by B. Cranford
“First of all, excellent use of alliteration. And b, I forgot about that.”
“You do know that you should have followed your ‘first of all’ with ‘second’, don’t you?”
With Stella now laid out on the changing table, Brighton began unsnapping snaps and pulling out clean clothes, wash cloths and a fresh diaper. “Whatever, you knew what I meant. And besides, she’s a baby. Babies poop. When you have a baby, I guarantee it’ll poop when I’m over there visiting.”
The smartass remark that Jade was ready to fire back at her friend died on her lips at the idea of having a baby.
A little mini her.
Or a little mini Declan.
Oh, shit, a mini Declan would be the cutest thing ever.
Unless your baby ends up being mini-you, getting lost in its head.
Not going to happen. Any baby Jackass and I have will be nice and normal.
No one is nice and normal. Least of all you.
Shut up. I’m not having this discussion with you.
“Jade, are you okay?” Brighton lifted the now clean and fresh smelling Stella into her arms, a look of concern on her face. “Demons?”
Since Jade had first opened up to her friend about her anxiety and her mental health issues, they’d developed something of a short-hand for it. Jade didn’t have to explain and Brighton didn’t need to pry. Bright would simply confirm what she knew was happening, then help draw Jade away from her own mind.
“Uh-huh.” Jade frowned. “Do you think my baby will be like me?” The last word was barely audible, Jade’s fear making itself known even as she tried to push it back.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Brighton responded, knowing what Jade was referring to. “But if he or she is, then they’ll have a Mommy and a Daddy who love them and want the best for them and know how to handle it.” She handed the baby over to Jade and then wrapped them both in a hug. “You’re not going to be your father, Jay.”
Jade nodded then stepped away from the warmth of Brighton’s embrace, keeping a firm hold on Stella. For comfort, she leaned down to nuzzle soft hair and breathe deeply of delicious baby scent and worked on calming her mind. “I know you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Now, a Christmas wedding? Let’s do this thing.”
“You could dress as Santa and Mrs. Claus.” Brighton made sure to keep her face straight as she made the most ridiculous suggestions she could think of for Jade and Declan’s Christmas wedding.
“I want to get married on Christmas Eve, not have a Christmas themed wedding. Have you been drinking?” Jade mimed throwing back a drink while laughing at the latest in a line of ideas that were, admittedly, not the best.
But Brighton had been determined to bring the light back to her friend’s eyes and if there was one thing guaranteed to make her laugh, it was stupid humor.
Jade clearly liked stupid humor. After all, she’d ended up engaged to Declan, who never met a pun—good or, most especially bad—that he didn’t enjoy.
“But—” Brighton began, before being cut off by her still-laughing friend.
“No. But nothing, the answer is no.”
“Ah, fine. If you want to have a cute little garden wedding in your idyllic backyard, who am I to tell you it’s a mistake?”
“No one. You’re no one. Except . . .” Jade shuffled in a little closer so that they were sitting practically on top of one another on the couch and reached over for Brighton’s hand. Which Brighton gave willingly. “My matron of honor?”
She didn’t bother with a verbal confirmation. If Jade didn’t know that her answer was yes from the bobble-head style nodding she had going on, then she was a lost cause.
Clearing her throat—trying to rein in the emotions that had been working overtime since before she even knew she was pregnant and hadn’t let up even after Stella was born—Brighton decided it was time to get down to business. “Okay, so not Santa and Mrs. Claus. Do you know what you want?”
She wasn’t ashamed that her voice had a wobble to it, proof positive that tears were way too close to the surface to hide. Her tears were often close to the surface, but these were because she was happy for her friends, excited to help with the wedding. She blinked rapidly, squeezed Jade’s hand—a move that said all the things that she couldn’t say at that exact moment, and started making more serious suggestions. “Garden wedding? Justice of the Peace? Mad dash to Vegas?”
“Definitely not a Vegas wedding. Mama wouldn’t be pleased.” Jade’s smile as she spoke of her mother belied the whisper-scared tone she’d threaded into her voice. “I kind of want to have it at home.” Her smile softened into something peaceful as she continued, “I love our house. I love our garden. I love that it’s ours.”
Brighton nodded along as she began jotting down notes. “How many people are we talking?” She knew the answer would be a small number. Jade, like her, didn’t have a lot of friends, but it wasn’t about quantity, it was about quality.
And Jade as a friend was top quality. For all the times Brighton had brought her out of her mind and back into the real world, Jade had given that love and support back—and then some.
“You guys,” Jade began, gesturing to Brighton, “including Peter and Delaney. Mama and my sisters. Declan’s family.” She checked off on her fingers the people she was naming and then stopped. “That’s it. I don’t need more than that. But, ah, do you think Dec wants something bigger?”
Worry darkened her hazel eyes momentarily, and Brighton rushed to reassure her friend. “Declan wants to marry you. I think he’d do it nude while riding a unicycle if that’s what you want.”
“I mean, it wasn’t, but it kind of is now.”
They laughed together and, for the rest of the afternoon, threw ideas back and forth—some serious, some not so much, but all of them with one end goal.
