Tainted Gold: Providence Gold Series Book Three

by Moore, Mary B.

In short, pregnancy was exhausting and the women who went through it more than once were fucking insane.

  This led me to now, lying on my bed with my arm over my eyes while Tate got the dogs situated in the kitchen. We’d been given a special formula for the puppy from the vet at the sanctuary that had all the vitamins in it that it needed. No one knew how much of its mother’s milk it had consumed which had all of that in it, so we were giving it to it now. There was also puppy food and this puppy milk stuff down for it and fresh water. The Labrador had the same, but in a bowl the size of a serving platter. When I’d gone to lay it all out for them, Tate had seen how drained I was and steered me toward my bed saying he’d do it. Did he mean it though?

  Holy unicorn nipples, Lilith. Smack your pussy into a real woman’s vagina and grow a pair of tits.

  Sighing, I moved my arm and opened my eyes, only just managing to hold the scream in when I saw Tate leaning against the door frame watching me with a grin on his face.

  “You need to get a bell.”

  Snorting, he walked in, still not making a sound, and sat on the edge of the bed. Was my floor made from the farts of cherubs or something? Did it make a noise when I walked on it? I hadn’t ever listened out for what happened when I walked, so I made a mental note to do that the next time I went to the bathroom…

  In roughly three minutes and four seconds. Three Mississippi. Two Mississippi. One Mississippi…

  “Lily,” Tate choked out, getting my attention back to see him silently laughing at me.

  “Sorry, I was just Mississippi-ing.”

  This made him laugh harder. “What the fuck?”

  “Until I pee again,” I told him bluntly.

  Seriously, if he was going to be around me during the pregnancy, he needed to get used to this shit. God knows what the birth would be like. I was just glad I’d be unconscious for it – scratch that, I’d better be unconscious for it.

  Getting up, he walked around the bed and climbed in beside me, leaning his back against the headrest. This brought back memories that made me wince seeing as how it was much the same position he’d been in this morning.

  I’d apologized for it a billion times, but I still owed him another one. “I’m sorry I molested you in your sleep and then broke your dick.”

  “Told you it was cool, baby,” he murmured, not sounding amused by the incident. Not that I could blame him. If someone fell off the bed holding my vagina flaps, it would take a while for me to be ok with that.

  “Can you pee?” At the current moment with my bladder reaching code red proportions, it was an important question. What if I’d done something to it and he couldn’t?

  Had he even been to the bathroom today while we’d been together?

  I was trying to remember the answer to that when he replied. “Yeah, no issues. It’s not great, but it’s not impossible. It’s just bruised, babe, so forget about it.”

  I wouldn’t be forgetting about it if someone bruised the vacheen flaps, so I doubted I’d forget about snapping his cock just like that. I also doubted he would be ‘forgetting about it’ either. The sound of his scream…

  When I didn’t answer as I stared at his crotch to see if I could see an L shape in it, he reached over and moved some hair off my cheek. Looking up at him, I had to blink a couple of times at the soft expression on his face.

  I loved it, but I still had to question his mental status. Had he forgotten what had happened in the last twenty-four hours?

  “Not that I’m complaining,” I began, stopping to lick my lips, “but why are you still here?” When his head jerked, and he frowned, I realized how harsh that sounded and did my best to explain what I meant. “In the last day, I’ve gotten you arrested, told you you were going to be a dad, molested you in your sleep, snapped your dick in half…”

  “It’s all still in a straight line with no snapping involved,” he interrupted.

  Refusing to be rational about it, I forged on. “Snapped your dick in twain, probably caused you to get frostbite on it too from the amount of icepacks you’ve had on it, my squirrel’s thrown its poop at you, adopted an unknown puppy and a Labrador who doesn’t have an off switch, and left you to look after them while I pussied out in my bedroom.” I stopped thinking that was the end of the list and then remembered one last bit. “Oh, and I’m pretty certain I’ve set you up to get your ass kicked by your brother when I told him you’d shove his phone up his ass and call it until he answered.”

  I had done that, but seriously hormones made you irrational.

  “Why would I do that?” he asked curiously.

