Breathe

by C. L. Matthews

  “Ladybug?” Francis calls out. I turn and see his big and looming figure. The worry on his face already has the tears rushing out.

  “I didn’t mean to show up unannounced.”

  “Shh,” he coos and pulls me into his arms. I hug him. Just letting him hold me. After my tears abate a little, he kisses my forehead and then both of my cheeks. It’s so soothing and kind, and when he drags me inside to talk to me and love me in the most mundane way, I feel at peace.

  That’s the day my marriage ended.

  Somehow, in the short trip to Gray’s home, Toby thought I’d fucked his best friend. How wrong was he?

  The door opening surprises me. Though he said we’d talk in our room, I didn’t believe him. He’s a runner—he runs from his problems, commitments, and wrongdoings all the time.

  “How are you feeling?” Toby’s voice sounds out. It’s skeptical, the way his words slow as if he’s second-guessing them.

  “Do you ever think of our baby?” I deflect, asking him what has been burning into my skin day after day for the past two years. The thing that’s as real as it is painful. It’s an ache that doesn’t ebb; one you don’t heal from, but rather, you learn to live with. It’s the scars on my arms, the visual imagery of sorrow without the memories. Because we didn’t get those did we? Will we ever? Will I be a mom? Will I be deserving? Is there anything I can do to be given such a gift? Am I not worthy? Tears flood me, but it’s not a sob where the body shakes, it’s acceptance as salty droplets trail my cheeks, heating my skin while numbing me to everything else.

  “Every day,” he answers, and that’s when I realize he’s gotten closer. His voice is louder than I expected. It’s full of implications—no sadness—almost like he has a filter, not allowing the emotions to bleed through because he’s scared of them.

  I’m scared of them.

  Imagine losing something vital to you, then deciding that holding it in was the only way to breakthrough it, then to finally let it out and experience it entirely, all at once. With that and his words on my mind, my body starts to shake. The tears come faster, the pain pinches harder, the deadness inside rots with everything I’ve allowed myself to hold.

  “Why didn’t we get to have a child, Toby?” Another question. Another answer I don’t want. It’s there, though; these necessary questions that I’ve never allowed myself to truly ask. “Am I not meant to be a mother, too?”

  My chest aches. If someone like Lianna Moore could have me, then why can’t I be a mother? What makes everyone else special and not me? Is it my body? Is it not strong enough? Am I too weak to carry something so special?

  I think back to Paris. To that alleyway where my life changed entirely. The memory pounds into me, trickling in like a soft drizzle, and as the reality of losing a child flows through me, it turns into a tropical storm, winding me, stealing my breath, and before I know it, I can’t stop the sobs.

  “Josephine,” Toby calls out, his hand on my cheek. He cups it, the warmth from him making me feel too hot, on fire, unwelcome and brutal. “I’m not sure why our baby was taken. Life doesn’t always make sense. No matter what we did, it can’t change the outcome.”

  “How can you be so calm?” I hiss, pushing his hand away. “How can you think logically and be okay? How is this okay and not a fucking disaster?” My chest heaves as the emotion rips through me, it slices from my chest, searching for the person who hurts me most.

  It comes for him.

  And I don’t stop it.

  “Why is she good enough?” I cry, but as confusion takes over his face, I move from the fetal position and sit up.

  He doesn’t know I know.

  But DNA doesn’t lie.

  “Your mom?” he finally asks.

  Immediately, my head is shaking while my heart is trying to calm. “Lo.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks.

  If I dye my hair, will I be good enough?

  Will I look more like her?

  Will you love me then?

  “When I stopped you in the coffee shop. That little boy... Leviathan.” I pause to breathe, inhaling deeply before letting it out. “He’s your son.” Toby’s features tighten, his eyes pinched and his lips pursed. It’s an emotion that makes me believe he knew but wouldn’t accept it.

  Why would he?

  She hid this for five years.

  Five years of time lost.

  “Why do you think he’s mine? Jase and I are nearly identical.”

  “You’re nothing alike,” I bite out.

