by B. J. Harvey
I love him to the moon and back, but all I can think about right now is the fact that all he had to do was stick his cock in me. I’m the one who has to push two watermelons out a hole the size of a lemon.
After this, he’ll be lucky to touch the sides of my vagina the next time we have sex. Hell, that’s even if I let that lethal weapon of mass impregnation come anywhere near me again. Superheroes make twin ninja babies who love practicing judo, or yoga, or god knows what all through the night for the last three months of pregnancy.
As another contraction hits me, I grab Kate’s hand and squeeze the life out of it.
Oh shit, what if I really am going to give birth to demon spawn like in the movie Aliens. Holy mother of all things holy, it feels as if they’re trying to claw their way out.
I don’t want to do this anymore. I change my mind; they can both stay inside me. I don’t care if I end up being the size of a house; Superman will just have more of me to love. He’s spent the last five months telling me he loves my belly. Well he’ll just have to get used to it permanently.
It’s about this time that I start crying again.
“Mac, what’s wrong, gorgeous? You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Daniel says, wiping my forehead with a wet towel.
“I’m gonna give birth to a monster!” I sob.
He chuckles at me. My fiancé has the balls to laugh at me.
Hello, castration? We have another candidate.
I scowl at him. “I wouldn’t laugh. The spawn of Daniel is eating your fiance from the inside out. I swear to god, they’re ripping my insides apart. Is this part of the male master plan to take over the world because if it is, it all makes perfect sense now!”
I look at Kate for support, but she just smiles at me. “The babies are coming,” she whispers excitedly. It’s pretty much all she’s said since she arrived with Zander ten hours ago.
I should probably insert a disclaimer here. I may be delirious because I’ve been awake for twenty-two hours, twelve of which I’ve had stabbing pains from my cervix right down to my ass hole.
But since I’m between contractions, I’m now faced with the biggest concern for new mothers. The poop problem. I’m shit scared of pooping on my baby, or before the baby comes out, or even in front of Daniel—pun intended. Kate’s here too, but I’m not worried about her. I’ve pooped in front of her before, but that’s another long drunken story that we’ve promised never to share.
What did make me laugh was when she got all light headed when the doctor came in and did an examination of me. In her words, he “fisted the shit” out of me. She spent a good hour sitting in the corner reading a magazine about breastfeeding to try and get the imagery out of her brain.
I’m in the middle of telling her never to have sex with a man again, and that the possibility of being torn apart by not one, but two six pound babies is not worth all the mind blowing penis sex in the world, when the doctor walks in again. As much as I glare at him, hoping that my Mac death ray stare will penetrate his brain, he still smiles and nods, checks up my who-see-what’s-it, and tells me I’m doing well. Well, that has been his procedure for the past eight hours anyway. This time, it’s different.
“How are you doing, Mac?” he asks.
I bite my tongue, stopping from saying the first thing that comes to mind.
“Okay. It’s getting worse, though.”
“I imagined it would be. I’m just going to check how far along you are and see how these babies of yours are doing. You’ve done so well to get to thirty five weeks, Mac.”
“Thank you,” I whimper as another contraction strikes. I start crying again, I can’t help it. Damn these pregnancy hormones. I’ve been crying at everything for the past nine months. The Glee kids won regionals, and I burst into tears. The Bachelor chooses the right woman for once, then gets down on bended knee to propose marriage, and I leak like a water fountain. A baby turtle clambering down the beach to reach the safety of the sea, and I’m a blubbering mess. Daniel rubbing my feet after a long day at work, and I turn into a leaky sprinkler. Don’t even get me started on when I started leaking milk out of my boobs two weeks ago.
“Okay, Mr. Winters,” he says, looking over at Daniel who is now lazing back in the chair beside the hospital bed like this is a Sunday joy ride. “If you could just hold Mac’s hand and try to keep her calm, I’ll be finished in no time.”
“At least buy me a drink first before you fist me,” I mutter, Daniel’s eyes go wide as he tries not to laugh. Kate doesn’t have that luxury and is rolling around, laughing her tits off at me.
Note to self: Must reconsider my choice for godmother.
After sticking his hand inside me, and moving it around like I’m a talking puppet, he removes his hand and drapes the sheet back over my naked lower half.
“You’re fully dilated, Mac. It’s show time. Can you feel any pressure down there?”
“I can feel fucking everything down there. Your hand, the gloves, the demon spawns called my children that are trying to climb out of me as if there’s a ladder in my crotch.”
He has the audacity to chuckle. I mean, I’m a health professional. I know all there is to know about bedside manners, and laughing at a lunatic pregnant woman is NOT the thing to do. It’s not cool, man. NOT. COOL.
Daniel entwines our fingers and squeezes. “Gorgeous, you can do this. I’m with you all the way. We’re going to meet out son and daughter. I know you can do this because you can do anything you put your mind to. I love you. Let’s meet our babies.” The smile on his face is my undoing. I wouldn’t give this moment up for all the craziness in the world.
“Superman,” I stutter as I feel tears welling up again. “I love you.”
