by April Wilson
Despite the arousal coursing through me, lingering doubts and worries crowd their way into my brain, pushing away thoughts of sex. “Is this trip a mistake?”
“You are so beautiful,” he says as he frames my belly with his big hands. He leans forward and kisses my baby bump.
I laugh, laying my hands on his. No matter what he says, I can’t help feeling self-conscious about my body, how it has changed over the pregnancy. I’m happy that my breasts are larger, but not so happy about the other changes, including a greatly expanded waistline, a spidery network of stretch marks on my abdomen, and swollen ankles and feet. “I’m as big as a whale. And you didn’t answer my question.”
He gazes up at me, serious now. “I wouldn’t call it a mistake, exactly, but there is some risk involved, yes. I would categorize it as a calculated risk.”
“Cooper and Sam think it’s a mistake.”
Shane nods. “I know. Cooper’s already given me an earful on the subject. Yes, it’s possible you could go into labor early, but not likely. And we’re not going far. If anything happens, I can have you back in Chicago pretty quickly.”
He lies back on his pillow, his hands sliding down to gently caress my thighs. “Sweetheart, if I had my way, I’d keep you locked up in the penthouse twenty-four-seven. But I realize that’s not reasonable. I’ve got to give you room to breathe, to have some fun. I figure this overnight trip is a reasonable risk. Plus, I’ll be by your side the entire time. At the first sign of trouble, I’ll whisk you back here so fast your head will spin.”
I want to go. I want to get some fresh air and have a change of scenery. The drive to Harbor Springs is idyllic, mile after mile of countryside, pastures, and horses, with the occasional glimpse of Lake Michigan. And yet, I can’t shake these misgivings.
I reach for his hands and link our fingers together. “I would never do anything to endanger our baby.”
“I know that, honey.” He squeezes my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”
He releases my hands and slides a finger inside the gusset of my panties to tease my clitoris, essentially putting an end to the conversation. I’m already wet and swollen. His touch sends a shock of pleasure through me, making me arch my back and gasp. Positioning the pad of this thumb right over the slippery knot of nerves, he starts rubbing lazy, determined circles.
I immediately begin squirming and let out a breathy moan, followed by his name. “Shane.”
“Just relax and let me make you feel good.”
I brace my hands on his chest and close my eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of pleasure surging through me. He knows my body so well. He knows exactly how to drive me crazy and how to make me come hard. “I want you inside me.”
He smiles. “I want that, too, but be patient. I want to watch you come first.”
I feel so vulnerable like this. As the pleasure mounts, and my moans escalate into whimpers, I close my eyes, trying to hide from his watchful gaze.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart, and look at me.”
When I do, his beautiful blue eyes lock onto mine, holding me fixed. He works my clit, faster and faster, ratcheting up the exquisite pleasure to the point I’m panting and squirming on him. My thigh muscles tighten, and I know I’m close. “Shane.”
He watches me closely, this thumb doing diabolical things to my clitoris. I want to close my eyes and hide, but I can’t look away from his gaze. There’s so much heat there, so much need. He’s just as desperate for me as I am for him. The thought sends me over the edge, and I fall forward, crying out loudly as I’m inundated with waves of intense pleasure. The sensations ripple through me, and I’m practically panting when he leans forward and locks his lips on mine, drinking in my cries.
Even through the sheet, I can feel the heat and the strength of his erection. He helps me slip off my panties and pulls my nightgown over my head and tosses it to the foot of the bed, exposing every inch of me. He shoves the bedding aside, uncovering his thick erection, and he guides me over him so that the tip of his length is poised right at my opening. He lifts his hips, nudging the head of his cock inside me, making us both gasp with pleasure. Even though I’m already soft and wet, the size of him still makes me catch my breath.
“Doing okay?” he grates out through gritted teeth.
I know he’s trying to hold back, to keep himself from shoving inside me too quickly. I let gravity do the work as my body sinks onto him, driving him deeper inside me. This late in my pregnancy, missionary position is out of the question. It’s much easier if I’m on top, like this, or if he takes me from behind. But he prefers to be able to see my face when we’re together, so he can gauge my response and my frame of mind.
“Yes, fine,” I gasp, as I sink down another inch. I can feel my body opening for him.
His thumb returns, circling my clitoris, distracting me from the stretch of him inside me, from the aching fullness.
I start to move then, and he helps me by gripping my hips and raising and lowering me on his erection. I’m so wet that he thrusts easily now, lifting his hips to meet my downward movements.
I love to watch his face, so beautifully expressive. It’s all there to see, the tension, the pleasure, his need to come, which is tempered by his restraint. He’s always so careful with me, sometimes at the expense of his own pleasure.
“Behind me,” I say, my voice barely audible as I roll off him and onto my hands and knees.
“Jesus, Beth,” he says, his voice rough with need as he surges onto his knees behind me. He slams back inside me, harder than he intended to I’m sure, sending me face down onto my pillow. “Shit, I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
He starts to pull out, and I reach back with one hand to grasp his thigh, holding him to me. “Don’t stop.”
