by K. Webster
I’m completely content with making out with my wife like we’re a couple of love-sick teenagers, but when she slides her hand between us and rubs my cock, I lose my mind. Her hand quickly slips inside of my boxers, and I lift myself a bit so she can grasp me.
Those fingers. So delicate yet powerful. So perfect.
“Baby,” I grunt against her lips.
She works me efficiently. We’ve been together long enough that she knows exactly how I like it. With each stroke, she owns my dick and controls my mind. As she takes me closer and closer, I grind against her hand, and before I know it, I’m shooting my load into my boxers.
She giggles and I swear I explode with happiness.
My wife.
Laughing.
Never thought I’d see the day again.
“Can I touch you? Make you feel better?” I murmur as I roll off her. Then I yank the boxers from my body and clean my mess up with them. Once I toss them to the floor, I roll back toward her, waiting for a response. “Please?”
When she doesn’t answer, I trace my fingers along her belly, but she grasps my wrist, stopping me.
“Just hold me, Jackson. Please.”
I wrap my arm around her and haul her to me, plastering her to my chest. My arms protectively encircle her and I do as she asked.
I hold my wife.
Today was Thomas’s funeral. It was gutting to watch my baby boy be lowered into the ground. Friends, family, and especially Jackson tried to comfort me. But how do you comfort a mother who has lost her child?
Even though Jackson and I spent last night cuddled together and things seem to be improving between us, I’m still avoiding Tyler.
And I feel guilty as hell.
Each time he cries, I have the urge to go to him, but somehow, it feels like a betrayal to Thomas. Even so, I can’t get Tyler out of my head.
When Jackson isn’t looking, I steal glances at him. Sometimes, when Jackson is passed out, I stand in the doorway of the nursery and stare at Tyler from afar. I’ve picked up his sweet baby scent on Jackson’s clothes, and I have the desire to run in there and bury my face in his chest.
These feelings seem traitorous to the son I’ve only buried today.
The ache in my chest is so deep that I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to move on with my life. The pain seems here to stay. Forever.
“Can I get you anything?” Jackson questions as he peeks his head in the doorway of our room.
I want to look away from the beautiful sight, but I can’t. My husband looks every bit the perfect, delicious daddy that he is while standing in his pajama pants with no shirt on, holding a swaddled Tyler in his arms.
“Uh, I, um . . .” I stammer.
I have the desire to go to them. My heart begs me to climb off the bed and hug the both of them. But I don’t.
“No,” I finally tell him, “I’m fine. Was just about to go to sleep.”
As he walks around to my side of the bed, I smell him. Not Jackson. Tyler.
God, he smells so sweet.
Jackson reaches a hand out and strokes my hair. I wish I could find a way to connect with them. I wish my mind could let me wade through some of my grief long enough to allow me to give poor Tyler a chance.
I hold my breath because, if he stands this close to me with that sweet baby in his arms for much longer, I’m going to steal him away. And I’m not sure if I’m ready.
“Goodnight,” I say suddenly and lie back on my pillows, quickly shutting my eyes. Maybe another day. Just not today. Not the day of my son’s funeral.
Jackson sighs in disappointment. “Goodnight, Andi.”
Crying.
Tyler!
When I wake up, Jackson is snoring hard. Poor guy is exhausted. What if I . . . ? No, I can’t—not yet.
“Jackson, wake up,” I whisper urgently as I nudge him with my foot.
But my poor husband is utterly spent. He doesn’t even move when I kick him hard enough to leave a bruise.
Shit!
“Jackson! Wake up, dammit!” I shriek, no longer able to control my anxiety.
He doesn’t wake up though. And the crying only gets louder.
Stop!
I take several deep breaths to calm myself before I make a decision. I’ll feed the baby. That’s all. It’s just one bottle. I’ve watched Jackson make them plenty of times over the past few days. With a stressed sigh, I climb out of bed and stumble through the dark until I make it into the hallway. From there, I can see the nightlight from the nursery spilling into the hallway.