  “You’re wrong. Besides our looks, we’re the same. Incurable. Miserable. A goddamn fucking mess.” He leans toward me, taking my face, rubbing circles over the tears as if smearing them will change the fact that sorrow doesn’t leave when they dry. “I’ve fucked up, Sous.” Sous. It’s the worst and best name he’s given me. It reminds me of the good times, the bad ones, and everything in between. It hurts. It heals. It digs deep.

  “Don’t ignore this,” I plea. “DNA doesn’t lie, Tobias.” He shakes his head, almost like understanding bleeds into him and his features, but as if a decision is made, he doesn’t push it. He grips my face harder and kisses me.

  His lips demolish mine in a collision neither of us prepared for. It’s timeless, the actions non-existent and coalescing at the same time. It’s simultaneous and untethered. It’s soft and hard. It’s a claiming and a promise. It’s everything I’ve wanted and nothing he has offered.

  My body thrums with life, it hums and soothes, it feels like everything he’s taken and given as they fight silently to win my sensations over. It’s overwhelming as my heart and mind have it out, and I can’t help but cry.

  His tongue traces my bottom lip—a plea—something that isn’t what he usually offers. My husband takes, he doesn’t ask, and it’s always been something I’ve needed, but this tiny moment of tenderness, the keening of his will, the offering, it’s his kneeling to me.

  I open for him, parting my lips with a soft moan. His tongue twists with mine as my body heats. Something in the slow, sensual dance brings me too many feelings, and my body starts feeling jittery again.

  He pulls back, placing his forehead against mine. “I hate what I’ve done,” he whispers. His eyes are closed when I peer at them, as if the connection will break if he opens them and gives me his pain. That’s what I want. His pain. His presence. His everything. “You’d have been a perfect mother. So perfect it hurts that I haven’t given that to you. I hate myself, Josephine. I hate every breath I take, every moment I’m here and hurting you. I hate every choice I’ve made since seeing you with Francis. I hate every fucking thing in this world, even you, but fuck, that’s not true. You’re my one lie. The thing I promise to hate and ruin, but love runs deep, it fucking breaks me with its power. Because no matter the pain, Sous, I can’t stop. My heart beats for you, it hurts for you, it feels... only for you.” His face is haunted and strained, and he’s never been more handsome.

  Pain looks me in the eye.

  Hate wrings from him.

  Sorrow promises me to be better.

  “What do we do now?” I ask, feeling too much. My walls are all but non-existent. They’re no longer standing, but demolishing, torn down by every single thing we’ve been holding back, and it’s so telling.

  “We start over.”

  Chapter Forty

  Past

  Toby

  “I told you the next time you smart-mouthed me, your ass would be mine.”

  She grins as if she knows something I don’t. “Maybe I’ve been pushing because you’re too slow. Is it your age, old man?”

  I growl and push her on the bed. She’s freshly showered, her skin dripping, and all I want is to taste and fuck every inch of her. Prowling on top of her, I start at her throat, making sure to suck long enough to leave marks.

  “Toby!” she complains. “I work tomorrow!”

  “Good, then the entire staff can know I’m the only man fucking you and you’re mine.” />
  “You’re such a goddamn caveman,” she grumbles, but I see the satisfaction in her eyes. She wants me to mark her and make sure the world knows I’m hers too.

  I suck and lick her throat and breasts, making sure to bite her piercing just the way she likes. As she writhes beneath me, a mess of moans and groans, I lick her navel, dipping in and swirling my tongue over that piercing. She whimpers above me, and I just know she’s going to be wet as fuck when I finally spread her open. I take my time to leave hickeys and bite marks on her hips to make sure she knows it’s me that can’t get enough of her. She won’t admit it, but I think she secretly likes when I take her body and make it my own puppet.

  When I reach the apex of her thighs, she wiggles, desperate for attention.

  “Needy, Sous?”

  “No, you don’t do it for me,” she taunts. Those words hit the monster where it hurts, and I’m latching onto her clit in the next breath, biting, chewing, and making loud grunting noises that can’t seem to be tamped down.

