Dysfunctional Hearts

by L. S. Pullen

I squeeze her a little tighter.

  “So, can you forgive me?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “There’s nothing to forgive. Besides, I’ve been the worst version of myself lately.”

  “Not possible.”

  She tilts her head, contemplating her next words. Her shoulders sag, and her cheeks grow a shade darker. “Possible. The other day I had this craving for a burger and chips, so I ordered takeaway. When it didn’t arrive by the time they said it would, I rang them and they told me the driver had been in an accident. Do you know what I said?”

  I shake my head.

  She grimaces. “I said, so when do you think my food will be here?”

  I can’t stop the laughter that rumbles from me.

  She swats my shoulder. “Stop it, it’s not funny. I have to be the worst pregnant woman imaginable, and I’m as big as a whale. I can’t remember the last time I saw my feet, let alone painted my toenails.”

  I tilt her chin up towards me. “No, you’re not. And I should have been here.”

  I walk her back to the bed and sit her down, scanning the contents on top of her chest of drawers.

  “What are you looking for?” she asks.

  “Your nail polishes.”

  “What?” she studies me quizzically.

  “I’m going to paint your toenails.”

  She laughs, really laughs—I forgot how much I love that sound.

  “I’m serious. We still have some talking to do, so might as well take advantage of me.”

  Her grin is wicked. Leaning back on her elbows, her teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I can think of a few ways to take advantage,” she replies.

  I swallow hard; she’s killing me.

  Giving her a stern look and a raised eyebrow, crossing my arms. She points towards a small black case.

  “In there.”

  “Good girl,” I reply with a wink and hunt through it.

  Sitting down, I pull her foot into my lap and give the bottle a good shake. She tilts her head to side. “I don’t know whether to be worried or impressed.”

  “Let’s just say this isn’t my first rodeo.”

  I won’t elaborate, and she doesn’t push, instead, we slip into a comfortable silence as I brush the liquid over her toenails.

  “Done,” I say. When I’m finished twisting the lid back on the bottle and blowing on them, she wiggles her toes.

  “What colour did you use?” she asks, struggling to see her feet.

  I pass her the bottle and pull my phone out to snap a quick pic, then hold the screen up to her. She scans between the bottle, my face, and then the screen. “What, you don’t like the colour?”

  She shakes her head no but doesn’t answer.

  “I know it’s not perfect, but it’ll peel off once it’s dry where it’s on your skin, right?”

  She laughs, and my insides melt. She rolls the small bottle between her palms. “It’s not that… Heaven Sent is my favourite colour.”

  I smile. “I love this colour on you,” I reply. “Wait, did you say Heaven Sent?”

  She nods.

  “Yes, yes you were.”

  Chapter 45

  Charlie

  I move alongside her and lean up on my elbows. Nose to nose, I stroke hers with mine, and her breath catches.

  And then her lips are on mine, her tongue probing.

  My body tightens, and my hard length chaffs under the fly of my jeans painfully. I pull back silently, asking if this is really what she wants. Her eyes are liquid pools of blue waves—alive and wanton.

  “Please?” Her single plea is my undoing.

  I take her face in my hands and kiss her with vigour until we are both left breathless. Stopping to come up for air, I rest my forehead against hers, trying to calm my beating heart.

  “We still need to talk,” I say.

  “I know,” she says on a sigh. Her fingers stroke the back of my neck in small, circular movements while she chews on her bottom lip silkily soft. I reach up, the pad of my thumb slips between her lips, and she sucks on it. My every nerve tingles, that one action so sexually charged.

  “Tell me what you want, Soph?” I grind out.

  Her eyes search my lips. “You, Charlie. I want you.”

  She barely finishes her sentence when my lips are on her, working kisses over her face, down her neck, along her collar bone. My hands slide under the t-shirt, and I caress her bump. Then I slide my hands up to her breasts—so heavy in my palms.

  “Off,” she croaks, pulling at the hem of my shirt.