“I’m coming, little baby,” I whisper as I scamper into his room.
Once inside, I turn on the Harry Potter lamp and discover that Jackson has set up a bottle-making station with bottles already pre-filled with water. He even has a dispenser full with proportioned amounts of formula ready to go.
My husband.
Super Dad.
The gaping hole in my heart seems to shrink just the tiniest of bits.
Tyler’s cries become louder, so I kick myself into gear and prep the bottle. Once I get to his crib, I reach in and push on his diaper. Wet.
Well, damn.
His cries simmer down once he sees me, but I avoid looking at his face. Just change the diaper. Feed the baby. Go to bed. I’m on a mission.
After finding the top of the zipper of his pajamas, I carefully slide it down and avoid his umbilical cord. Then I make quick work of changing his diaper and pray that he doesn’t pee on me in the process. As soon as he’s changed and zipped back up, reality hits me.
I’m going to have to pick him up.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not sure if the apology is aimed at him or Thomas.
But then he stops crying, so my eyes fly to his face because I’m alarmed that something’s wrong with him. And when my eyes lock with his, something happens to me.
I can’t look away.
Blue eyes. So perfect.
Wispy, blond hair. So soft.
I need to pick him up. I want to pick him up.
“Come here, little one.”
Scooping him up, I choke back a sob. He’s so small. And he smells so good. I bring him closer to me so I can inhale him. With a shaking hand, I find the bottle and take him over to the glider in the corner of the room.
I sit down and rearrange him so that we’re both comfortable for me to feed him. As soon as the bottle comes near his face, he latches on hungrily. And I can’t stop staring at him. With each needy grunt he makes as he sucks down the formula, I become more and more enraptured with him.
He’s perfect.
He’s mine.
I force the thought from my head and inspect all of his features. He’s so cute.
“You’re cute like Daddy,” I coo.
His mouth opens and he lets some of the formula run out as he stares back at me. Pulling the bottle from his mouth, I smile down at him. With the corner of the blanket, I swipe his mess away.
“I’m so sorry,” I suddenly sob aloud.
My cries startle him and he makes a face like he’s about to cry.
“No. Shhh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I promise through my tears.
He must understand, because his features go calm once more. Leaning forward, I kiss his forehead. It’s so soft and warm. I leave my lips there for a moment, enjoying the contact.
A painful slice rips through my chest so suddenly that it makes me dizzy.
This baby. This little angel. I’ve neglected him. I’ve pushed this innocent being away from me.
What kind of person am I?
When I find his eyes once more, I see it. I see a little boy with no mother. And I see him watching me back, seeing a mother with no little boy.
Tears momentarily blur the sight of my child before I rapidly blink them away, needing to see him already again.
“You’re mine. And I’m yours,” I assure him fiercely. The vow hangs thick in the air. It’s as if our hearts are threading together.
/> Then I lift my eyes and see a framed picture on the end table. This frame holds two pictures. It says, Thank Heaven for Little Boys. On the left side is a picture of my Thomas in my arms. I’m asleep. How did I not know of this picture? And on the right side, my Jackson and my Tyler are together.
My family.
The tears stream down my face as I sob.
Tyler is here, and with each minute that passes, with me as his mother, I know he’ll help heal me.
We belong to each other.
Both of us, thrown the short ends of the sticks of life, will somehow put them together to make one perfect stick. I waded through my adult life dealing with loss after loss. He came into this life and had the greatest loss of all right off the bat.
A mother with no child.
A child with no mother.
We’re here together now.
A sniffle startles me, and I look up to see my husband in the doorway. This boy’s father. The man who made this family complete. The absolute hero who battled through the war that waged on within myself, in my mind and also my body—and he won. He won that battle for his family.
For me and Tyler.
