I close my eyes and just breathe that word in. It’s a seemingly ordinary endearment but from his mouth, it’s the magic word. Like he made it just for me.
I pop open a couple of buttons on his shirt and nuzzle my nose in his bare chest. It makes him chuckle softly.
“Here.”
He fishes something out of his pocket and offers it to me. A lime jello.
I smile. “You brought it for me?”
“Uh-huh,” he almost purrs, as if he’s finally at peace now that he’s back home. “I knew you’d need it.”
I take it from him and dig in. “Thank you.”
Sighing, he kisses my hair again, his fingers going up and down the bare skin of my arm, calming me, making me feel steady.
Tucking my chin in his chest, I ask, “How was your meeting?”
“They want me to expand on a few things. I thought the book was done. But apparently not.”
I can hear the slight frustration in his voice and setting my lime jello aside, I pop open a few more of his shirt buttons so I can really touch his naked chest, and that tattoo he got for me. I rub my hands in circles, tracing that inked spot, trying to soothe him, like he soothes me. He groans and his head falls back to rest on the wall.
“I’m sorry,” I almost coo. “I know you want it to be over.”
His arms snake around my back as he plasters our bodies together. “It’s just taking longer than I thought.”
I know. My poor baby.
Kissing his chest, I whisper, “Do you wanna tell me about those changes?”
His lips twitch, telling me that he’s onto me, and that he’s amused.
I know that it helps him when he talks. Not that I understand anything. Most of the time, I don’t get what Simon is talking about. Like, at all. But I always offer to be his sounding board.
I become one now, as he tells me about all the little tweaks he has to make in his second book.
His first book did great. Obviously. Like there was ever any doubt of his capability and awesomeness. The publishers asked him to write a second one. It’s based on the same topic, bipolar patients, but this time, it’s really from the perspective of a patient rather than a provider. I think its Simon’s way to pay homage to his mom.
It doesn’t stop with his book, however. Over the last few years, he’s participated and consulted in various studies that deal with bipolar patients and their care all over the country.
Yup, my husband is pretty fucking famous.
There were rumors about him and his conduct for a long time, but things simmered down. He doesn’t want to go back to practicing, however. He says he likes the research aspect of medicine. But maybe one day.
When he finishes, he slants me a look. “Did you get all of that?”
I peek up at him through my lashes. “Uh-huh.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. I got that my husband’s brain is fucking sexy and I’m in love with it.”
He shoots me a smirk. “Just his brain, huh?”
I nuzzle my nose in his hard chest again and flick a tongue over his tattoo. My hands wander and go down the grooves of his sculpted stomach. “Well, I can’t deny that I love his body, too.”
He puts his hand on mine, stopping me from playing with his belly button and the dark trail that leads down to the best thing in the world: his dick.
“Willow,” he rumbles.
“What? It’s true.”
He rubs his stubbled jaw over my forehead. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”
“I can finish.” I lick my lips and his pupils flare. “I can finish you, at least. I know you need it.”
Maybe this is the answer right now. A quickie in the closet. A simple fix. Endorphins from an orgasm. God knows my husband gives me the kind of orgasms that put me in another dimension, where everyone is always happy and mellow.
His grip tightens over my hand. “Tell me why you’re sitting up here.”
Or not.
I frown. “It’s stupid.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Sighing, I sit up, or try to. At first, he tightens his hold, but then reluctantly he lets me go.
Swallowing, I whip my bangs away from my forehead and whisper, “She was crying.” I blink my eyes, trying to clear out the flashes that my words have caused. “And I got so scared. She wouldn’t stop, Simon. And I thought she was like me. I used to cry like that. On my birthdays. No one could get me to calm down. My mom used to get so frustrated and angry and sad. And I was…”
“You were what?”
I look at his big, sprawled form. He looks so king-like, sitting like this. His shirt half open, his one leg stretched out and the other folded at the knee, his expression all alert and focused. He looks like he could do anything. Anything at all. He could protect me and her, all with his bare, healing hands.