  I pull it up and over my head, tossing it to the side. Her hands are already on the button of my jeans, pushing them down. I get off the bed and make quick work of stepping out of them. She’s moved to the edge of the bed. Slipping her hands down the back of my boxers, she pushes them down my thighs and takes me in her mouth.

  “Fuck,” I grunt out, tilting my head back.

  Knees almost buckle beneath me from the effect she has on me. I gaze down at her, staring up at me, taking me right to the back of her throat. I twitch; a heavy build-up is working up my hard length.

  “Stop,” I say, and it’s weak at best. But I don’t want to lose it with her sucking me off, not after dreaming about having her again.

  She slides her mouth off me and gets up on her knees. “Sit,” she says, and I do as I’m told.

  She pulls off her t-shirt and the sight of seeing her so full, carrying our baby, fills me with awe and fascination. She slowly adjusts herself until she’s straddling me, my shaft sliding against her wet folds. She raises herself just enough to slip onto my waiting cock—unadulterated, torturous, mind-blowing, bliss.

  She begins to ride me. I am completely enamoured by every move she makes and can’t take my eyes off her. I squeeze her hips, she doesn’t look away as she increases the momentum, insatiable.

  “Oh. My. God.” She throws her head back, and I feel her channel tighten around me, overcome by her orgasm.

  I move my hand up and cup her breast. She’s still coming, her eyes meet mine, and they shine with abandonment. My fingers wrap around the back of her neck to pull her face closer. I need to taste her, the friction between us intense.

  “Again…” she breathes into my mouth as another orgasm takes her.

  I pull her up and off me; she whimpers.

  “Lay on your side,” I say and align my body with hers and take myself in my hand, lifting her leg, pushing into her still-pulsing, hot centre.

  Her moans heat me to my core, sparring me on as I rock into her over and over again.

  She pushes herself backwards, meeting my every thrust.

  Balls deep, the build-up becomes uncontrollable. I won’t last much longer. Her walls tighten even more, and I know she’s on the edge, her breathing now erratic.

  Leaning in so there is no space between us, I suck on the bare skin between her ear and throat; her body shudders.

  “Come with me,” I whisper, straining to keep my release at bay. I want to fall into oblivion together. I push myself deeper and it’s all it takes for a wave of kaleidoscopic euphoria between us to be set free.

  I can barely catch my breath, and my body still jerks from the aftermath while she twitches—the aftershock of her orgasm.

  Reluctantly, I pull out of her and roll out of bed, and return with a damp washcloth. Her lids are heavy as she takes it from me, wiping between her legs. When she’s done, I toss it on top of the towel and climb in next to her, laying face to face. Her cheeks are glowing, eyes relaxed and sated. I kiss the tip of her nose.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say, the admission heavy in my chest. I swallow hard to keep the emotion at bay.

  She sucks in a deep breath and closes her eyes. When they open, they’re misty from unshed tears. She tries to blink them away but it’s no use. I bring my thumbs up to her cheeks, wipe away her tears.

  “I missed you, too,” she replies, eyes now cast down.

  I pull her chin so she’s staring back at me. A crimson
blush spreads over her cheeks. I lean closer, my heart skips a beat. I search her hand and bring it to my mouth; my lips caress the inside of her wrist.

  Pulling back, I wrap it securely in mine, and my eyes hold hers captive. “I want to be with you, Soph. Not just because you’re having our baby. But because every minute of every day that I’m denying my feelings for you, I’m slowly dying inside. I didn’t know loving someone was coming home. You fill my heart with wonder and awe and admiration. I’ve been wandering aimlessly being apart, which may sound stupid…we were never really together. But in my heart and soul, we were. You make me want to be a better man.”

  Not being with her has flipped my world upside down; she’s all I’ve ever needed, and I didn’t have the courage to admit it, not until now.

  “Will you be with me? Will you be mine? I want to prove to you every day how special you are. Let me show you how much I love you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

  Her breath catches, and a timid smile graces her face. I know she loves it when I’m cheesy…even if she doesn’t say so. She shuffles closer, her lips searching for mine, kissing me long and hard. When we break away, I cup her cheek. “So, is that a yes, you’ll be mine?”

