by C. C. Piper
He sat beside me then said, “Alexa, dim the lights.” And his AI home system complied. This apartment was such a different beast from what I was used to. Trevor had every convenience and novel technology at his disposal. But somehow between his solid warmth at my side, the popcorn situated in his lap, and the low quavering light of both his big screen and the fireplace, I felt comfortable here. Almost at home.
I’d finally chosen the most recent Marvel movie—one I hadn’t had the chance to watch either in the theater or out of it—and as it progressed, I found Trevor touching me more and more. First, the bowl went missing. Next, his arm went around my shoulders. Then, his lips brushed my temple, my hair, and the top of my ear. And almost before I was cognizant of it, I was pressing my own lips up against his.
It started out slow. One kiss. Two kisses. The movie was interesting, but the poor thing didn’t hold a candle to him. Within moments our lip-locks went from leisurely to something less contained. My hands wandered from my sides to span across his broad chest, then to outline the defined musculature of his upper arms. And all the while, his lips went from kissing my neck to suckling a singular location under my ear that made me groan.
We were making out there on his fancy sectional like a pair of teenagers, and I was loving it. Losing myself in it. My fingers went up and into his hair, my nails barely scraping along his scalp, and now he was the one groaning, so I ran my nails over his scalp over and over again.
Our bodies hadn’t been this close since the night we’d conceived our baby, and even then, I hadn’t had my hands free. I hadn’t been able to explore him at all, and while we’d both been stark naked, the blindfold meant that I hadn’t seen any of his bare body before he left the hotel room.
What a travesty.
I shifted so that I could shift his Henley up and off of him, delighted to find no undershirt beneath. At last, I could feast my eyes on the glory that was Trevor Keller. There were acres of beauty before me. The broad chest that I’d studied so many times through his clothes was firm and defined, his pecs topping a torso ridged with strength.
His six-pack was drool worthy, and a line of fine hair pointed like an arrow down below his navel, vanishing under the denim of his dark jeans. Rubbing my hands across that chest and those abs did delightful things to me. I became surrounded by a fog of my own desire, and everything else in my world went fuzzy around the edges.
On a scale of one to ten, with one being asleep and ten being wildly aroused, I was at least an eleven.
While I’d been focused on him, he’d been focused on me. He’d pulled down the uppermost portion of my dress and bra without me even being aware of it, and now my breasts, swollen in preparation for our child, were exposed to his view.
“Jesus Christ, they’re even darker than before, and so much like, jigglier.”
I froze like a statue. I didn’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones or what, but the areolas of my breasts had changed color from a brownish pink to much deeper chestnut shade. It meant I had to pay more attention to some of my lighter garments. Once, I’d put on a sheer bra with a white shirt with nearly disastrous results. I’d been on my way out the door when my roomie kindly pointed this out to me. Needless to say, I’d never worn that combination since.
“And … And you’re all right with that?”
“Are you kidding? It’s so fucking hot.” His breathing was jagged as he cupped both his hands over my nipples then, rolling them between his finger and thumb. I gasped, the bite of pain a wakeup call after feeling so high on pleasure. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re sore,” I confessed, already sorry. I wanted his touch so badly I almost whimpered.
But Trevor was undeterred. “How about this?” He leaned down and flicked the tip of his tongue against my nipple instead. He did it softly and with extra care, the wet warmth of his mouth around my breast as he exhaled.
“God!”
“Okay?” he asked, his speech muffled by the part of me that was inside him.
“Yes. So much yes.”
When he gave my other nipple the same treatment, I was nearly catapulted through the roof. He used just the right amount of pressure. Enough that I felt him, without his caress causing me even the slightest amount of tenderness or discomfort.
I hadn’t felt this good in so long.
His tongue licked a trail down my cleavage as I left open-mouthed kisses on his forehead. His body was against mine on the sectional. He’d pulled my legs up beside him so we could both lay lengthwise against each other. I could feel his arousal poking into my thigh as his mouth continued to worship my breasts, and I didn’t want it to end or even to slow down. But then something happened that brought us both to a screeching halt.
Our son moved. And not just a little, either. The sensation was more distinct. It was as if he was performing a series of kicks or maybe even cartwheels. Trevor’s chest had been against my distended tummy, so from his reaction I could tell he must’ve felt that bop, bop, bop, too.
“Whoa,” he said, extricating himself from me as if I’d turned into a ticking timebomb in the past second.
“The baby’s being active,” I observed, hoping to diffuse whatever was making Trevor back away.
“But what does that mean? Am I hurting him? If we continue this, will it be bad for him at all?”
Thankfully, that was a question I already knew the answer to. I’d been reading about all sorts of issues and that had been one. “It’s like um … rocking the baby. And any endorphins that might be released will affect both him and me in a positive way. It wouldn’t be harmful.”
Then, a silent mantra played on repeat through my mind:
Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
Even though he had.
He seemed to ponder what I’d said for a moment, then in an action that seemed astoundingly effortless considering my increase in mass, he lifted me into his arms.
“Good to know.”
