by Kristy Marie
“You know,” I droll, trying to ease into the subject of this appointment. “After today, we won’t have to call the little heater an it. We’ll know if it’s a boy or girl.”
McKinley’s hand clutches mine. “What if I don’t want to know?”
I pull her to a stop and lift her chin that’s already quivering. “Then we’ll keep on with ‘It’ or ‘little heater.’” Nodding, she inhales, and I pull her into a hug, resting my head over hers.
She sighs. “I kind of like surprises anyway. Besides, I don’t want to cry anymore.”
I squeeze her firmly but not tight enough to smash her belly. “Then don’t. You deserve this baby. Enjoy creating a life, something that some people would love to do.”
And that was the wrong thing to say. “Do you think I’m selfish?”
“No, absolutely not. Every woman deals with pregnancy differently. No one knows what you’ve been through, Mac. I may not understand it, but I can respect your reactions and decisions.”
I rub soothing strokes down her back. “It’s not my place to judge you. Ever. And if anyone else ever judges you in my presence, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”
She snorts. “Your hands are worth millions.”
I pull her back and touch her cheek. “My foot isn’t though.”
McKinley didn’t cry, but she didn’t look at the scan or listen to the heartbeat either.
“Are you upset with me?”
I shake my head. “I’m not mad.”
“Are you disappointed I couldn’t watch?”
I raise my brows. “Are you?”
She doesn’t answer me, and that’s fine. Honestly, I’m still in shock from it all. Seeing the baby inside my wife move on the 3D ultrasound, the tiny thumb shoved between the tiniest lips as it rolled and kicked to find a comfortable position was the most incredible thing I’ve ever witnessed.
I was entranced.
I’d never seen something so amazing, so absolutely pure. And I won’t even lie, I was grateful Mac wore the eye mask since she would have seen me wipe away a tear. I might not be this baby’s father, but something happened in that darkened room. Something otherworldly as I watched—amazed at the life inside my wife.
All I wanted in that moment was to be that baby’s father—which is insane. I’m the equivalent to this baby’s long-lost uncle, and in four months, after the holidays, I’m likely to never see Mac and this baby again. Sure, she’ll probably text me a picture or two occasionally, but it won’t be enough.
Losing her—and this child—will devastate me.
“Why not?”
The day has not gotten any better.
When we arrived home, Mac locked herself in the bedroom, telling Pops she was tired and needed a nap. Pops and I proceeded to play a game of poker to pass the time before dinner when I mistakenly answered a call from my nosy sister-in-law.
“Because, Ains. She wants the sex of the baby to be a surprise.” Like my brother, when Ainsley Lexington wants something, she will annoy the fuck out of you until you break or cry.
“Where’s the fun in that? I say we have a joint gender reveal party. Mav and I can fly out this weekend. Right, Mav?” My brother grunts out a non-answer that neither sides with me nor Ainsley. “Come on, Coop. Promise you’ll talk to her about it?”
“I’ll talk to her, but don’t get your hopes up, okay?”
“Eep! This is gonna be so fun! I say we do an aquarium theme!”
Maverick chuckles in the background but doesn’t tell his wife that her idea is a little too unique for our tastes. Instead, I hear Ainsley gasp and mumble something before she hurries me off the phone with, “Convince her!” before hanging up.
“That’s going to be a shitshow,” Pops says from his chair.
Don’t I know it. “Ainsley’s Mav’s problem.”
Pops grunts. “Maverick would dress up as a sea lion if that woman asked him to. He’s ruined forever.”
We both share a small chuckle as McKinley opens the bedroom door and lumbers out, her face red and slightly swollen.
“You hungry?”
She nods and goes to sit on the sofa next to Pops, who has also learned to never ask if she’s been crying or take note when her hair is wild and looks like a nest of some sort.
“I’m kicking Coop’s ass in poker. You want to join us and make him feel worse about himself?”
McKinley’s laugh has me relaxing.
It was torture not knocking on the door and talking to her about what happened today in the office. It was also torture not looking in the envelope the nurse gave me, which contained the sex of the baby. She thought Mac might change her mind once she settled down a bit. I agreed, and like my sister-in-law, I’m impatient to learn if it’s a future ballplayer kicking around in there.
“Are BLTs okay?” I ask from the kitchen. “Pops picked it.”
“Yeah, BLTs sound good, actually.”
I want to ask her if she wants to take an antacid first, since tomatoes and just about everything acidic give her heartburn, but I refrain. She seems delicate right now. So I’ll give her time and let her know that Ainsley says if you get crazy heartburn, it’s a sign the baby will have a lot of hair.
Finishing up, and adding one more sandwich to the tray, I head over to the coffee table and set it down. “Thank you,” McKinley says, her voice sounding stronger than earlier.
“You’re welcome.”
We eat, chit-chatting a bit before we deal another hand of poker and rib each other, until Pops announces he’s off to bed. I use the opportunity to straighten up before sitting down to watch game footage.
“Where’re your glasses?”