  “Fuck, Toby,” she moans. “Right there. Fuck.” They’re low and husky moans and have my cock weeping for attention.

  I lick from her clit to her asshole, diving into her as her essence coats my tongue. The flavor is nothing I’ll ever tire of. It’s sweet and tangy and all mine.

  “You’re fucking delicious. I’ll never stop loving this cunt.”

  She groans when I latch onto her again. She’s moving her hips up and down all while pushing my head deeper into her. She fucks my face like I’m about to fuck her pussy, and it’s unnerving me.

  Before she explodes, I stop.

  “Really?!” she yells, her face red and agitated.

  “If I make you come before stretching you, you won’t enjoy it as much your first time. Trust me.”

  She flops back down with a groan.

  I lick her nub as a tease, and she literally barks at me like a goddamn dog. I can’t help but laugh at how greedy she is with her orgasms.

  Getting up, I open my dresser, wanting to get the lube as quickly as possible. Then I come back to my wife, seeing her sprawled wide, rubbing her clit.

  “Naughty girl,” I chastise, slapping her cunt. She screams and then grinds against my palm. “Greedy.” I smack again, and she’s screeching.

  Kneeling, I squirt lube onto my fingers, making sure to put a ton on her rosy little hole. She shivers, and I can’t tell if it’s in anticipation or from the lube’s temperature.

  Placing my tongue over her swollen clit, I flick several times while entering her with a finger. She doesn’t squeeze me like I worried. Most people would death grip, but me and my girl have been practicing.

  After pumping into her for several minutes, I continue to work her pussy and asshole in tandem, watching her thrive. Adding a second finger, she bows upward, whimpering.

  “Good?” I ask, knowing she trusts me to keep her safe.

  “More,” she demands. So, I add another, scissoring them inside to stretch her.

  I pull my fingers out when she’s thrusting down onto them. She’s ready, and fuck, so am I.

  I stand and offer her my hands. “W-What are you doing?” she asks with worry.

  “You’re going to ride my cock, Sous. It’ll hurt less, and I’ll get to look at your tits bounce while you fuck me.”

  She worries her lip a moment before nodding. I lie back, feeling just as nervous. I’ve never done this with anyone. Porn is my only direction. That and the smutty books I stole from Lo once upon a time.

  She kneels in front of my cock, bending to swipe her sinful tongue across the slit. After she’s done torturing me, she takes my entire length down her throat, and I nearly pass out for the sensations zipping up my spine.

  “Shit,” I grumble, feeling my balls tingle. They want to release, but they’re going to have to be patient.

  “Can’t take me, old man?”

  “Get the fuck on my cock before I lose control,” I ground out, watching as she smirks.

  “What if I want you to lose control?”

  “Not your first time, beautiful, now slide that pretty ass over my cock and take it whole.” Her face reddens, and I take joy in making her flush. She hovers over my length, and I squirt a ton of lube over him, coating him. She starts lowering, and her face contorts with pain. I grip her clit and start rubbing sensual circles over it, teasing her. When she’s fully seated, I’m practically on edge. She’s so fucking tight, so ramming into her isn’t an option.

  After a few moments, she’s moaning and rotating above me. My cock pulses with the need to release, throbbing in a way I’ve never felt before. When she starts rising and falling, I’m losing control and grunting with how good it feels.

  My balls tighten, and I hold out, wanting her to come first and truly experience this with me.

  “Toby, fuck,” she moans. “I need harder.” The last three words are a whimper, but it’s the only push I need. Grabbing her hips, I slam into her from the bottom, pushing my hips forward as she screams above me.

  “Be a good little sous and rub that clit for me,” I instruct, watching sweat bead on her forehead. She reaches between us and starts rubbing. “That’s right, flick that bean just like I would with my tongue.” As her movements turn furious, I fuck into her like my dick will fall off otherwise.

  We’re both groaning and moving fast and passionately. It’s when she lets out a string of curses, squeezing me harder than ever before that I lose my edge and release inside her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “Your ass is divine, Josephine,” I praise as she lifts off me. Pulling her into my side, I tuck her under my arm.