  “You agreed,” I reminded him. “In fact, you said absolutely.”

  “But why am I doing this to him?” he pressed now sounding amused.

  “Because he was going to Google how common it was to name dogs Fergus and Dougal, along with there being a gender equality on pet’s names.”

  “He’s probably right, but at the same time they’re yours so you should be the one naming them. Then again, you choose terrible names for your pets, so I’m undecided on this one now.” He groaned as he stretched his legs out in front of him, and that’s when I noticed he’d taken his shoes off before he got on the bed. I also noticed the size of his feet – they were like surfboards. Surfboard feet, surfboard dick, except in his case a surfboard snapped in the middle.

  Turning on my side to face him, distractedly I told him, “I’m naming the puppy Foxy Cleopatra because it has wiry hair and was found with a fox. And the Labrador’s named Nike.” The first one I’d chosen earlier in the day, but the last one had been an accident and based purely on the Nike symbol on his sock.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Again, I’m choosing our son’s name.”

  That was the second time he’d said it was a boy. “So if it’s a girl, I can choose it?”

  “Sure,” he agreed easily. Maybe too easily. “But it’s a boy.”

  “Why are you so sure about this?”

  Not missing a beat, he replied, “Because the Mayans and Chinese told me. Which reminds me, tomorrow I need you to do a couple things. Nothing bad, just shit like picking up a key.”

  Blinking as I stared at his neck, I thought about this. “How did the Mayans and Chinese tell you it was a boy?”

  “Me and Beau did some mathematical lunar shit last night online.”

  I should have known my best friend would be in on this. Not surprisingly, when I’d texted her to make sure she was ok after we’d left, she had mentioned none of this. All she’d said was she’d buy me more eggs, new plates, new glasses and a new fruit bowl – with fruit in it this time.

  “I see.” Part of me was worried that I’d given in and allowed him to pick the name if it was a boy too easily, the other part was rolling its eyes at the fact he believed the results.

  Rolling so he was on his side facing me too, he sighed and tapped the mattress in front of me with his finger to get my attention on him. “We need to talk, baby.”

  Nothing good comes from someone saying that to you, not one damn thing. I hadn’t been in a lot of relationships, but I knew the words all women avoided.

  We need to talk. It’s not you, it’s me. My dick just slipped into her vagina. I made a mistake, but I thought about you the whole time. Oh, I ate it because I didn’t think you were going to. I think your panties look better on me. We’re the same shoe size, can I borrow your new stilettos?

  Ok, I’d only heard four of those things in real life, but my friends had experienced the other ones.

  So, it was fair to say that I was anxious as I waited for which road he was going to go down. His feet wouldn’t fit in my size seven shoes, and his dick definitely wouldn’t fit in my underwear if memory served me right. I’d also left a donut in the box on the counter in the kitchen for the morning…

  “I know we’ve done this the wrong way around, Lily,” he started, “but I want this with you. Do you want the same thing?”

  He sounded so unsure and nervous, that I didn’t
make him wait for the answer. “Yes.”

  His body visibly relaxed, and I looked up at his face for the first time since he’d mentioned baby names, to see his eyes closed and a look of pure relief on it. It reminded me of something – Tate didn’t hide his emotions. I wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t, or if he just didn’t want to, but I’d been privy to each one since I’d first met him. Did he just do it with me?

  “Good,” he sighed, opening his eyes and looking back down at me. This close, I could see the different colors in them. The base color was a dark blue, but he had flashes of a jade green color and dots of gold sporadically splodged around them. Would the baby would get those or my lighter blue ones? “I want us to do this properly,” he announced, confusing me again. “We need to get to know each other, and work on the relationship side of things slowly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We spend time together getting to really know each other. What we like, don’t like, our quirks, our personalities, our hobbies, just shit like that. And during it, no sex.”

  “But why?” I almost whined. “We’ve already had sex, so we know that. Can’t we do it while we get to know each other? We can look at it like a bonding experience.”