He leans down and kisses me softly, gently, with just a little bit of superhero tongue. Well played, Mr. Winters.
Twenty minutes, and a lot of obscenities later, Jared Daniel Winters enters the world. Ten minutes later, Riley Mackenzie Winters decides to grace us with her presence.
And I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
Master Table of Contents
Temporary Bliss
True Bliss
Blissful Surrender
Dedication
Prologue: “Bad Day”
Chapter 1: “Trouble”
Chapter 2: “Safe & Sound”
Chapter 3: “If You Ever Come Back”
Chapter 4: “Drink You Away”
Chapter 5: “Take Me or Leave Me”
Chapter 6: “Playing With My Heart”
Chapter 7: “Loneliest Soul”
Chapter 8: “Can’t Remember To Forget You”
Chapter 9: Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word
Chapter 10: “Walking Away”
Chapter 11: “Everything Will Change”
Chapter 12: “Me & My Jealousy”
Chapter 13: “You Got The Love”
Chapter 14: “Breathe (2am)”
Chapter 15: “Goodbye, My Lover”
Chapter 16: “Run”
Chapter 17: “Happy”
Chapter 18: “Drunk in Love”
Chapter 19: “Hey Brother”
Chapter 20: “The Man”
Chapter 21: “Am I Wrong?”
Chapter 22: “Let’s Stay Together”
Chapter 23: “Under Control”
Epilogue
Permanent Bliss
Finding Bliss
Coming Soon … Crave
About the Author
Author Contact Links
Books by B.J. Harvey
Dedication
To Nikki aka Bulldog
You’re the bestest friend I’ve never met.
My rock, my cheerleader, my motivator and most importantly my dear friend.
Sean will always be yours now ;)
Prologue
“Bad Day”
Sean
I’m not one who is easily rattled.
In fact, my cage is so secure it might as w
ell be anchored to the ground in concrete. It’s why I’m so damn good at what I do—corporate law. ‘The Shark’ is what they call me. I revel in it, thrive under pressure. In fact, cool, calm, and collected should be my middle names.
Then, like the flip of a coin, there is the other half of my life. The side that isn’t so organized. My personal life, the part of my life that should be under control, is a cluster fuck right now. And as always, it all points to one person.
By day, I’m like Teflon—shit doesn’t stick to me. I don’t let it. My work doesn’t get brought home; it starts and ends at my office door. Just the way I like it.
I should be sitting back in my soft leather recliner, drinking a well-earned glass of Macallan on ice. So why am I sitting in front of a computer screen watching security footage of my younger brother Ryan hand an envelope to an unknown man at the club?
My fucking club.
Thankfully the video I’m watching isn’t a live feed. That would have been too much for me to handle. I have a pretty controlled temperament, but I’d be barreling down there and punching him in the face, then kicking his useless ass to the curb once and for all. Instead, I’m watching delayed footage from yesterday afternoon that my private investigator sent me.
Blood or not, nobody fucks me over. I suspect Ryan is putting the club and me on someone’s unwelcome radar, and I don’t need the attention or the bullshit. Yes, I know the fact that I have a PI watching my own brother speaks volumes. Ryan is a gullible son of a bitch with a magnet for assholes and trouble in equal measure. As soon as I had an inkling that he was involved in dodgy shit (again), I asked my friend Asher to step in and monitor the situation for me. It was a necessary step to take. He fucked up two months ago and I stood by him but now … well, enough is enough.
Chapter 1
“Trouble”
Sean
Let me explain how we got to this point. A quick run down memory lane, so to speak.
My name is Sean Edward Miller, first born son to Harvey and Annette Miller. Two years later, Ryan Anthony Miller was born. Two rambunctious sons that were very much wanted and loved by our parents. My brother and I were born into privilege, not wanting for anything. Unfortunately, this only exacerbated my brother’s sense of entitlement. Even at a young age, Ryan had a love of money and wealth rarely seen in a young boy.
When we were twelve and ten, our parents were killed in a carjacking. I still remember the day the police came to the door with our grandfather who had flown in from Chicago. They took us into the living room and told us that our parents had been killed and that we’d have to go live with our grandparents in Chicago.
Although it was twenty-one years ago, I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The soft floral scent of my mother’s perfume that filled the room as she was getting ready for a fundraising event in the city. The look of awe in my father’s eyes as he watched my mother walk down the stairs with poise and grace. The love poured into the kiss goodbye that she gave both of her sons as she left, and the smile my father gave us as they waved and walked out the front door, telling us they’d see us soon.
But it wasn’t just another night.
Those are the last memories I have of my parents being alive. It’s a moment forever burned into my subconscious and has been the driving force in my life ever since. Everything I’ve achieved, and everything I’ve ever done is to make my parents proud. I’ve wanted to lead a successful, happy and fulfilled life in their honor, and I like to think I’ve achieved that so far.
Ryan was affected in far deeper ways than I was and as much as I try to help him, he just can’t seem to stay on the straight and narrow, and I keep bailing him out of trouble. I’m his safety net.
