.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he shrugs. “Besides, you’re gonna need them, aren’t you?”
“I suppose.”
Charlie leans forward, dropping his lips to mine. “I don’t fucking care if you get fat,” he growls. “You could be any shape, any size, and I wouldn’t stop loving you. And you know what?” He growls.
I tip my head back as Charlie’s fingers start to explore my body. “What?” I moan.
“I can’t wait,” Charlie says, probing between my legs with his fingers. “I can’t wait till I can hold your tits in my hands like melons. Until your ass grows five sizes and I can use it like a fucking trampoline to bounce off.
“God, you’re wet –”
The offhand, almost surprised comment right at the end throws me off. I open my eyes, look at the expression of sheer lust on Charlie’s admiring face, see the honesty in his eyes, and I pull him down onto me.
“I’m not joking,” I whisper. “I want to feel your thick cock inside me. I want to feel the thing that got me pregnant. That’s an order.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but suddenly I’m talking like a foulmouthed pregnant sailor.
I’m delighting in being pregnant. It’s been four long years, four years of IVF and doctor’s appointments – of me crying that I wasn’t good enough, of Charlie holding me tight and whispering that he’s never wanted any other girl.
So now I’m finally pregnant, I’m going to yell it from 30,000 feet.
“Well,” Charlie grins. “If all your cravings are going to be so easy for me to satisfy, I guess it’s going to be an easy nine months…”
“Seven months,” I groan as Charlie feeds his cock into me. I keep my eyes open – somehow, grab Charlie’s shoulder and pull him into me. “Seven months of this, whenever, wherever I want. You understand?”
“Oh,” Charlie grins, grazing my lips with his. “I think I do.”
He grabs my hips and thrusts into me. Every time Charlie Thorne fucks me, I think I’m dreaming. His cock is so big it’s scarcely believable. As he pushes into me, every nerve ending in my body explodes, sending my brain little messages of pleasure.
“Believe me, Penny,” Charlie says. “I’ll never get bored of fucking you. I’ll never get bored of making you come. I’ll never get bored of feeling your cunt –,” he grins, daring me to take offense, “– gripping my cock like it’s got a mind of its own.”
“Shut up,” I moan. “Just shut up and fuck –”
And Charlie does. He flips me over in a motion I can’t figure out. Suddenly I’m on my front, and Charlie slaps my ass, and his cock explodes in and out of me like a jackhammer. It’s unbearable. My head tilts forward, red hair flowing like a fiery waterfall down to the white bedsheets.
I grip them – the sheets – holding on for dear life as the orgasm begins to crack across my body. I hear it, first – like thunder breaking at the leading edge of a thunderstorm. Then the lightning – electric shocks that singe my body, my skin, my nipples.
“Charlie,” I groan. “Charlie – I’m going to come!”
“That’s the point, Penny,” he grunts, squeezing my ass and thrusting as deep as he can get his cock. His pelvis meets my cheeks, and I groan, biting my lip as a blackness overtakes me.
The orgasm hits.
OmigodOmigodOmigodOmigod.
My brain stops working. I’m lost in a world of pleasure and pain and longing and desire. I feel Charlie’s heat bloom inside me, and then the world goes black.
As the waves of pleasure break over my body, Charlie leans forward and whispers into my ear.
“Now,” he says in a gruff whisper. “Let’s see if we can’t give our baby a twin.”
That’s not how any of this works. I know Charlie knows that. And I don’t care.
Because I want more.
33
Deleted Kinky Scene
Hey girls!
I hope you enjoyed the Extended Epilogue. If so, and you STILL want more, then I’ve got a hot deleted scene for your enjoyment!
I’m calling this a “deleted scene”, but that’s not strictly speaking true. It’s not set in the same timeline as Faking It. I would say it probably happens about a year after the events set in the book. However, sometimes when I’m writing a story, I like to delve quite deeply into how my characters would react in a given situation.
Sometimes I might w
rite a scene where they meet an old friend in a coffee shop, for example, and just see where the characters take me. This kind of thing never ends up in the final book. I’m not even sure anyone would want to read it other than me! However, they are really useful as writing exercises, and I definitely think they give the books added depth.
This particular scene struck me one afternoon.
Obviously Penny is a virgin at the start of Faking It. She’s awkward with her own body, and around sex. Who wouldn’t be! Nineteen isn’t exactly a crazy age to lose your virginity by any means, but given her background (growing up homeless), it’s probably a little unusual.
Maybe she felt embarrassed about it.
I wanted to know how a girl like Penny would react in some different situations. One I thought about – and really, really liked – was what would happen if Penny and Charlie decided to spice up their relationship!
I think we’ve all done this at one point or another in a long-term relationship. In fact, I think it’s a super-important part of a relationship with many couples. You don’t want to get bored! Anyway – I’m no agony aunt, so I’ll just get to the point. I decided to make Penny and Charlie try out a little light kinkiness. I hope you like what happened when I did…
So, without further ado, here it is:
Charlie turns his head slowly.
There’s a light in his eyes: a fire. I can tell what he’s thinking. Did she really just say that?
“Run that one by me again,” he says, eyebrow kinked. “Just so I know I didn’t hear you wrong.”
“You didn’t. I want to spice things up,” I say.
My cheeks immediately adopt their usual blushing heat. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over my awkwardness about sex. That awkwardness, though, is only skin-deep. The truth is, I’m mad about Charlie. I’ve never met a man like him.
Some couples claim they never argue. I don’t know if that’s true about Charlie and me. We argue. Sure, from time to time he does something that just grinds my gears.
But the one thing we never have is resentment. We argue, and then – like a spring squall – the irritation is gone, never to return.