“What if she’s like me?”
Anger flashes through that alert expression of his. “So what?”
“It’s going to be hard. So hard for her.”
His jaw clenches. “And?”
I wring my hands in my lap, an urgency taking over me. Ever since her, I get anxious very easily. Simon knows this. He helps me calm down. He helps me see reason, but when she cries, something comes loose inside my chest. My anxiety can’t be controlled even though I know I’m not being rational.
As a person suffering from depression, I know anxiety. I’ve lived with it all my life. The hopelessness sometimes takes a more dangerous form. It becomes sharp-edged, laced with fear and paranoia.
Paranoia that I might have made her like me.
“I’ll teach her everything,” I say, with my eyes on the man I love. “We’ll teach her everything. We’ll never let her feel less, Simon. She has to know that we love her, no matter what. She has to know that she’s strong. She can do this. She can fight. She has to…” I trail off, not knowing how to convey this to him, my fears.
“Baby.”
I focus on him. “Yeah?”
“Come here.”
His arms are open and I don’t wait for even a second before I crawl back to him. This time, he maneuvers my thighs to straddle his lap.
He takes my face in his hands and whispers, “Breathe with me, all right?”
I nod, my lips parting and grazing his. He parts his lips too and soon, we’re breathing as one. He’s giving me his air and I’m giving him mine.
He’s purging me like he always does. Curing me with his breaths, with his intense gray eyes and his touch.
It doesn’t take me long to calm down after that.
“I can’t watch her cry, Simon. It makes me feel so helpless,” I whisper into his mouth, lax in his arms.
“Me too,” he confesses, kissing the tattoo on my wrist. “You know what else makes me feel helpless?”
“What?”
“Seeing you like this. Hidden away.” He fists my hair and I feel a tug in my belly, a different kind of pull, a delicious kind. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were busy.”
“Willow –”
Pressing a finger on his soft lips, I stop him. I know it’s hard for him when I don’t tell him things. He doesn’t like it when I keep secrets. Especially secrets about my moods and thoughts. I hardly ever hide anything from him but still. He gets agitated, and I don’t blame him. How could I, after what he went through with his mom?
God, I love this man so much. Sometimes I just wanna squish him to my chest and keep him tucked away.
I kiss him softly. “I was going to tell you once you came back home, I promise. You know I’d never keep anything from you.”
His jaw is still clamped so I kiss him again, until he presses our mouths together and takes over.
As always, I let him. It’s his turn to be medicated. He needs this kiss, so he knows I’m okay. He needs to know that he owns me, possesses me. That he runs in my veins. He needs the reassurance that I won’t ever keep any par
t of myself hidden away from him.
Breaking our connection, he rasps in my mouth, “She’s a fighter just like you. Just like me. So yeah, if she needs it, we’ll teach her everything we know.”
I sigh.
The confidence in his words makes me feel even better. He’s right. If she is, in fact, like me, we’ll teach her everything. It will be hard but we’ll fight.
My hands trace his broad shoulders, the tendons of his neck, his hair and back again. “Hmm. I always knew you’d make the best dad.”
“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?” he murmurs, throwing me his lopsided smile.
“Uh-huh.” I bite his lower lip, feeling reckless and in love. “In fact, I think I wanna have more of your babies.”
He stills.
I don’t know where it came from. I wasn’t planning on saying it. I wasn’t even thinking about it but seeing him like this, all-powerful but also vulnerable, it just hit me.
“Are you joking?” he asks.
“Nope.”
He gives me a look and I’m compelled to add, “I’m serious. I promise.”
In his signature style, he grabs the back of my neck to bring our faces even closer. “And when did you decide this?”
“Just now.”
Simon is silent, but I can feel the heat radiating out of his body. I can feel his hardness bumping against the empty space between my legs. He’s turned on.