He strides over to me and drops to his knees. I sigh happily when he rests his face against my knees, nudging his son with his head. My free hand slides into Jackson’s dark hair and I tenderly stroke his scalp. His relief is palpable as he cries tears of joy because we’ve jumped such a huge hurdle.
My husband. The tough guy. The total alpha male. The super dad.
“Thank you, Jackson Compton. You’re the best husband a girl could ask for. Thank you for sticking it out with me—even when things were awful.”
“Baby,” he murmurs against my thighs, “you’re the other half of my heart. If you don’t beat, I don’t beat. But together, we’re fucking amazing.”
My eyes are once again hot with tears. “No, Jackie. When I didn’t beat, you beat strong enough for the both of us. When I married you, I gave you my whole heart. Not just half, all of it. And you protected it—loved it like crazy. Words can’t express how much I love you. You’ll always own my heart.”
We both sit quietly for a moment with our baby, who’s now sleeping between us.
“Andi, I’m so glad you came back to me. Don’t ever leave me again.”
“Not a chance, Jackie.”
“My turn,” Opal whines impatiently.
Pepper gives her what’s supposed to be a menacing glare, but she just waits with arms outstretched. Finally, Pepper sighs and passes Tyler to Opal.
I glance over at Andi, and she seems happy. It’s been a few days since she first held Tyler, and things have gotten better ever since. She’s wanted to see her friends and my family. Every chance she gets, she cuddling our son. I’m going to be fucking gutted when I go back to work next week and won’t get to spend all day with them anymore.
When her eyes meet mine, she winks. My wife looks so damn beautiful while perched on the arm of the sofa with a breathtaking smile. Andi, who normally is perfection personified with her tailored suits, spiked heels, and sexy, straightened hair, might appear to anyone else to look messy right now—not put together.
But as I skim my eyes over her, I have the urge to toss her over my shoulder and haul her straight to the bedroom to ravish her body. Her once slim figure now holds curves I’ve grown to love. Her blond hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy do that is somehow sexy as hell. The pink on her cheeks is natural, and her bare lips look utterly suckable. The way her grey sweatshirt hangs slightly off her shoulder, showing me a sneak peek at her fair skin, gives me the desire to pull it all the way down to catch a glimpse of her perfect, full tits. And the sweatpants with the spit-up spot from Tyler just invokes something carnal in me—it’s proof that my woman is a mother.
She’s my dream come true.
“I love you,” I mouth to her.
Her eyes light up as she responds in kind. “I love you too.”
“I can babysit if you two need to go fuck,” Pepper says bluntly.
Andi giggles and tosses one of the couch pillows at her. “Don’t cuss in front of my boy,” she chides.
We can’t have sex. Not yet. The doctor hasn’t cleared her and won’t for several more weeks. But alone time with my wife does sound pretty awesome right about now.
Our eyes meet again and her giggles die down when she sees the hungry look in my eyes. Stalking like a lion that’s just set his sights on the perfect prey, I stride around the room, never taking my eyes off her. My need for her is so incredibly strong—I’m drawn to her as if she’s pulling me by an invisible rope.
“Pepper, we’re taking you up on your offer. I’m stealing Andi away to”—I dart my eyes over to her and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind—“shower.”
She and Opal laugh when I scoop Andi up from the arm of the couch.
“Let’s clean you up, woman,” I growl and nip at her neck.
Her squeal is muffled by my lips against hers as I walk us blindly down the hallway toward our room. The moment we make it inside, I kick the door shut.
“We can’t have sex,” she whines when I set her down. She looks positively heartbroken.
“I know, but I just need to touch you. Get naked, beautiful.”
Her face lights up, and then we both strip as fast as we can. As soon as she’s bare for me, I seize her, pulling her against me. My cock is sandwiched between us, and I could almost come from the feel of the soft skin of her belly touching it. Tangling my hand in her hair, I tilt her head back and smash my lips against hers.