I glance up and see McKinley’s hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Guess someone is feeling better. “The bedroom.”
“Why aren’t you wearing them?”
I sigh and scrub a hand down my face. “Let’s not do this, Mac. You’re not the only one who had a tough day.”
It wasn’t something I had allowed myself to admit. Seeing the baby fucked me up. I haven’t been right since the appointment. I understand Mac had a day much worse than mine, but it’s not like I’m not affected by all this too.
The cushion shifts and a hand comes over mine. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’re both tired.”
Her voice comes out pained. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight. I know you aren’t getting much sleep when I get up ten times a night to pee.”
I do wake up several times at night, but that’s not the reason I feel run down.
“I’m fine.”
Leaning back, she pulls me with her, the remote in her hand, pushing play. “Who are you most concerned about tomorrow?”
I point at the player up to bat. “Camden. He was just called up from the minor leagues four weeks ago.”
“Seems like he’d be easy to sit down then.”
By sit down, she means to strike out. “Not really. Those guys are the most dangerous. We don’t have as much footage to study as we do older players.”
“Can’t you study the minor league footage?”
She pauses the screen and stands up, striding closer to the TV. “Like here, with his foot placement. He’s obviously crowding the plate. Can’t you just pitch him inside and back him off the plate? Why are you smiling like that?”
I shrug. “You sure know a lot about pitching.”
“Well, when your husband is the Closer, you start to think he might need some help sometimes too.”
She sucks in her cheek, chewing on it.
“Are you embarrassed?” Because her talking to me about how to pitch a batter and then looking sheepish like she didn’t want me to know she was studying players, has my dick pudgy.
“No.”
She cocks a hip, accentuating the swell of her stomach, and my dick stands at attention. “Come here.”
She stands there, not moving. “Why?”
“Do you want me to have to ask again?”
“I want to see you.” I tug at her t-shirt and she grins.
“Without your glasses, you won’t be seeing shit.”
Technically, she’s wrong. I only need help with reading up close. As long as her tits are within squeezing distance, I won’t need to see, but I understand what she wants. Control.
“Fine.”
If she wants me to wear them, then she’ll have to traipse her fine ass to my bedroom. “I suppose the lack of movement means you want me to get them?”
“If you want me to wear them.”
I lift the edge of her shirt with my finger and drag it down her skin.
“Oh, shit. Why does that feel so good?”
I’d like to think it’s my skills of touching a woman, but it’s more likely her hormones are in overdrive. Per my brother, his dick nearly cried the other day because they both are beyond exhausted, keeping up with Ainsley’s sexual appetite.
Gripping McKinley’s shirt, I pull her down until her soft thighs meet the hardness between my legs. “I think we can manage without the glasses, don’t you?”
Her tongue sweeps across her lips. “Yeah.”
Yeah is fucking right. “Now, let me see you.”
Placing my other hand at her hip, I drag both palms up her sides, her shirt catching on my wrists and ruching up, causing her breath to hitch. Leaning up, I tilt my head to meet her gaze. “You feel incredible.”
I continue up her sides and her hands stop mine. “I might feel incredible but I don’t look very—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” I’m up and pushing her back, her foot catching as she stumbles, but I hold on to her. “I’m tired of it, Mac. I’m tired of this self-deprecating, self-pitying thing you’ve got going on here lately.”
I don’t give her time to argue, I simply pull her behind me to my room where I kick the half-full suitcase from the door, and stand with her facing the mirror. “I love you like baseball,” I tell her, brushing the hair off her shoulders.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? You said you loved me like pickles and air conditioning earlier.”
Her lips purse. “Because… I…”
“Because you might love me more than Mountain Dew too?”
She nods. “I’ve tried not to.”
And that’s exactly what I needed to hear. My wife’s walls are finally breaking down. I smooth the lines of her chin. “Do you think I look hot with my nerdy glasses?” I try for a smile. We can discuss details later.
McKinley grunts out a laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I need to know if you still find me sexy with glasses.”
It’s a long minute as she searches my face, looking for something. But finally, she takes a breath and relaxes under my hands. “I do.”
I nod. “Then why can’t you see what I see? Who has told you that you were less than absolute perfection?”
Her eyes turn glassy, and it’s the last thing I want. “No tears. Not yet, anyway. Let’s save them for the gut-wrenching bear commercials.”
She sniffles but looks to the ceiling, composing herself before she meets my gaze head-on.
“Good girl,” I praise, lifting her shirt slowly, allowing myself my fill as the fabric hitches over the swell of her tits. “Now, don’t take your eyes off my wife.”
She’s reluctant, but she eventually nods and looks past my shoulder, keeping her eyes there. “My hair’s a mess,” she notes.
“Your hair is slept in,” I correct her, “and it’s still gorgeous.”
She moans at my comment, and I use the distraction to raise her shirt to her neck. “Lift your arms for me.”
She does, and I slip the fabric up and off, tossing it behind her. “Keep them up.” I kiss the side of her neck, just behind her ear, and she groans, tipping her head to the side as I unclasp her bra. “You can lower your arms now.”