“Beth—”
“I’m fine.” I push back against him, driving his erection deep, and my body clamps down on him like a fist.
A rough groan escapes him as he clutches my hips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
But his need finally supersedes his desire to be gentle, and he rams into me, thrusting hard and deep. Several more thrusts follow in quick succession, and the sounds coming from him are low and guttural.
His powerful thrusts and obvious pleasure send me over the edge, making my body tense and shake as I come once more. I press my face into my pillow to muffle my cries. Shane follows right behind me, shouting hoarsely as he bucks into me, filling my body with spurt after spurt of liquid heat.
His movements slow as his orgasm wanes, until he finally slides out of me. He rolls me onto my side and spoons with me, wrapping his arm around me, nestled just below my big belly.
“Jesus, are you okay, sweetheart?” he says, his breath coming hard and fast. He cups his hand gently over my sex.
I’m so boneless and replete now from two mind-shattering climaxes that I can barely speak. “Mm.”
He gives me a shaky laugh. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so rough.”
The mattress shifts as he rises from the bed. “I’ll be right back.” A few minutes later, he returns with a warm, wet washcloth.
My dear, sweet, chivalrous husband. When he’s done cleaning me up, I roll onto my side and snuggle with my pillow, feeling deliriously happy and so physically satisfied. I can still feel the echoes of pleasure moving through me. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
He returns to the bathroom to clean himself up, and then he climbs into bed and spoons with me. “Sweet dreams,” he murmurs into my hair, and then he kisses the back of my head.
I feel a tender twinge deep inside me, and it makes me smile. I like it when he lets himself go like that. He always feels guilty afterward, but I love feeling his incredible strength and raw passion.
* * *
Sometime in the night I awake, shaking and cold. That makes no sense. I’m never cold when I’m in bed with Sha
ne. He’s like my very own electric blanket, his body radiating heat all night long and keeping me toasty warm. I roll onto my back to discover that the bed’s empty.
“Shane?”
But there’s no reply.
I get up and head for the door, thinking he might have gone to his home office just down the hall, but when I open the bedroom door, I suddenly find myself on the first floor of the medical library where I once worked.
No!
It’s the same nightmare scenario that has terrorized me for years. Alone in the library, with that monster stalking me in the darkness, his dogged footsteps and his heavy breathing growing louder and louder as he comes closer. And his voice—it sounds like crushed gravel. Just the thought of it makes me shake uncontrollably.
“It’s just a dream,” I tell myself. “Wake up!”
I close my eyes, squeezing them hard, hoping to wake myself from this nightmare before it gets worse. But when I open them again, I’m still in the library, still in the dark.
I look down at my naked body, my breasts swollen and heavy, and my belly protruding. My hands go immediately to my abdomen, covering it protectively. Shivering, I search desperately for something to wear. Anything to keep me from feeling so horribly exposed.
And then I hear the footsteps—the same heavy, dogged footsteps that have haunted me since I was just a child. “No!”
I run for the bookshelves, row after row of towering shelves, hoping to hide in the dark spaces between them. I know this library like the back of my hand. I can run. I can hide.
As I run deeper into the shadows, his heavy footsteps and ragged breaths grow louder. No matter how fast I run, it seems like he’s always just a few steps behind, keeping pace with me.
“Beth!”
Oh, my God! “Shane!” I cry.
“Where are you?”
“In the shelves! Hurry!”
Please find me, please find me, before it’s too late. Before he gets us. Us. This time it’s not just me who’s running.
“Beth? Where are you, honey?”
Shane’s voice seems farther away now, so distant, but the footsteps and the heavy breaths draw closer.
“Shane! I’m here. Please hurry!”
“Beth? Where are you?”
Even farther away… he’s heading in the wrong direction.
No! I suck in a deep breath and scream his name as loud as I can. “Shane!”
Strong fingers grip my shoulders, crushing and bruising. “You think you can escape me?” That awful, horrible voice. It can’t be Kline, though. He’s dead!
The monster’s hands reach around me, embracing my pregnant belly, sending chills down my spine. “What do we have here?” the monster says, and then he laughs.
Sobbing, I scream. “Shane!”
“Beth, damn it, wake up!”
I shoot up into a sitting position, my arms flailing madly as I fight him off.
Shane catches my hands, holding them still. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
I stare at him as my heart beats frantically, and I start wheezing.
Shane reaches into the top drawer of my nightstand and pulls out my rescue inhaler, holding it to my mouth. I latch onto the device, and he administers the medication.
“It’s all right,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “Just relax and breathe.”
As the fear and panic begin to recede, I lie back on the bed, trying to steady my breath. It’s been so long since I’ve had a panic attack bad enough to trigger my asthma, and so long since I dreamed about Howard Kline. I thought that was behind me, but apparently I was wrong. Even after his death, that monster continues to haunt me.
I close my eyes in an attempt to stem the hot tears streaming down my temples. My throat is so tight I can barely speak. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh,” he croons, wiping my face with a tissue. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He climbs back into bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
A long time passes before I can bring myself to answer him. “It was the same dream, in the library at night. Kline was there. Only this time, you were there, too, calling for me, searching for me. I called to you, over and over, but you couldn’t find me. You kept moving farther and farther away. And then Kline grabbed me. He touched me.” I shudder. Then my hands go to my belly, covering it protectively.