Making Jade and Declan into Mr. and Mrs. Jackass.
Sebastian had worked from his home office for the majority of the afternoon, but he hadn’t been able to resist checking in on Brighton and Jade as they talked wedding plans. The excitement in his woman’s face—excitement that matched the planning of their own wedding—was such a turn-on, he was barely able to keep from rushing into the room, sending Jade to watch over the baby and dragging Brighton to their bedroom for some . . . alone time.
Alone time. Are you eighty?
But now that Jade was on her way home—all two hundred and fifty-some feet away—he didn’t need to hold back anymore.
He found his wife in the kitchen, heating up some homemade baby mush that, frankly, looked gross. She was singing under her breath, while Stella was watching intently from her high chair. The girl had eyes for her mommy, and Sebastian couldn’t blame her.
His Bright Star was even more beautiful than the day he’d met her.
Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, Sebastian nuzzled into her neck, planting a row of kisses along the column of soft, smooth skin. Her dark hair, still cut into waves that barely reached her chin, hid the little “M” tattoo behind her ear, so he used his nose to push aside the stands and give it a tender press of his lips.
“Hey, baby.” Brighton turned her head, forcing Sebastian to lift his own, but rewarded him with a meeting of their lips and their tongues that promised so much more, except for . . .
“Dadadadadada.”
“Do you think my mom and dad would take her tonight?”
“Of course, why?”
He leaned in close, so his breath caressed her ear and lowered his tone so there was no way his wife could miss his intent. “So I can take you tonight, Bright Star.”
She didn’t reply right away.
Instead, she froze in place, making Sebastian wonder what she could be thinking, or planning, or . . . In a sudden movement, Brighton spun away from him, grabbing her cell phone off the countertop where it had been sitting, streaming various Top 40 hits through her favorite app. “You feed, I’ll call.”
He nodded, relieved to see her
jump to action, grabbing the bowl of orange whatever-the-hell-it-was from the microwave and carefully mixing it to even out the temperature.
It had only taken one bad experience with a pocket of heat inside Stella’s re-heated meal to ensure neither he, nor Brighton, ever forgot to stir the concoction thoroughly.
“Are you hungry, baby girl?” he asked, moving one of the kitchen chairs closer to the high chair and setting the bowl and spoon on the tray in front of Stella. “I have something . . . yummy for you.” He couldn’t help the pause—honestly, the orange-toned puree did not look appetizing—but he tried to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.
After all, the sooner she ate, the sooner she could go visit with Nana and Pop. And she gets much-needed sustenance, you ass. Clearly the afternoon of watching and wanting his wife had skewed his priorities.
He could hear Brighton in the background, making plans to drop their daughter off for an overnight with her grandparents. Knowing that soon enough he’d have her all to himself, Sebastian gave Stella his full attention, doing airplane gestures and noises, making funny faces and pretending to eat her food—basically, whatever it took to make his little girl smile and eat.
The mess that spread out around them might once have triggered him—his need for order, for control—but not anymore. At least, not when it came to mealtime with Stella. By the time the bowl was scraped clean and the mess wiped up, his efficient wife had Stella’s bag packed and ready to go.
And by the time he got home from drop-off duty . . . it was Sebastian who was ready to go.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he told Brighton as she took one, two, three steps backwards toward the bed they shared every night. “But explain to me why you’re not naked like I asked?”
Brighton licked her lips, her eyes never leaving his body as he moved closer and closer to her, a sure sign that she was nervous.
“Well?” He took one final step, aligning their bodies so that he could feel the silky material of her negligee on his bare chest. He’d ripped his own shirt off as he’d entered the house, determined to have his wife once—hard and fast—so that he could enjoy her slower a little later on.
She was, after all, a woman to be enjoyed.
She shrugged, batting eyelashes at him like she thought he was susceptible to fluttering lids and mesmerizing green eyes. When he simply raised his eyebrows in a “well?” expression, she joined her hands with his and squeezed, offering a small smile that brought all of Sebastian’s plans to a screaming halt.
Something was wrong.
And he was going to find out exactly what it was.
“Brighton, I wanna know.” He tried to be gentle, but the words came out demanding. Shit. “I’m sorry. Please?”
“Just . . . well, you know.” Her eyes cast downward as she dropped one of his hands in favor of resting it on her still slightly-rounded belly. “I know you say you don’t care—”
“I don’t care. I’m not saying it. I mean it.” He felt the frown that skittered across his face before he worked to smooth it out. He didn’t want her to think he was angry at her, but he also didn’t want her thinking that she was anything less than perfect.
“I know. I just feel—I mean, it was strange getting naked without you here.” Using the hand that was still joined with his, Brighton pulled him even closer. Nothing, not even the smallest sliver of air, was between them but for the material of her cream-colored nightgown. “I like it when you undress me.”
Sebastian nodded and lowered his head so he could kiss her.
It started slow. They pressed and licked and stroked, the heat ratcheting up with every movement, and it wasn’t long before Brighton began to express her impatience.
There, that’s what I want, Sebastian thought, my wife needing me so badly, she forgets to worry.