Slipping the straps off her arms, I bend and place a kiss to each swell, taking a moment to suck each nipple into my mouth.
McKinley’s hands go to my hair. “I’m okay if you keep going,” she tells me breathily, her thighs squeezing together, trying to create the friction she needs.
It’s then, when I know I have her good and compliant, that I drop to my knees, giving her a full view of her half-naked body in the mirror. “Oh, no. What are you doing?”
McKinley
He’s kneeling at my feet.
This man, powerful with a ball, arms swollen with muscles I didn’t even know existed, drags my sleep shorts and panties down with his tight grip.
“Look at my wife, McKinley.” His voice is thick and raspy. “Tell me how beautiful her eyes are.”
My hands go to his shoulders as I steady myself for him to slip the panties off my feet.
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
I’m not so sure about this little sex game. I was rather hoping he’d bend me over the bed and tell me how much I got on his damn nerves today and punish me with his amazing dick, not make me stand in front of his full-length mirror and tell him how beautiful my eyes are.
His palm comes up, slipping through my thighs. Oh, good. Maybe he’s let this shitty foreplay game go. “Yes,” I tell him, nodding eagerly and trying to ignore the enormously round belly and boobs that have grown into a new bra size.
Spreading my legs, because I’m a considerate lover like that, I give him access to my center.
“Is this what you want?” he teases.
I nod. “Badly.”
He doesn’t move any closer though. “My hand is soaked.”
No shit. Did I not just say that I very much wanted his hand to work me like he does those balls? I’ve had a really shitty day and I’d very much like him to remedy that as fast as he possibly can.
“Would you like for me to show you how wet you are?”
Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck less. I can feel it pooling between my legs. I don’t need a demonstration, just his tongue or his fingers will do. Hell, at this point, he could use a loofah and I’d probably still get off. That’s how horny I am right now.
“Sure,” I whine. I’d do anything to get him to move where I need him the most.
He rises as his gaze holds mine, and then—bless this man—a lone finger slips inside me.
“Oh shit.” I fold over, using his shoulder as support while he proceeds to ease that same finger in and out until my legs are shaking, and then it just… stops.
“What are you doing?” Standing up, I pull him up with me. “Are you punishing me for today?” I already beat myself up enough about not seeing my little peanut on the ultrasound. I don’t know why I can’t bear to see the image—I just can’t.
“Do you think I’m not concerned? That I’m not scared that I’ll be that terrible mother who never bonded with her child and won’t even be able to look at him or her when I deliver?”
Cooper sits back on his heels. “We’re not discussing that now. I’m not punishing you. But in order for me to give you what you need, I need something in return.”
“Anything.” Except an explanation. I can’t have alcohol, and those types of discussions require it.
“I want you to tell me how beautiful my wife is.”
My breath hitches. He might as well have asked me to name all forty-five presidents. It’s not that I don’t find myself attractive, I do. Sure, there are definitely areas in need of improving, but I’m not totally disgusted with myself. At least not with my pre-pregnant self.
Seeing myself pregnant doesn’t carry the same excitement I see on social media as other women who mark each week of growth with a baby bump picture.
They don’t feel the shame I do—the shame that I destroyed one life for another.
“Mac, baby?”
I
blink away the tears and focus on my husband humbly kneeling at my feet, so ready to serve me—to please me, if only I could just give him what he wants.
An answer.
“I can’t.”
His head inches closer to my center as he looks up at me with those deep blue eyes. “You can’t what?”
“Tell you what you want to hear.”
That I’m stunning, my skin glows with radiance, my hair long and silky. I can’t tell him how beautiful I feel as he beholds me in reverence as if I’m the most exquisite prize. No, I can’t tell him any of those things because I don’t deserve to feel this way.
Cooper presses a kiss to my center, the heat of his mouth setting my skin ablaze. “Oh, wow.”
He pulls back, taking all the blissful pressure with him. “I think you can tell me what I want to hear, Mrs. Lexington. In fact, I think you want to tell me everything that’s amazing about my wife.” He sheaths a long digit inside me once more, and the pressure is blissful torture when he demands, “Tell me how magnificent she is on the inside and out.”
This man is a real-life prince, full of everything good in this world.
“She thinks her husband makes her a better woman.”
Cooper smooths his hands against my thighs. “Before you, I only bowed for one other,” he says, “and his law is clear about how I should love my wife.”
He places a kiss to my swollen stomach and stands, stepping behind me and pressing on my upper back to ease me forward until I’m able to grip the mirror on each side.
“Do you want to know what God says about how a man should love a woman, McKinley?”
I nod, enraptured by his passion.
“That I shall love my wife like he loves me—willing to sacrifice my life for hers.” He nudges my legs apart, his eyes locked on mine in the reflection as he lowers his pants, his erection painfully swollen, while he twists my hair in his hands. “For a husband’s body belongs to his wife and hers to him.”
My eyes roll back as Cooper paints an image of ownership—of a love unmatched by any mortal love.