  She nods. “Yes.” Her smile is so wide, her dimple—which rarely shows an appearance—is in full view. But her eyes are glassy. I tuck her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek with my thumb. “Should I be worried? You look like you’re on the verge of tears again.”

  Shaking her head, she says, “No, I’m happy, sincerely happy.”

  I move to my back and lift up my arm. She scoots in, her head resting in the crook of my neck, her bump nestled against my side. Twirling her silky strands of hair between my fingers, I breathe her in so deep.

  Chapter 46

  Sophie

  I smile as contentment and warmth spread through my body. Emotionally, I feel lighter than ever; waking up cocooned in Charlie’s arms is heavenly. Until this moment, I didn’t know a person had the capability to make their presence home.

  We talked into the early hours. I noticed how much the baby fidgeted when he laughed, and my heart squeezed that she loves having him here as much as I do. I stroke my stomach. I can’t wait to meet her.

  Charlie moves behind me, his arousal evident as he peppers me with kisses over my shoulder and down my neck, then nipping the soft spot behind my ear. I’ve missed him. Even though the time we were intimate with one another was brief, the memories are vivid, and I’ve never known a connection like it.

  His hands on me now are a gentle caress, a complete contradiction to their size. He pulls on my hand and links his fingers with mine.

  “What colour is this one?” he asks over my shoulder, pulling softly on my finger to eye the nail polish.

  I chuckle. “Flamingo Pink,” I say.

  He brings my finger to his lips and kisses the tip before sucking it into his mouth. My insides squirm with need, my want for him is insatiable. I can’t get enough.

  The only time we weren’t talking throughout the night was when he was making love to me. I push my back into him, it’s all the invitation he needs.

  He aligns his body with mine and enters me with ease. The thrusts are slow and languid. He reaches around, his fingers artfully play with my clit. I come hard and fast. Lights explode behind my eyes, my consciousness suspended…floating all around me.

  I don’t know when we dosed off into a state of nirvana. But when we roused, he tickled me into submission until I was forced to get out of bed to go pee.

  He dotes on me, loving me with kindness by making me breakfast and then takes his time loving me in the shower. We watch each other, unabashed as we dress.

  No one has ever looked at me the way he does. For the past few weeks, I’ve felt frumpy and uncomfortable, but he has a way of making me feel the way he sees me—with passion, lust, love and need—not just with want but a need.

  I offer to drive him to work instead of him grabbing a cab, not wanting our time together to come to an end.

  His hand rests on my thigh the whole way. This man seriously does something to me, increasing my libido tenfold. I bite my lip, holding back my desire for him all over again.

  “As soon as I finish here, I’ll head straight home to change, then come back to yours.” His eyes sparkle with mischief.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  He smiles and leans over the centre console to kiss me—soft, sweet and full of purpose. A shiver escapes me as he tucks my hair behind my ear, his thumb stroking my cheek.

  “Good, because we have a lot of lost time to make up for,” he says, winking.

  “That we do,” I croak out.

  He grabs my hand, pulls it to his lips, kisses my palm. “And just to be clear, me and you—” He waves his hand between us, “—are doing this as a couple—together, raising our baby.”

  My stomach flutters followed by a kick. I smile and nod as he releases my hand.

  “I love you, Soph. Text me when you get home?”

  “Okay.”

  He gets out, but before closing the door he leans back in, a smooth grin on his face.

  “Go get some rest, you’re going to need it for what I have planned for you tonight.”

  It’s a promise and a declaration all in one. I lean back against the headrest, my smile so wide, my cheeks ache. I put the car into gear and pull away, peering into the rear-view mirror, I hold up my hand, wave bye, and I drive away.

  Unable to resist, I peek back one last time just as I pull out onto the main road. His face is distorted, but his arms are waving around, and I can tell he is shouting something but can’t make out what.