“One of these days, Willow, I’m going to fuck all the impulsiveness out of you,” he growls and smacks a hard kiss on my mouth.
I moan.
I know he loves my impulsiveness. It’s the reason we got married over my Christmas break five years ago. He kept saying no but I convinced him. It’s the reason he took my virginity in that room, so long ago. Not to mention, my impulsiveness is what made me ask him out on a date a long time ago.
“You’re welcome to try. Maybe you should start now.” I rock against his erection, my panties getting damper and damper with each passing second.
“Yeah?” Moving his hands down to my ass, he presses our lower bodies together. “Is that what my princess wants? To get fucked in the closet while everyone else is downstairs, waiting for her?”
Closing my eyes, I shiver. Will I never get over it? That he calls me princess in that raspy, possessive voice of his.
I guess not. But it’s okay. I’ll ride the high of his endearments as long as I can.
“Yes, please. Fuck me. I’m gonna pretend this is the dark alley and the floor is the brick wall you fucked me against that one time.”
A few months into our marriage, he grabbed me a couple of blocks away from our building, pushed me against the wall and almost fucked the life out of me with his delicious violence. It was exactly like I told him in our session long ago. Even better, actually.
His chuckle is thick and dark, like the air around us. “I’ll do you one better this time. I’ll fill you up with so much cum that when you walk out of here, it’ll seep out of your tight hole and drench the little girl shorts you like so much.”
“Oh God, Simon…”
He lowers me to the floor, hovering over me as he makes quick work of our clothes. “And you’re going to have to clench your pussy and keep your legs closed to stop all my cum from leaking out. You know why, princess?”
“W-why?”
“Because if my princess wants a baby, then it’s my fucking job to give it to her.”
With that, he enters me, all bare, and seals our mouths so my moans don’t reach downstairs.
See, impulsiveness pays off.
People have labeled our relationship. My mom, my therapist, his therapist. They have tried to diagnose it, analyze it because of what we were to each other when we met, and what we’ve been through in our lives. But we’ve come so far. We’ve been so content and happy. Well, as happy as you can be while living with clinical depression. Unfortunately, love isn’t a cure for it, but the love of my life is there with me every step of the way.
So yeah, impulsiveness definitely paid off for me.
Twenty minutes later, I change into a fresh pair of little girl shorts and a Harry Potter t-shirt, and go downstairs. I’ve ignored my mommy duties long enough.
Simon is already there; I sent him down before me. And in his arms is my entire world: Fallon, our daughter.
The name Fallon means daughter of a king. And well, I couldn’t have named her anything else when I’ve always thought that her daddy is a king.
Standing at the foot of the stairs, I take them in. Fallon has her chubby arms around her daddy’s neck as she gives him a very detailed account of everything she’s done today. Her breakfast, her bath. Her struggle when Mommy made her sit still to do her hair. Her panic at losing her favorite toy.
And her daddy listens to everything with such rapt attention. He gives her all the reactions she wants, disbelief, dismay, chuckles. He even asks questions.
Then he tells her – seriously, with all of his fatherly authority – that she scared Mommy with her cries, and she shouldn’t do that.
Fallon pouts and lisps, “Sorry, Daddy.”
And well, there goes his stern expression.
I bite my lip as I watch them together. Simon is so good with her, such a softy. Not that I ever doubted, but still. Every time I watch him with Fallon, something inside of me just melts. I love him even more. His arms look even stronger to me when they are holding our baby girl. His eyes look even shinier when he looks at her with all his love. His shoulders look broader, he looks taller.
Frankly, Simon Blackwood, as a father to our child, is lethal, irresistible. More of a breath-stealer. More of a man.
I place a hand on my tummy. Maybe we did really make a baby upstairs. I hope so. This time, I want a boy like him, dark hair, polite, kind of nerdy, and a little arrogant.
Finally he notices me and my hand on my belly. His eyes smolder behind his glasses, and my sleeping arousal wakes up a little bit. I can’t wait to get him alone so we can get on with our baby-making.