  New note about pregnancy – horny. Lots and lots of horny. Earlier, he’d had a piece of the glaze from a donut on his lip and when he’d licked it off, I’d almost slid off my chair. Then he’d cleared his throat, and I’d watched his Adam’s apple move underneath the scruff of his beard, and it was like someone had flipped a switch on in my vagina. Pregnancy was libido city.

  Jesus Christ, what was I going to do for the next nine months?

  Laughing at the look of panic on my face, he leaned in and gave me a quick peck. “It’s not for forever, baby. Just until we catch up with where we should be for us to be having a baby together.”

  Gulk. “What if that never happens? What if we decide we don’t like each other outside of bumping uglies?”

  It was a genuine worry. You read about people who got married because of some stupid chivalry shit to do with pregnancy, and then they discovered they hated each other.

  “Impossible,” he rumbled as he pulled me into him, and rested his chin on the top of my head. I could feel where his beard was getting caught up in the strands as he found a comfortable spot. “That’s totally impossible, Lil. Can you tell me you haven’t felt anything for me since the day we met?”

  Cocky bastard. “No,” I sighed, wishing I could tell him yes.

  “Likewise. So, now we play catch up and we do this the right way.”

  “How long is that going to take? What if I explode before then?” This was the worst news in the world. It was even worse than when my thong snapped and part of it had hung out the leg of my shorts in gym class, and that had been bad. “I could get a vibrator, but…”

  “No fake cocks,” he growled, picking up his chin with strands of my hair following it. When he realized he was attached to me, he stopped moving away and started trying to free himself gently. “If you really need me, I’m here. I just want us to do this right and for it to be concrete.”

  Although I disagreed with it, I knew why he wanted it. It was important, and he was letting me know that we were important. I loved that so much, I’d have been a fool to say no.

  “Ok,” I sighed. “But for the record, let it be known I feel sex would help that too. Just a suggestion.”

  Chuckling, he pulled me closer to him so that we were crotch to crotch, moobies to boobies, and tucked my head deeper under his chin. I was going to wake up looking like a Troll, except without the glitter and cool colors, but I’d take it all day, every day, and twice on Sunday and any other day ending in a y.

  “It’s on record, and I’ll take it into consideration,” he reassured me. “Night, baby.”

  “Night, Taint!”

  I got a dig to the ribs for that which made me shriek and woke up my bladder. The bladder who was pissed that I hadn’t already answered its screams of “iceberg ahead”.

  How many weeks was a pregnancy? Forty, and that included a random free two weeks at the beginning of it, like a loyalty card. Buy thirty-eight weeks of baking a human in your cooter, and you get these two weeks absolutely free!

  This also meant I had thirty-five weeks to go of constant urination, loss of control over my emotions, randiness that would put a rabbit to shame, and everything else that was fun and pregnancy related ahead of me.

  Yeah, I’d totally be doing this again, and again. Insert sarcasm, an eye roll, a double birdie and a shit ton of cussing.

  Nine

  Tate

  Three months later…

  My dick was healed, and now it was my balls that were broken. Well, not exactly broken per se, but I now had firsthand proof that blue balls were no joke. I’d even looked it up online, and there were threads dedicated to the color being a myth, but my balls begged to differ with that shit. They. Were. Blue. The veins in them stood out like mountains, close to bursting. In fact, every beat of my heart felt like someone was turbo charging them, I swear! It was that bad that it took me about half an hour to find something comfortable to wear in the mornings.

  Yes, I’d gone without sex and release for three months before, but it was different when you had someone in your life who made your penis happy, and had it panting like a dog every time they were in the same room.

  And who did I have to thank for it all? Myself. Me! I’d brought this torture and trauma on my crotch. And why had I done that? Oh, Tate, be a good guy and do this shit so she knows it’s her you want and not just her vagina.

  I was a dick. A dick whose balls hated him. It had gotten to the stage that it felt like I was on a hair trigger now – one rub of a hand, a rub of my shorts, the seam of my jeans and woosh fireworks. At least, it would if I didn’t have more control over myself.

  Yeah, I hadn’t come in three fucking months. I didn’t want my hand, I wanted Lily, and this all added to the torture because Lily wanted me too and went to great lengths to let me know it.