He wasted no time in making sure she got what she needed from him. He let go of her hand, using both of his own to grip the hem of her negligee and begin the slow slide of silk up her body as she whimpered into their kiss, then moaned when he broke it to draw the material over her head.
Perfect. Her body was perfect. Soft and curved in all the right places and absolutely made for him to worship, which he didn’t hesitate in sharing with her. “I could touch this body every minute of every day, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
Though the words were quiet, the meaning was loud and clear and Sebastian couldn’t help the shot of pride that sped through him at the sight of Brighton’s beaming smile.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Bright Star, but if you don’t get that fine ass of yours on the bed soon, I’m going to end up fucking you standing. And we both know how that ended last time, don’t we?” He raised a single eyebrow, earning a laugh from his woman before she spun and climbed up onto the king-sized mattress, crawling to the middle on her hands and knees in a way that made him nearly recreate that awkward fuck from years ago.
They’d been desperate for each other, naked and unwilling to wait a moment longer. He’d pressed into her, his arms wrapped around her body, but with her arms trapped at her sides, she’d been unable to maintain her balance.
She’d started to fall backwards, and as he was firmly locked around her, Sebastian began to fall, too. The end result was a bruised tailbone, some carpet burns and a story that they’d never shared with anyone else, but still managed to laugh about from time to time.
It was one of the things he loved best about her; her ability to laugh at herself was second-to-none. Which was what made her concerns about her body that much more galling, worrying.
Before Sebastian could get too distracted by memories of the past, he refocused on the sight in front of him. His naked wife, on all fours, waiting for him. God, yes.
“Not God, baby. Brighton,” she said over her shoulder, her head cocked around to give him a saucy wink to match her overtly sexual tone. He’d inadvertently spoken out loud and she’d taken advantage of the moment to play around, taking a corny, clichéd line and making it fun.
He laughed along with her, taking the moment to lower his jeans to the floor and step out of them.
“Commando?”
“I knew this was happening, baby. No need to delay it any longer than it needed to be.” He climbed onto the bed behind her, enjoying the way her body quivered so minutely that only the fact he knew everything about it made it possible for him to see. “That pussy is ready for me, isn’t it?” Running a finger along her slit, he marveled at how wet she was for him, taking the time to swirl her arousal around and up and down, covering her cunt in its own juices.
“Seb, yes.” Her minute quivers became full body shakes as he thrust his finger inside her, before drawing it out again and placing it on her clit, rubbing it firmly. “Close, close. Please.”
He knew she was on the edge—not just from her single word sentence, a sure sign that she was ready to go off, but from the way her hips rolled, her muscles clenching as she searched for friction.
Placing his hands on the backs of her thighs, just above the bend of her knee, and earning a petulant “fuck” for abandoning her clit, he walked her higher on the bed, allowing his body to flatten. “Now, now, language,” he joked, pressing a light kiss to one of her ankles before he flipped over onto his back and slid up between her legs. “You want your orgasm, then you’re going to have to work for it. Ride my face.”
He didn’t wait for a response, wrapping his hands around the top of her ass and bearing down to bring her pussy in contact with his lips, settled quickly into a rhythm that had her raising up onto her knees, the hands she’d been using for balance moving to her tits and squeezing.
“Now, now, now, Seb, oh shiiiiiiiiiit.”
He felt her tremors, the way her muscles clenched and twitched and drew out the pleasure that was surely coursing through her veins, but before he could utter a word, Brighton collapsed on top of him.
“Fuck.” Her voice was shaking, but not with hurt or any kind of negative emotio
n like maybe he’d been expecting. No, she was laughing.
“Bright?” he questioned, placing his hand on her hips to guide her off his face so he could see what the hell was going on.
“I’m leaking,” she gasped between laughs, holding her breasts as breastmilk rolled down the mounds. “Oh my God.”
Brighton dabbed at her chest with a tissue, her breathing finally slowing after an epic orgasm followed by hysterical laughter. She didn’t know why she’d found the moment so funny, given that it wasn’t the first—and surely wasn’t the last—time it had happened. But something about the intensity of her climax, the concerns about her stretchmarks and the enthusiasm of her husband lapping at her clit had created the perfect storm.
But instead of thunder and lighting, it was a storm of giggles and guffaws that didn’t end for nearly ten minutes.
Now, though, with her husband wrapped around her, his dick getting hard once more, she was far from amused. No, she was something else that started with “A.”
Aroused.
Also, needy. Wanting. Desiring.
Desperate.
She rolled in Sebastian’s arms and, without saying a word, pressed a hand down on the side of his chest so she could get him on his back. Then, she straddled him once more. But this time, instead of his face, she brought her pussy down along the length of his cock and began moving her hips, sliding her wetness over him and watching as his eyes moved over her body.
She had her worries, but when he looked at her like that—like she was still the brightest star in his sky—they melted along with the bones that were already softened by pleasure.
“You look beautiful today.”
She smiled down at him, his words ones that he echoed every day, and slowed her movements just long enough to lean in and join their lips for a quick, hot kiss. Then, she began to move with ever more fervor. Determination lit her from within. She didn’t just want his orgasm, she damn well needed it.