I pull off my tie that hangs limp around my neck before undoing my platinum cufflinks and dropping them onto my antique Chinese Elm desk. Pausing the video, I leave the office and make my way through my dark empty condo to the living room, the sound of footsteps bouncing off the walls, echoing through the air. Stopping in front of my drinks cabinet, I wrap my hands around the crystal decanter of whisky calling my name and pour three fingers into the matching glass—a wedding gift that belonged to my parents and a rare antique that my brother has always coveted. Knocking back the burning amber liquid, I pour myself another, drinking it down as quickly as the first. The burning sensation in my chest eases into a nice warmth that quickly spreads throughout my tension-filled body. I pour a glass again, this time walking over to the refrigerator and adding two ice cubes before turning on a few lights in the living area and returning to my office.
I sit down in front of the paused screen and push play, watching in slow motion as my brother appears to pay someone off. It’s all assumption and hearsay at the moment. But an empty club plus a bulging envelope being handed over to a stranger who does NOT look like a banker or a security guard … well, it doesn’t look good does it?
And it was all done while I was ten blocks away in my tall glass building, knee deep in a hostile takeover mediation. Who knew the real hostility was being carried out in my own back yard.
As I take another sip of my drink and I watch another camera angle of the ‘transaction,’ the sick feeling in my stomach increases. He has not only involved himself in the shit this time, he’s dragged my ass into his mess. The shit that my brother attracts just never fucking ends.
If my father or grandfather were alive today, they’d have me tanning his hide and throwing him out on his ear. But I can’t seem to do that. Every single fucking time I save the day. As much as I try to clear the way for him to stay legit and finally make something of himself, he always stumbles. Despite the time, effort and many opportunities afforded to him by me, nothing seems to change.
Well, this time it’s going to be different.
Once I’ve calmed down enough to talk to him, I’ll make him understand that this time he’s gone too far.
This time he’s going to have to learn the hard way.
Alone.
Sam
Two Days Later
“Roberts, get your ass over here. Stop mooning over your fiancée or I’ll have you written up sooner than you can say yes ma’am.” I try to keep a straight face but on the inside I’m having trouble backing up my threats. He knows as well as I do that when it comes to Zander, I seem to lose my ice queen tag.
Zander Roberts has been my partner for six months and in that time he’s managed to do what many before him have failed at—loosen me up. I’ve been, for lack of a better word, uptight for the best part of a decade. In order to be the strong, capable and independent woman my mother raised me to be, I’ve had to wear what I now liken to being my invisible armor—impenetrable to anyone and anything. I’ve been all about the job; the academy, then working on the street doing general patrol and a field training officer. Zander was the last recruit I took on as a field training officer. I worked him to the bone for a month while he experienced what the reality of being a cop in Chicago entailed. And he did me proud. So much so that I requested he become my partner when I returned to patrol.
Now, we’re as tight as partners can be. He still has his moments where he drives me insane, but all in all, he’s professional, alert, and there is no one else I’d rather have my back.
I hear the computer in the patrol car ding, and with the press of a button I see a call come up for an assault at an address in the club district. Division Street to be exact. My body goes cold when I realize what club it is.
Dammit. Shit, damn, motherfucking hell. Why me!
Zander looks over at me and quirks a brow. “Sam, you think we might get moving? You’re just sitting there staring at the screen. Is there a problem?”
I shake my head to snap myself out of it. I can do this. I’m a professional. I’m a freaking cop for Christ’s sake. I can walk into that club, an establishment that, in itself, I despise, and do my job. Yes, I can be Samantha Richards, police woman and servant to the city of Chicago.
“Sam?”
I move into action.
Flicking the lights and sirens on, I turn the key in the ignition, then clear my throat and lick my lips which have suddenly gone dry as a fucking desert. “I’m good, Roberts. We’re good. Let’s get this done. Can you keep an eye out for the bus? We’ll need to make sure the scene is safe for them before they can go in.”
“Sure thing.”
Three minutes later and I’m slamming to a stop outside a large, black, concrete building with the word Throb painted large and proud in bright red writing across the front. It’s bold, daring, and proud … just like the club owner himself. Fuck! No, do not think about him.
Zander and I get out of our patrol car just as the ambulance pulls up behind us and I see my best friends Heather and Rico jump out then walk around the back of the bus to get ready. Checking that Zander has my back, I draw my weapon from the belt at my hip.
Together we walk into the club, taking a careful step inside. “CPD, is anyone in here?”
“H-Help! I need help!” a raspy voice shouts in desperation from the back of the large dance floor.
Zander runs ahead, weapon back in his holster. “Roberts, fucking hold up, will you? Have you cleared the scene? Think about your own back, and mine for that matter, before anything else. God, have I taught you nothing?” Zander’s good but he still has his green moments. Now being one of them.
He stops in his tracks and turns his head to look at me. “Dammit, he needs help, Sam.”
“I know, but right now I don’t care. We’re no use to him if we get attacked, are we?” I raise an eyebrow to him as I look around the room, scanning for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. Standing back, I’m still unable to see the victim.
“Is he still here, sir? Are you alone?”
“Y-Yeah,” he sputters out. “The guy that … uh, roughed me up some left through the back when he heard sirens.”