by Cher Etan
“Chris? You okay?” Max called from the other side.
“I’m fine thanks,” she called back.
“Can I come in?” he said.
Christine leaned back on her headboard. She really did not want to be alone right now. “Sure, come in.”
Max opened the door tentatively. He was dressed in a black track suit bottom and nothing else. Christine stared at him unable to take her eyes off his chest. His muscles rippled in toned ruggedness. One wouldn’t know it from his appearance while clothed…and it had been a while since Christine had seen him without a shirt.
“Whoa,” she murmured.
Max smiled. “You likey?” he asked without even a smidgeon of smugness; the only thing that saved him from permanent banishment from her presence.
Christine shrugged. “You have a mirror,” she said matter of factly.
Max came to sit on the side of her bed still smiling, “So, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” Christine replied.
“I heard you cry out,” Max protested.
“I had a bad dream. It happens.”
Max stood up. “I’ll get you a glass of hot milk then. I hear it's good for what ails you.”
“You don’t have t-“
“I want to. It's what your grandmother would do, no?”
Seeing as it was indeed what her grandmother would do, Christine couldn’t exactly protest. She lay back and waited for her hot milk, rubbing her stomach gently.
“Hey there,” she whispered to it. “How you doing? You okay? Sorry about your stupid mama’s stupid nightmares. I promise I’ll try not to have them again.”
The baby said nothing but Christine felt soothed anyway.
Max came back not long after with a mug of hot chocolate and a piece of chocolate fudge cake. Christine’s eyebrow went up.
“Seriously?” she asked.
Max shrugged. “We’re pregnant which means we’re allowed,” he peered at her. “You do want some don’t you?”
“Only if you’ll share with me,” she said suppressing a smile.
Max sighed theatrically. “Only because you’re carrying my baby.”
Christine smirked, “You’re too kind.”
They sat in silence, eating and drinking in contentment. Max wriggled onto the bed so he was next to Christine leaning on the head board.
“Mmm,” he said biting into the chocolate confection.
“Good?” Christine asked.
“Orgasmic,” Max replied. Christine found that her cheeks were hot even as she laughed. She reached out with a finger to scrape some chocolate cream off the top of the cake and sucked her finger into her mouth. Max watched the progress of her finger, staring as she sucked the succulent cream off her hand. His eye caught hers and held it and then swooped down to look at her finger. His mouth opened slightly and his tongue peeked out as his eyes followed the movement of her hand. He leaned forward slightly seemingly without meaning to and Christine plopped the finger out of her mouth.
“What?” she asked in a tiny voice.
Max said nothing, just continued to stare at her mouth as she watched him. His tongue came out and ran itself along his lips.
“Dry lips? You want some hot chocolate?” she asked in that small voice.
“Sure,” he said and his voice was just as low. He reached out to take it from her hand and took a sip, his eyes not leaving hers.
“Mmmm,” he said.
“Good?” she asked, her mouth unconsciously pouting.
“Very,” he said and then suddenly he was kissing her. It happened so fast Christine didn’t have any time to have thoughts about it. His mouth was surprising soft and gentle, his lips touched hers. But underneath the softness there was demand for entry, and urgency. Christine couldn’t help but respond to it, softening her own lips, leaning forward and parting her lips to allow his entry. That seemed to be the signal he was waiting for because his arms closed around her like an iron vice and he held her close against his chiseled chest. Christine’s arms went about his neck and she arched into him inserting her tongue as deep into his mouth as his was in hers. Max' hands began to wander, pulling up her spaghetti top. He detached his lips from hers for a moment so he could sling the shirt off her head and fling it to the far corner of the room with a flick of his finger. Then his mouth was back, biting gently into her bottom lip as he made the same sounds he’d been making when he was eating the cake. His mouth left her lips, tongue trailing along her skin before he sucked gently on her chin.
“Are you eating me?” she croaked.
“You’re delicious,” he said pulling her closer and tipping her over on the bed. Christine straightened out her legs under him and his hands immediately landed on either side of her hips and began worrying at her silken shorts. She helped out by wriggling so he could pull them out from under her and toss them in a different corner from the shirt. His pelvis ground against her naked belly and she could feel just how ‘happy’ he was to see her. She reached between them and dug into his track suit, grasping firmly at his dick and pulled. He let out a surprised gasp and then jerked forward as if encouraging her to do it again. She pulled again harder and he uttered a small protest.
“Careful; it's no good to you if you pull it off,” he murmured licking against her neck.
Christine giggled, changing her grip from a pull to a massage. Not that he needed any more stimulation; it was like holding a bar of iron encased in a silk glove. Max' hands traveled downward clutching at the waist of his track suit and pulling it down to his thighs. He grasped her hips and widened them, thrusting forward so she could feel him along the length of her entrance.
“May I?” he groaned as he continued to grind against her inner thigh, his powerful body held in check, but only just.
Christine’s hands trailed downward and settled on his ass, pulling him forward, saying better than words that he may. He breached her with one unbridled thrust as he gasped aloud and she cried out. His thrusting thereafter was demanding and uninhibited in its urgency and he threw his head back and let it rip as she wrapped her legs around him and held on.