  Then out of nowhere, there is a thunderous jolt, and the steering wheel jerks from my hands, my teeth clamping down from the sheer force.

  Screech—metal on metal.

  My stomach dips. The car tips oddly. My body lifts out of the seat, and the seatbelt tightens as everything around me begins to flip.

  I struggle to catch my breath. No, no, no.

  Attempting to brace myself, one hand instinctively moves to cover my stomach.

  I’m propelled sideways. My head smashes into the door.

  Shattering glass rains over me—sharp, cold hailstones—slashing at my skin.

  I can’t get enough air into my lungs. The car propels awkwardly. Again.

  Disorientated flashes of bright light echo all around me. And then I sink into a pit of darkness.

  A biting chill rattles my bones. My teeth chatter, the metallic taste in my mouth causes me to gag. The weight of my own head foreign, it lulls to the side. It’s an effort to open my eyes.

  Struggling to find my bearings, my heart stutters.

  Trapped.

  Why can’t I move?

  The smell of thick, wet copper causes my heart to race. I try to focus, but my vision is blurry. The seatbelt has me pinned and I can’t see past my stomach. Heavy…soaking wet between my legs… I reach down, have I wet myself?

  The roaring sound of hissing and unnatural whirring becomes louder and angrier. I shake my head to try and clear it, but all it does is cause my stomach to roll.

  I swallow hard and try to call out.

  I reach for the door, but it won’t budge. My fingers slip from the handle. Bringing my fingers up to my face, I squint, it’s covered in claret.

  Everything in front of me becomes a bleak haze.

  “Sophie?” Charlie strangles out.

  I want to reply, but my voice won’t cooperate. A frigid fog traps me, holding me prisoner. My eyes are too heavy to stay open. I try to blink, force them to stay alert, but it’s too hard. The air around me is suffocating. Choking back a cough, my throat is raw and dry. Excessive heat and the smell of singed hair invades my senses.

  I can’t dispel it.

  I need air.

  “Stay awake, Sophie. God damn it. You have to stay awake!”

  Charlie’s voice is a plea. If I could see his face, I know his eyebrows would be drawn into a v sh
ape, his forehead creased with stress. I’d do anything to ease those worry lines. To rub them away with my thumb… But my body is now paralysed, and yet heavy, so, so heavy. I’m drowning in the depths of nothingness.

  Please, not my baby.

  Sirens.

  Flashing lights.

  Shouting.

  Drilling.

  Buzzing, mercilessly, my body no longer my own.

  Fear, real and all-encompassing.

  I’m physically unable to do anything except try to hold on to the distant familiar voice, but even the effort to do that is too much—I’m powerless to stay.

  Chapter 47

  Charlie

  I stood in horror as that car ploughed straight into her like a fucking freight train.

  I watched on as the fire brigade cut her out of the mangled wreckage of a car.

  I kept trying to talk to her, calling out, but I had no response.

  The paramedics frantically worked to stabilise her enough to move her onto a stretcher.

  I didn’t even register Olly—not until he was walking me to his car and driving us to the hospital. He rang Flick when we arrived.

  She’s standing before me now with Nate’s arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up.

  I’m dying inside, not knowing what’s going on. She was rushed into surgery as soon as she arrived, that much we do know.

  “Can I get anyone a tea or coffee?” Olly asks.

  I didn’t know he was still here. I shake my head, it wouldn’t stay down even if I could drink it.

  Flick moves away from Nate and comes over to me. She touches my shoulder. “They’ll be okay,” she croaks, reaching down, taking my hand in hers.

  I give it a squeeze, but I can’t speak. Why did I leave it so long to get over myself and talk to her, to tell her she’s all I’ve ever wanted?

  She doesn’t deserve any of this.

  A doctor comes to see us in the relative’s room, and collectively, we hold our breaths as we wait for him to tell us what’s going on.

  “Her condition is stable, but as you can imagine, due to complications, we had to go ahead and deliver the baby.” He turns to me, a sad smile passes his lips. “Congratulations, you have a daughter.”