Trevor offered me his sexiest and most wolfish of grins, smashing his lips against mine with renewed gusto as he headed with absolute confidence toward what I prayed was his bedroom.
18
Trevor
The only thing around me was Jessica. Her hair, her face, her breasts, her legs, her rounded abdomen. And everything about her was wondrous. Indescribably intoxicating.
So ungodly sexy.
Yet, the type of sexiness she exuded had altered. Not that she wasn’t a feast for the eyes. It was more that her sexiness went beyond the surface level beauty that was visible by sight and touch. This woman was strong, intelligent, and working toward her dreams. As soon as she’d discovered she was carrying my son, she’d invited me to be a part of this miracle when she could’ve chosen to never speak to me again.
And there was something between us. Something more than our son, even. A link had been forged between us early on, and though I’d attempted to ignore it, I couldn’t anymore. Especially not with her in my arms. I wanted her. Not just in my bed, but in my life. And I wanted her not only as a mother for our child, but as a lover and a friend. As a girlfriend and maybe if she agreed, even more. I wanted to take away all her worries. I wanted to give her anything and everything.
I wanted her to be mine in every single sense of the word.
Things had gotten a bit carried away in the living room, so I was glad of our son’s inadvertent interruption. It gave me a chance to get my act together. To fuel my passion for her with more than brainless lust.
I’d stripped her of her bra, and now that I had her laid out across my blankets of my bed, I peeled her dress the rest of the way down, leaving a trail of kisses on each inch I’d exposed. It was torturous work because every stroke and sigh nearly robbed me of my control.
Totally worth it.
Once she was naked before me, I divested myself of the remainder of my clothing and snuggled up beside her. I needed her to know this would be more than sex to me. I was in this because I love
d both the baby and her.
I was in love with her.
I wanted her next to me. I wanted to come home to her and see her holding our son. I wanted her and I to raise him together. To teach him how to say Mama and Daddy. To teach him how to ride a bike and root for the Saints.
I wanted it all.
I was so relieved that I’d taken a minute to light the fireplaces, both in the living room and here in the bedroom, because the firelight made her luscious copper skin radiant. It played over every one of her curves and subtle angles.
I soothed my hands and lips over every inch of her I could reach. Once I had her moaning even more distractingly than she had been on the sectional, I positioned my mouth over her core, lapping up her essence until with a cry that morphed into a long shuddering keen, she came.
And though she wasn’t bound in any way, I delighted in it, in her coming all over my face. She was free to move and she had, holding on to my hair by the roots as if to ground herself. Though I’d initiated this, she’d willingly reciprocated. I found it delicious that everything she did and every response she made was of her own accord. It hadn’t been a turn off at all.
Go figure.
Then, ready to burst and literally leaking for her, I placed my body over hers so I could slip inside, but it didn’t quite work. I flipped us so she was on top, but she crossed her arms over herself as if uncomfortable.
“Don’t like it up there?” I asked her while attempting to make my brain deal with whatever was holding us back. This proved difficult with my erection throbbing against her flawless backside.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had sex like this before.”
“Really?” I asked her, surprised. I didn’t have much experience with this either since I always craved to be the one in charge.
“It’s … I feel exposed.”
Enough said. I pulled her down beside me, her back to my front as I spooned her from behind. This way, I didn’t feel like I might be squashing our son and she seemed more at peace with our position, as well. It took a few different tries at rearranging our hips and legs. But eventually, I found a combination that allowed me to both reach around and touch her where I wanted while still lining up so we could join our bodies together.
I stroked her drenched folds, a surge of pride blasting through me because I was the reason they were drenched in the first place. Maybe it was tacky, thinking of her with my inner caveman like that, but I couldn’t help it. Unlike any of my other sexual partners, I felt territorial when it came to Jessica. The love and passion I felt for her made facilitating and claiming each one of her climaxes an absolute mandate.
Though it might be best for me to keep that to myself.
After I made her come again with my fingers—feeling her let go like this was officially my highest achievement—I ever so carefully slid into place inside her. Once I was fully seated, my hips flush to her ass, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. Gently twisting her face around so I could kiss those juicy lips of her again, I held her from behind, my tongue plunging into her mouth the same way my erection had buried itself in her core.
I’d never held a woman like this, not during sex or at any other time, but the feeling of it transcended every sensation I’d ever felt. Then, I understood why. This was what happened when two people make love instead of fucking. It was new and magnificent and the best thing ever. We undulated together, our pace accelerating at the same time. We were building something in concert, in sync, and when I felt her start to tighten around me, she called out.
“Trevor, oh God, yes, Trevor!”
And I was a goner. Her orgasm inevitably triggered mine and as it swept over me, I held her firmly, needing to be as close to her as possible. Some sort of peculiar heat burned behind my eyes, and as soon as I recognized it, I screwed my eyelids shut against the onslaught. I was honestly a little freaked out. Sex had never made me emotional before.
Luckily, after a tenuous moment where I was afraid I might embarrass myself, it passed.
Holy shit.