“Oh God, so good,” she murmured as he pounded into her.
“Am I hurting you?” he ground out, breath harsh and loud in the still midnight air.
“Harder,” she replied into his ear.
He made a sound like he hurt a lot and redoubled his efforts.
Christine could feel the tension building inside her and she knew that release was near. Her eyes closed of their own volition and her back arched in readiness for ecstasy. Suddenly, Max pulled out of her but before she could utter a cry of protest he’d flipped her over so her ass was in the air. She was so startled she hardly noticed when he slammed into her again almost making her face plant into the side of the bed. She held grimly onto the sheet as he proceeded to pound her into the mattress. Christine widened the angle of her thighs so he could have better access, hoping in a vague sort of way that this was not hurting the baby. Then she remembered the amniotic fluid and calmed down, or as much as she could with Max creating all sorts of sensations inside her body. Hot sensations, cool sensations, electrical pulse sort of sensations…ballooning feelings of impeding nuclear explosion centered at her center. It really was not fair that he could do this to her. The only thing that consoled her was that judging from the tomato hue of his skin, the bulging veins around his eyes, his wide eyed staring and deep ass loud breathing…he was feeling it too.
“Max?” she whispered in moaning desperation.
“Yes,” he replied going faster and deeper as he did so and making her completely lose her train of thought. She leaned forward, placing her weight on her elbows and widening access to her inner self. Max wasn’t slow to respond, burrowing even deeper into her so that she felt like she might be feeling him in her throat pretty soon.
“So good…love this…God,” he was murmuring behind her, or he could just be saying random words. Christine put her head down and let go, her whole body
loosening and softening. Then Max arched his back and let out a pained groan and before she knew what was coming she felt his wetness spreading inside of her as his body jerked uncontrollably. She suppressed a sigh of disappointment; so close yet so far.
The strong salt-musky taste of Christine made Max’ head swim and his heart flutter frantically in his chest. Christine not only looked irresistible lying there so needy and desperate; she was fucking gorgeous. Christine felt like she was drowning, held down by the weight of her own desire. She was helpless to do anything other than keep Max caught inside her, straining like a butterfly half-smothered by honey. He withdrew himself slowly, much to her disappointment but his penis was replaced soon after by finger and tongue and soon Christine was, honest to God, sobbing as her body broke apart and fell like rain on to the pristine cream covers they were lying on. For a while, everything went white.
“Chris? Baby? Are you okay?” she heard Max ask after an interminable time went by.
“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled into the pillows.
“Okay,” he said, his voice torn between uncertainty and amusement. “I’ll get you some water, shall I?”
Christine made an incoherent sound that could be consent and she felt the bed dip as Max got off. She closed her eyes, completely unable to keep them open or her brain active for another second. All her circuits were fried. She felt like she was in deep trouble here.
*****
Max staggered to the kitchen; he felt kind of dizzy, kind of drunk, kind of high. At the back of his head though, a voice kept chanting, ‘whatdidyoudowhatdidyoudowhatdidyoudo?’ like some sort of hoodoo mantra that would somehow make everything clear. He was through the looking glass here with no road map on how to proceed. He got the water from the dispenser and took the glass carefully back to Christine. She was passed out on the bed and didn’t respond to his calls so he put the glass down gently on the bedside table and pulled the duvet out from under her, and covered her with it. She didn’t so much as stir. He watched her sleep for a moment, unable to move away or move forward. Should he stay with her? What would she think if she woke in the morning beside him? What would she think if she woke up and he wasn’t beside her? What to do for the best?
Despite all her bravado, Max knew she still hurt for that bastard Rudy’s rejection; she was still a fragile petal – easily broken. He had no intention of breaking her…so maybe having sex with her like that had been an extremely bad idea. Max gave a shrug; it was way too late to unspill that milk so all there remained to do was find a way forward; out of this quagmire. Or maybe it didn’t have to be a quagmire? Maybe it was just a natural progression of their relationship. They were to be married after all…that’s what it came down to. He needed to get that prenup signed so she couldn’t back out. If he’d succeeded in spooking her; she would back out. She couldn’t though; she already carried his child. And they had agreed even without signing anything. She was a woman of her word; she would not back out now….would she?
Max walked out of the room, his head spinning. He crossed to his room and picked up the phone from his dresser, dialing without thinking.
“This better be life and death young man. It's two o’ clock in the mornin,” Martha growled.
“I just had sex with Chris,” Max replied without preamble. “What should I do now?”
Martha was silent on the other end. “I don’t believe this is my area of expertise,” she said slowly.
“You know her, you know me; do you think she’s gonna run in the morning?”
“Where is she now?”
“Passed out on her bed.”
“Okay then. I suggest you get some rest and have a rational discussion with her come daylight. And the next time y’all indulge in whatever behavior, do not call me in the middle of the night,” Martha said before hanging up.
Max stared at the phone and then dropped it on the bed. Well that hadn’t been as helpful as he’d hoped. He gave himself that shrug again and decided to take her advice anyway; he’d sleep on it and see what happened in the morning.