She tastes like fucking hummus—I still don’t know why she likes that shit—but to me, she tastes decadent. Her mouth urgently fights with mine, each of us eager to taste the other as if we may never have the chance to again. But I know. I know I’ll spend my entire lifetime kissing her.
She’s mine.
My hand slides between us and I cup her swollen breasts. The doctor said that they would eventually go down once the milk is completely dried up and, until then, they would be sore. So I touch her softly. And as her nipple hardens under the stroke of my thumb, she whimpers.
I walk her backwards toward the shower, never breaking my lips or my body from hers. Together, we somehow manage to turn on the water, and once it gets hot, we step inside. As the spray of the hot water rains down on us, I squeeze her to me.
“Andi, I want to make you come,” I groan as I drag my fingers down her body and tentatively touch her pussy.
When her eyes find mine, I see the worry.
“I’ll just touch you here,” I whisper as I gently push against her clit.
The gasp that rushes from her isn’t a pained one—it’s a needy one. As I gradually begin running small circles there, she starts whimpering. She needs this just as much as I do. And I’m so focused on my task that, when her hand grasps my cock, I grunt loudly. My eyes roll back in my head because it all feels so damn good—my finger on her pussy, her hand around my aching dick, her soft skin against mine, the hot water blanketing us.
“Oh,” she cries out, and her body buckles against my touch. My sweet wife is coming.
“That’s it, baby. Let it go,” I coo.
And she does. I watch in awe as she tosses her head back, baring her long, smooth neck, and moans out loud with her release. It’s so fucking hot to see that I shoot hot semen all over her belly as I come too. My God, we’re like two damn teenagers.
When we both come down from our high, I pull her against me.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” I mumble into her hair.
She squeezes me to her. “Likewise, hot stuff.”
I narrow my eyes at her and give her the scariest look I can muster. She, of course, just giggles.
“Good, because I’m about to give you another orgasm. This time, I want to see if my tongue is as good as my finger,” I growl.
She raises a sassy eyebrow. “That,” she grins, “I know is a fact, but please feel free to test out your
theory.”
And I do.
And she’s right.
“Wake up, Mommy,” I yawn sleepily.
The morning sun isn’t even up yet, but our Tyler is. His wide eyes are intent on staring me down. After I changed him and fed him this morning, we were ready for some family time.
I crawl into bed with him and lay him between us. Andi peeks an eye open and smiles when she sees Tyler. Her smiles are golden—perfect.
“Good morning, boys,” she murmurs and reaches over to touch Tyler.
Seeing her accept him has been such a fucking joy. I know that it’s hard for her. The sadness always lingers in her eyes, but happiness shines there too. He makes her happy
He makes us both happy.
“Jackson?” Andi suddenly questions with tears in her eyes.
Reaching over, I stroke her hair. “Yes, gorgeous?”
“What if . . . What if . . .” she trails off tearfully.
I frown, worried she’s somehow relapsing.
“What if we can’t have any more kids?”
My lips curve into a half-cocked grin. “Don’t you worry about that, baby. This little guy is going to keep us quite busy.”
Her lip quivers. “But what if he wants to play with someone? And we can’t give that to him?”
I lean over him to kiss her forehead. “Then we’ll get him a puppy.”
She rolls her eyes in exaggeration.
Grinning, I press my lips to hers before speaking. “Andi, don’t stress. He has plenty of cousins to get into trouble with. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
This time, she seems semi convinced.
“Besides,” I say softly, “Tyler came into our lives when all hope was lost. In our darkest hour, when our hearts were crushed, he came to us and glued all the broken pieces back together again. As long as we have each other, we can handle anything.”
Her eyes glisten with happy tears. She likes my answer. And it’s a good thing, because it’s the damn truth.
“A puppy. And cousins,” she murmurs as if she’s now convincing herself that it will be okay if we never have another child.
“Yep. And me. The kid is going to have the coolest friend of all—me. Like, seriously . . . have you seen my Harry Potter collection? It’s epic. Tyler is going to have a heyday when he gets older.”