  Every day she’d bend over to pick something up and I’d either get a close-up of her tits or her ass, or she’d lean over me to pick something up and I’d get them in my face and her scent up my nose. I loved it and hated it at the same time. She was also starting to show and that little baby bump drove me insane. That was my baby in there, I’d put it in there. My cock had been in that vagina, I’d moved it in and out, she’d come, her pussy clenching around my dick, and then I’d come… ah, fuck my life! This was torture.

  Could a grown man bawl his eyes out because he needed to come? What was the etiquette over that shit?

  “Tate,” Lily’s soft voice called from behind me. “We’ve got the appointment to go to.”

  Today was a checkup appointment. We’d had another scan at twelve weeks where I’d gotten to see my son up close and it had been fucking amazing.

  Let me tell you, and everyone I came across (even if they didn’t want to listen to the random person buying sugar in the store) – my kid was a genius at twelve weeks. During the scan, he’d been kicking his legs around, waving (at least that’s what it looked like), sucking his thumb (again, that’s what it looked like) and probably figuring out Pythagoras’s theorem. I didn’t have a clue what that was aside from remembering some Greek dude came up with it, but my kid already knew it in the womb.

  We’d heard his heartbeat too and even that had a rhythm to it I’d never heard before. It was perfect, hitting the rate they said was optimal for a baby at twelve weeks gestation. He was hitting everything perfectly already!

  Lily’s blood pressure had been a little high three days ago, so she was going back to get it checked. She hadn’t had a lot of morning sickness after five weeks, aside from one puke here and there, all of which were triggered by food, but she’d had other problems. Her feet and fingers were swelling slightly, she was struggling with energy levels, she’d had dizzy spells and she also had pain in her vagina.


  So far, they were questioning her blood pressure, but happy because her urine was clear of whatever they were looking for, and they’d diagnosed the early onset of something called SPD – split pussy disorder, or whatever it stood for. Next week she had an appointment with a physical therapist who was going to teach her how to put this sticky support thing on her bump to take some of the pressure off her vagina, and they were going to be monitoring the other issues from now on.

  Aside from that, it was plain sailing. Foxy Cleopatra (don’t get me started) was doing well and even though Lily hadn’t decided on what his name was definitely going to be, he was a great dog who answered to both of the ones being used on him. What was his other name? Was it better than Foxy Cleopatra? No, a big fat stinking no. His other name was Chew Barka, I shit you not. And his Labrador buddy’s name was Ozzy Pawsborne. I was steering her toward the last option for the puppy, it was less cruel that Foxy freakin’ Cleopatra.

  We’d also found out what breed he was – a Deerhound. As the months passed, and he continued to grow, the best way to describe how he looked was like a long-haired Greyhound, but much bigger. Much, much, bigger… and fatter. I wasn’t sure if that was because of the breed, or because he was overfed by everyone, but that puppy had some girth.

  Of course she’d decided she was keeping both of them, but I’d looked it up to make sure the breed was ok to have around babies and the smaller dogs in the family, just in case. Thankfully, it was. Not so thankfully, I’d also discovered that it would grow to roughly thirty-two inches tall, and weigh in at around one hundred pounds (although if they kept feeding him like they were, that could raise to double that figure).

  Two big dogs, a chicken on steroids, a chicken whose breed was a sick joke, a shit flinging squirrel, and a baby. Who in their right minds would do that? Then again, my family weren’t known for making sane decisions on anything.

  Levi had been horrified at the names appointed, and when Lily wasn’t around, he still called them Fergus and Dougal. When she was around, he used Chewy, Ozzy, or just “here puppy” when he called them. They even answered to those names too. That might have something to do with the fact that they were the most spoiled creatures in the history of domesticated animals though. They had stuff at Lily’s, mine and Levi’s houses, and never spent time alone. If one of us couldn’t be there, one of the other two stepped up. This also extended to Snickers, Bojangles and King Ferdinand. I’d started driving one of the company’s trucks just so I could fit them all in it if we stayed at a different house that night. And my family didn’t help, they were all about giving them loves and shit too.