Shane’s gaze locks with mine in the haze of the early morning light. “I will always find you, Beth. I will always come for you.”
He brushes my sweat-dampened hair back with a hand that seems less than steady. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I won’t leave your side until you’re ready to get up.”
I shift my position to ease the dull ache in my lower back. Then I let out a long, heavy sigh and close my eyes, drawing Shane’s arm beneath my breasts and holding him tight.
Chapter 7
Shane
I awaken again after a couple fitful hours of sleep and realize that sleep is pointless for me now. I can still hear her terrified cries, her rasping breath. She’s come so far since I met her, but every once in a while the nightmare returns, and it breaks my heart to see her hurting like that. If I could kill that bastard Kline again, I would. Gladly.
I gravitate toward her soft, warm body, like a moth to the flame. Cooper’s right—I am pussy-whipped. But you won’t hear any complaints about it from me.
I resist the urge to skim my hand down her side to palm her sweet ass as I don’t want to risk waking her this early. She needs all the sleep she can get, especially after that nightmare.
I’m often up and out of bed long before Beth, but this morning I’m loathe to leave her side. I promised I’d stay with her until she woke up, and I’m sure as hell going to keep my word. As I’m a workaholic, though, I have to do something productive while I wait. I slip quietly from bed, pull on a pair of shorts to prevent accidently flashing Cooper—another early riser—then head to my office down the hall to grab my laptop.
I settle back into bed and get to work. One of my priorities is to e-mail Jake to let him know there’s a client meeting scheduled for Monday that he needs to attend. I’m not going to tell him that the meeting is about Annie. Not yet. I don’t want him dwelling on it all weekend.
I use this quiet time to catch up on reading field reports and e-mails, doing as little typing as possible so I don’t wake Beth. An hour later, she begins to stir.
I set my laptop aside and watch her wake up. Every movement she makes, every sound, every breath is sensuous. She stretches first, still half asleep, and her accompanying soft sounds make me hard. She instinctively turns to face me, her arm stretching out over my hips, and she shifts closer. Then her eyes open slowly, and she frowns at the bright morning sunlight streaming into the room.
“Good morning,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss the top of her tousled head.
Not quite fully awake, she mumbles something unintelligible and presses her face into my hip, which makes me smile.
My wife is definitely not a morning person. I can’t wait to see how she handles having a newborn baby, who will presumably have an erratic sleep pattern and will be waking us up at all hours. I have a feeling I’ll be handling most of the late night and early morning feedings. Unlike my wife, I don’t require a lot of shut-eye. In the military, I had no choice but to learn to function on just a few hours sleep.
Beth arches her back and stretches, making a pained whimper.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“My back hurts.”
“I was too rough with you last night. I’m sorry.”
She smiles. “I’m not. It was worth it.”
She gasps as she presses her hands to her abdomen, her eyes widening.
“What?” I say, instantly going on red alert.
“I think I just felt a contraction.”
I lay my hand on her belly and frown. She’s had Braxton Hicks contractions before, on and off, so they’re nothing new. The first couple times she had them, I insisted
she go to the hospital to get checked out, but each time they sent us home telling us to relax. “Do you think they’re Braxton Hicks?”
She nods. “I’m sure they are. It’s nothing to worry about. They’re not very strong.”
“We definitely overdid it last night,” I say, wanting to kick myself. I clearly remember the firm grip I had on her hips as I plowed into her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has some bruises this morning.
She sits up gingerly, and the sheet slips down, baring her breasts and their lush, pink nipples. Damn. My dick hardens instantly.
“Last night was amazing,” she says with a sigh. “A little backache is a small price to pay.” She grimaces as she swings her feet around to the floor. “I’d better get in the shower.”
“Wait.” I catch her arm. “Are you sure you’re all right? If you want to stay home….” I let my words trail off, not wanting to influence her response, but wanting to give her an easy out if she feels like staying home.
“I’m okay.” She stands, gloriously nude, and arches her back cautiously, as if testing it. “I’m just a bit sore. It’ll pass.”
The sight of her standing there naked, with all her glorious new curves on display, and her blonde hair mussed from sex and sleep, makes my pulse speed up. I’d love nothing more than to coax her back into bed. But that’s obviously out of the question now.
I shut down my laptop and throw back the covers. “I’ll join you in the shower.”
She grins at the sight of my inevitable morning erection. “It looks like you need a cold shower.”
I fist my cock and give her a rueful grin. “I doubt even a cold shower will help with this.”
She surprises me by climbing back onto the bed, crawling toward me on her hands and knees with a wicked gleam in her eye. “Maybe I can help you with that.”
Before I can protest, she pushes my hand aside and wraps her slender fingers around my erection. She bends down to kiss the tip, her tongue swiping a drop of pre-come.
“Sweetheart, no,” I say with a low groan. “You don’t have to—”