Bobbing around the lands of unmitigated bliss, we laid there together as our heart rates dropped back into the normal range. We stayed physically connected as the minutes passed, and I assumed she’d drifted off to sleep when she spoke.
“I so needed that.”
“Me, too,” I admitted.
“Ever since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve been really …”
“Horny?” I supplied, more than familiar with the concept. She chuckled, and I felt her clench down on me when she did. Not that I minded. My shaft might be softening, but I could be up and running in a minute or two should she need my services again.
I almost felt like standing too and providing her with a salute.
“Yeah. Ready to combust at a moment’s notice.”
“Welcome to my world, baby. I’ve been like that since I turned twelve.”
“Are all men like that?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“I think so. It’s a wonder we get anything nonsexual accomplished at all, when I think about it.”
I love you, I almost added. It was right there. Instead, I hugged her and asked, “Do you believe in heaven?”
Where the hell had that come from?
“Like clouds and angels and pearly gates?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. How about you?”
“Definitely. I want to think that when our son bursts on the scene that Nana’s spirit with be here, wooden spoon in hand and stirring a pot as she smiles at him.”
My eyes went hot again. What the actual fuck was the matter with me? I hadn’t been this upset even when Nana died. At least not outwardly. Why was I losing my grip all of a sudden? It was disturbing. Time to concentrate on something else.
“You never talk about your parents or grandparents. Are they still alive?” I asked her. I’d always avoided digging too deeply, but things between us had shifted, and now felt like as good a time as ever to inquire about this.
“My maternal grandparents aren’t,” she said, after a lengthy pause. “I’m not sure about my parents, or the grandparents, on the other side.”
“Why not?”
“I never knew my father or his side of the family.”
“Oh,” I said, treading cautiously. This felt like a touchy subject. “What about your mom? Did you two have a falling out or something?”
“You could say that.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.” I wondered if this lack of support from her family was why she seemed to struggle so much financially.
She’d gone somewhat stiff in my arms when she’d mentioned her mother, and I waited for her to relax again. She didn’t, though. If anything, the stiffness of her posture only seemed to become worse. I heard her take a breath and then, another. I was just about to ask her about it when she spoke.
“I have something I need to tell you.”
There was a tone in Jessica’s voice, the kind you might hear in a little kid’s when they’re terrified. It knocked me out of my hesitation. It was past time that she knew.
“You can tell me anything, Jessica. I love you.”
This was followed by several unspooled seconds of ringing silence.
“You remember when I told you about my miscarriage?” she sputtered out, at length.
Wow, that wasn’t the reaction I’d expected.
“Yeah.”
“That pregnancy was what caused the falling out between me and my mother. When she found out, she kicked me out.”
“Christ, seriously?” I exclaimed, horrified. “Didn’t you say you were only seventeen when that happened?”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“Then, your mother was a fucking bitch,” I spat out, enraged on her behalf. Teen pregnancies happened sometimes. And such a thing was no reason to force a girl out of her own home. Even anything, she would’ve needed that home more than ever. I wanted to smash something, but Jessica needed me to comfort her. “That
is unforgivable.”
“There’s more, though.” Her whisper grew tremulous and even less audible. “I didn’t get pregnant by some boy at school. The fath––It was my mother’s boyfriend. He …” She didn’t go on, and I tried to be patient. An ominous feeling settled over my skin as lead the size of a cannonball dropped into my stomach. “He raped me.”
And though my vision went red with rage, I continued to lay there as if what she’d just said was okay. It wasn’t. It so wasn’t. But I couldn’t lose my shit in front of her, so I made myself stay prone at her side.
“Sh-she evicted me, and I was so afraid and m-miserable.” Jessica was sobbing now. “I spent that night outside in the c-cold, then went to stay at my friends’ houses for a while. I miscarried before I r-reached my second trimester. I know I sh-should’ve told you all this before, and I’m s-sorry.” One distant corner of my brain warned me that she shouldn’t be the one apologizing, but I couldn’t seem to make myself speak.
I knew I should be doing something other than laying there like a bump on a log, but my ability to take the proper action had become compromised. I was no longer touching her, and if I allowed myself to move even a little, I would be like a grenade without its pin, guaranteed to explode. So I went on laying there feeling useless, yet remaining hopelessly mute.
Say something, the one tiny piece of my consciousness told me. Make her feel better.
But my mouth refused to work.
She didn’t turn towards me. Instead, she wiggled herself until she managed to push off the mattress. I didn’t help her because it took everything I had to restrain my violent feelings toward the bastard who’d injured her.
The room was dim, lit only by my fireplace, but I cinched my eyes shut anyway, listening as she struggled back into her dress. I sensed when she left my bedroom. And then I listened as she moved through my apartment. I heard the sound of my front door clicking shut. She didn’t slam it like I expected her to.
Then, there was nothing but quiet.
Again, the part of my brain that had been capable of making rational decisions screamed at me to get up and go after her, to show her I gave a damn before it was too late. But I didn’t. Instead, I sat up, and just like I’d feared, this movement caused a chain reaction within me. I full out sprinted into my gym and smacked my fist into the large punching bag there, roaring with fury as I did.