  “Remind me to test your age more often,” she teases. I bite her ear and start kissing her throat. Before getting too into it as my dick already starts stiffening, I roll off the bed, carrying her with me to the bathroom.

  “Let me take care of you, beautiful.”

  “I’d like that,” she whispers against my heart, kissing it several times over.

  This is happiness.

  This is what we were meant to be.

  This is everything I couldn’t have ever dreamed.

  She’s my perfect match.

  My woman.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Past

  Joey

  I stare at the positive on the stick, smiling so big. This isn’t happening, is it? I’m pregnant. Actually pregnant. My heart soars, and my stomach flutters. Tears run down my face as emotions clog me up. This is what I’ve always wanted.

  Especially since that doctor in France told me it wasn’t a possibility.

  I’m. Pregnant.

  Me.

  Toby.

  Us.

  I call my OB and make an appointment for a full workup. I need to know. I absolutely need to see where this goes. Toby is going to be thrilled.

  Most men shy away from baby talk or wanting them, but when I finally opened up about not being able to conceive, he was so supportive. He did research, and we made sure that we were both on the same adoption page. Because it’s as much as we could really do.

  As I gape at the stick over and over, my heart hammers with pride and overwhelming joy. A baby. We’re going to have a baby. The feeling of absolute glee doesn’t push me to go tell Toby, it’s the love.

  Running to our office, I forgo knocking. He’s on the phone, but as soon as he sees me, his face lights up.

  “Raul, I have to go.”

  My grin widens. He’s so accommodating, always considering our time. The way his eyes shine with love brings me elation. We’re so good together.

  Not just in bed, though we excel at that too.

  “Hey, beautiful.” My heart melts right there into a puddle of love and gooeyness.

  “Hey, there,” I whisper, unable to keep the happiness at bay. Pulling the test out from behind my back, I show him. His expression is confused for all of five seconds before his brows lift.

  “I
’m going to be a dad?” he muses loudly. “A dad?”

  I jump up and down, squealing. “You are!” My heart flutters like my stomach, and I can’t keep the elation from consuming me.

  “We’re having a baby!” The tears come again, sparking a fit of giggles. I’ve never been happier. He’s rounding the desk and lifting me up.

  “We’re having a baby,” he says seductively, his voice going from light to hot in a second’s notice. He takes my mouth greedily, swallowing my moans, and carries me to our room. At some point, I drop the stick and become entirely absorbed with his mouth.

  “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he husks. Setting me on the bed, he spreads my legs. Pushing my dress up, he grips my panties, sliding them down my thighs. “You’re always so wet for me, Sous.”

  “Stop talking and take me,” I demand, wanting him inside me right now.

  “As you wish, wife.”

  That never gets old.

  Him calling me his wife.

  It’s so captivating and sexy, especially when he’s about to use me. He kneels between my thighs and licks across my slit. He’s groaning as he starts feasting on me. It’s so hot, having me bow upward into his mouth as he greedily bites and slurps.

  “Toby,” I moan, and he slips a finger inside me, pressing upward, hitting my favorite spot.

  “Come for me, Sous. Soak my fingers.”

  And I explode as he bites my clit, grinding his teeth over the swollen flesh. Fuck me.

  We’re always fire together, an inferno where we both bask in the endless heat of it all.

  We’re sitting in the waiting room, hoping to get images of our little Gumby today. Eight weeks ago, when I got my blood tests, it was confirmed. We’re having a baby. I sit and absently rub my stomach as Toby watches with rapt attention. His face is glowing more than mine. He’s high on this feeling, and to be honest, so am I. We sit together, hand in hand, and wait to be called in. I’m barely showing, my bump is like one you get from bloating after eating one-too-many tacos. But God, does it feel like perfection.

  I never thought this would be us, but I couldn’t be happier. Seeing the elation on my husband’s face as he rubs my stomach every night, talking to it and kissing it, makes me cry.