*****
The puking woke him up in the morning. For a moment he wondered if he’d picked up some random drunk model who was now puking her hangover into his facilities but then he’d remembered exactly why his dick felt misused and sat up quickly. His door was open, and so was hers and that’s why he could hear the sounds of last night’s dinner hitting the toilet bowl from here. His rooms tended to be quite sound proof otherwise. He ventured out of bed and padded over to her room, knocking tentatively at the door before letting himself in and crossing over to the open bathroom door. Christine’s dark head was so far down the toilet bowl it had almost disappeared and her whole body was heaving.
Max wanted to ask her if he could be of assistance but he was afraid she was puking because of what they did last night. If that was so, he didn’t want to be a reminder that would make her throw up more.
Eventually, her head came up out of the bowl and she crouched back, breathing hard as she tried to get her bearings. He walked silently to the sink, wet a towel and brought it quietly to her. She took it and wiped off her mouth and then handed it back to him.
“You alright?” he asked tentatively.
“I’m peachy,” she said standing up and crossing to the sink to wash her face and rinse out her mouth.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked again.
“No. Well, yes. Get me a glass of orange juice if you can,” she said and he hurried off to the kitchen to do as he was told. Christine drank it down and then asked if there was any bacon for breakfast, with some sausages, some eggs, hash browns, and one muffin…or two.
Max took that for the order it was and went to see what the cook could rustle up. Unlike Martha, he lived in, in the ‘service wing’ upstairs so he was on call at all hours. He got right on that as Max went back to report that her breakfast was on hand.
“Thanks, now would you excuse me? I’d like to change.”
“Yes of course,” Max replied and went to his own room to have his own shower. he was hoping that by the time he came out, Martha would have arrived to tell him what to do next.
Chapter 8
Pregnancy was hard; no in fact it was impossible. The mood swings, the constant pendulum between hunger and nausea, the heightened emotion; it was making Christine feel like a crazy person. If she wasn’t careful she was going to end up killing somebody one of these days. Today was one of those days that she really needed everybody to stay away from her. she’d arrived at work to find her co-workers huddled in a conspiratorial group; clearly gossiping about something. It didn’t take long for her to find out what the gossip was about. Leandra came by fishing for the tea, asking her about her love life and who she was seeing these days. Christine just glared at her. Just because they were the only two female engineers in their department didn’t give Leandra the green light to know everything about her. It was still none of her damned business.
“Don’t you have work to do?” she snarled. Her stomach was burning like she had hyper-acidity or something. She really was not in the mood to be diplomatic with anyone.
“Okay girl, be like that. I’m just sayin though, if you wanna have a secret romance don’t do it with a famous dude and then let the paparazzi take photos of you,” she said.
“What. The fuck. Are you talkin’ bout Lele?” she asked or rather demanded.
Leandra hurried over to snatch the paper (Christine could see that is was a local tabloid) out of the hands of two interns and brought it eagerly over to her. She folded it solicitously so that Christine could clearly see the picture of her and Max at the supermarket looking over ice cream choices.
“Y’all look so cute together. I didn’t know you were into the white meat. How come you refused to go out with my cousin Carlos when I set y’all up last year?”
Christine looked up to glare at Leandra, wondering what was the best way to tell her to fuck off.
“It's really none of
your business you know,” she said handing the paper back to her. “Who said I’m even dating that guy?”
“Y’all looking all terribly familiar and all. What? You gon’ say he’s just a friend?” Leandra was smirking. Christine was not in the mood to tolerate smirking.
“Think whatever the fuck you like. I got work to do,” she said shoving rudely past the other girl as she headed to her locker to get her uniform out. She knew that she hadn’t heard the last of it but she just did not have the time right now. Her stomach was beginning to feel queasy again. She was afraid for a moment that she would upchuck her breakfast right there in the locker room, in front of her subordinates. She grabbed her uniform quickly and hurried off to the ladies wanting to get out of sight just in case her body betrayed her. Just as she closed the door of the stall behind her and began to undress, she was startled badly by her phone ringing. The ringtone was ‘beautiful loser’ by Bob Seger so she knew it was Max on the other end.
“Did we decide what we were going to tell people?” she asked without preamble.
“Er, no. But tell them whatever you want,” he said, French accent coming through loud and clear. It thickened when he was under stress.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We need to talk. Soon,” he said.
“What’s happened?”
“Not on the phone. I’ll pick you up at lunch time.”
“I don’t know where I’ll be at lunchtime.”
“That’s why you have a phone, and I have a phone and we can call each other and find out.”
“Don’t be rude.”
“Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m pregnant, I’m allowed to be difficult.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right; you’re pregnant and crazy which translates to difficult. I’ll try to deal.”
“You’re talking yourself out of that lunch date bro,” she warned.
“Trust me, you don’t want to stand me up,” he said and hung up. Christine sighed. She could spend the whole morning worrying and giving herself more heartburn or she could eat chocolate and pretend that everything was awesome. She chose option two just cause it involved chocolate and she had some in her pocket. Also, she didn’t really have much fondness for worrying – too many years of her life had been wasted on that. Now she just wanted to get through this pregnancy without becoming 5150 and that would mean making healthy choices. Like chocolate.