He whispers something to Fallon.
She whips her eyes over to me and squeals, “Mommy.”
She’s wiggling in his arms now, so he bends down and lets her go. She runs over to me on her pudgy legs, her pigtails flopping. Her pink dress flutters around her knees and her bunny slippers flap against the floor.
I meet her in the middle, and going down on my knees, I say, “Hey, baby. Were you good for Grandma Beth?”
When I needed a little breather after Fallon’s crying, I called Beth to come over a little early so she could watch her.
My baby girl jerks out a nod. “Gramma Beth gave me a cookie. She the best.”
I chuckle. “She is, isn’t she?”
She puts her small hand on my cheek. “You crying, Mommy?”
God, why does she have to be so perceptive? Her gray eyes watch everything and she’s so precocious. She’s like her daddy in that way.
She’s a mixture of Simon and me. Her silver hair and chubby cheeks come from me. But her penchant for tree climbing and her eyes take after her daddy.
Fallon is also the result of impulsiveness. Well, she’s the result of me getting a sinus infection four years ago and my birth control not working alongside the antibiotics. Simon knew having sex was risky but I told him I didn’t care. Maybe I really wanted a baby. Maybe we should take a risk. He obviously liked that very much and voilà, we have a little baby girl. I never took birth control after that.
I clutch her soft hand on my cheek and whisper, “A little bit.”
Frowning, she says, “Why?”
Blinking my eyes to get rid of the moisture, I kiss the middle of her palm. “Because you’re getting so big.”
It’s true. My baby is turning three today and I can’t bear it. Soon, she’ll be off to school, then college. I don’t know what I’ll do without her.
“But I wanna get big,” she insists, nodding, her bangs fluttering around
her forehead.
I sweep them away so they don’t poke into her eyes. “Yeah? Why?”
“So I get married, silly.”
I laugh. “Really? You wanna get married?” Another enthusiastic nod. “Who are you going to marry?”
She scratches her nose, still red from crying, as if thinking about it. “Daddy.”
“You’re going to marry your daddy?”
She grins. “Yeah.”
I look at her daddy. He’s helping Beth in the kitchen, but at my stare he turns his attention to me. There are so many things written in his gaze. Most of them have to do with desire, though. He can’t wait to get alone with me either.
“Yeah. Daddy’s amazing, isn’t he?” I wink at him before turning to our daughter. “Good choice, baby.”
She frowns again, chewing on her lip. “No. Wait, Mommy.”
I extricate her lip from her teeth before she brutalizes it. “What, honey?”
Going on her tiptoes, she looks around as if searching for something.
We’re in the living room, so we have a direct line of sight to the rest of the house, including the backyard where the party is going to be.
When I got pregnant, Simon decided to buy a new house outside of the city. He thought the city wasn’t good for raising a baby. Plus he couldn’t baby-proof his apartment because it was a rental.
There are a couple of people in the backyard right now and Fallon points to one in particular. “No. Not Daddy. I gonna marry Dean.”
I purse my lips so I don’t burst out laughing.
Yeah, Dean. He’s the boy Simon met five years ago at the cemetery. He’s grown up now and he’s a part of our family.
I met him when I was dating Simon and I loved him immediately. Hello, the guy loves Harry Potter. How could I not love him? His dad isn’t there most of the time, so Simon likes to check on him and his sister.
Dean loves Fallon. In fact, he’s super protective of her. He can’t see her upset or crying. Good thing he wasn’t here when she was throwing her tantrum. The guy wouldn’t have liked it.
Most days, Fallon won’t go to sleep unless she hears his voice on the phone. Also, she needs to see him every day or she gets really unmanageable. So he stops by for a little while before going to his job at a local restaurant. He’s the one who taught her to play ball, ride her tricycle, and all the other outdoorsy stuff. Simon sometimes gets jealous; it’s cute.
Medicine Man Page 34