by Kylie Scott
I hid my face against his side. There weren't a great many polite ways to tell someone that their only real family was an asshole of the worst sort.
"Was hoping you and her would be friends," he added.
Not fire-trucking likely.
"What were you reading?" I asked, taking the safer option.
"Jim gave it to me. Loaded it up with baby books."
"He did?"
"Yeah." Ben smiled and raised the e-reader up to his face. "Did you know that contractions are like waves from the deepest sea, rolling pure natural energy through you? You must embrace them and open like a flower to the morning sun so your child can be born."
"That sounds like some fantastic crap."
"Yeah, don't know if this book's so worthwhile. Might try another."
"I haven't done a huge amount of research yet into the actual delivery process. But mostly I'm imagining pain, drugs, and yelling random abuse at anyone nearby."
A snort. "Also, babies need a shit-ton of stuff," he went on. "We better get cracking on that. Jim lined up a specialist for him and Lena, who'll work with them on decorating the nursery and putting in everything they need."
"Wow."
"Yeah. Might be worth thinking about, since we're still on tour for a while."
I rubbed my chin against his pec, thinking deep thoughts. "That all sounds great, but we've only just decided to try the girlfriend and boyfriend thing. We have no idea if we'll be living in my apartment or where."
"True." He tossed aside the e-reader and curved his hand around my hip. "Was thinking, some of the books said yoga was great through maternity and preparing to give birth and all. I remember you saying you liked doing it but didn't have a lot of time or money when you were studying. So--and don't get pissy at me here, 'cause you don't have to do if you don't want--but I thought it might be nice if you and Lena had a specialist instructor along, to work with you whenever you felt like it."
My mouth fell open. "You did?"
"Jim said Lena would be into it, and I thought you might enjoy it. But it's your call," he continued. "Oh, and Jim said to especially point out that in no way is this me worrying about the size of your ass or something, 'cause it's not. I think your ass is awesome. If it gets bigger, that just means there's more of it for me to play with. I just wanted to do something good for you, and I know being on tour gets a little bit boring sometimes. And I thought--"
I alleviated his concerns by straddling the man and kissing him good and hard. And then I kissed him good and hard some more because he'd thought of me. No matter that he'd been off doing his thing, totally unrelated to me. At some stage of the day I'd been on his mind. I mattered to him. Proof of this was just about the sweetest thing ever.
Breathing heavy, my boyfriend gave me a slow grin. "You like the idea."
"I love the idea. Thank you."
"Tomorrow I'll take you shopping myself, okay? Promise."
"Okay." My chest filled to overflowing with warm and fuzzy feelings. Every last little bit of emotion inspired by him. We were going to make it. We were. Him, me, and Bean would be the best family ever. Our baby girl would never doubt she was loved and looked after.
"I really am sorry about my sister today, sweetheart," he said. "No fucking way should you have had to deal with that shit."
"I don't want to talk about her right now," I said, climbing down his long body.
"No?"
"Nope. I'm hungry." I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him. God help me, Sam was right. I was in love with this man. I could put off saying the words and deny it all I liked. The truth, however, wasn't going anywhere. Slow. If we just took it slow, this could really work.
"What do you feel like? I'll order you up some room service."
"You."
"Me?" His voice dropped by at least an octave.
I kissed first one flat brown nipple then the other, taking turns flicking my tongue across each. "Mm-hm."
With the aid of my feet, I pushed down the sheet, shuffling slowly lower and lower. The line of each rib and the curve of each muscle. The indent of his belly button and those lines on either side, leading out to his hips. Soon enough I was face-to-face with his hard-on, which was straining the black cotton of his boxer briefs. I swear the man's eyes were on fire, watching me do my thing.
Nothing was said. But then, nothing needed saying.
A large candy skull tattoo decorated his left side, the detail and colors amazing. Lines from an old Led Zep song covered his right. The man was a walking work of art.
He ever so helpfully raised his hips so I could slide his underwear halfway down his muscular thighs. I'd never really stopped and reflected, really gotten up close and personal in this manner with his cock. A damn shame. He was thick and long and ridged with veins, the wide, flat head just calling to my tongue. For now, though, I ran the flat of my thumb over the silken skin, feeling out the ridge and indent where the sweet spot sat.
Ben inhaled hard when I massaged it, his rib cage standing out. Man, he was beautiful. His vibrant eyes and the lines of those cheekbones. His perfect mouth and that beard. Whoa, that beard. The things it could do. If the man ever shaved it, I wasn't putting out till it grew back.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, voice barely above a rumble.
I tightened my grip on his dick, enjoying the feel of him so smooth and hot against my palm. I pumped him once, twice. "Nothing."
"You know, you act real nice, but you've got a bad girl streak in you. I like it."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Nice and slow I bent over, dragging my tongue across the flat head of his cock. Mm, salty pre-cum. Yummy.
"Playing with me like this, for starters."
"You don't like this?" I traced the ridge of his dick with the tip of my tongue before digging in deep to his sweet spot. The head fit into my mouth just fine--all the better to suck at him.
"Fuck," he hissed, hips bucking, forcing himself further in.
I drew on him hard, sucking and slurping his thick cock, making a meal of him. There'd been no lie in me, I really was hungry. And pleasing my boyfriend was number one on the menu. I took him in as deep as I could go, trying to get my jaw slack. This would really require practice, given his size. Somehow, I doubt he'd mind.
On my hips above him, wearing only a thin tank top and panties, I gave him my all. If my technique was messy or somewhat technically lacking, Ben never mentioned it. I dragged my tongue back and forth up the length of him, tracing the veins and teasing the ridge. Then I opened wide and took him as deep as I could. Probably wasn't much, but what I could take I made count. It was definitely one of those occasions were suction equaled love. Lots of love. The salty taste on my tongue and his moaning and the words of praise filling my ears confirmed this.
Giving head to Ben was great.
The big, hairy man was completely at my mercy. His hips started churning, obviously unable to hold back much longer, and I drew on him hard. He shouted, hands tangled in my hair, tugging just the right amount to wake up my scalp. That slight sting worked for me, big-time. He held me in place to take all of his cum. I swallowed as fast as I could, cleaning up the rest with tongue and fingers. He was mine, and taking care of him was definitely its own reward.
Cheeks pinked and rib cage working hard, he stared down at me in awe. I don't know that what I'd done was so remarkable, but it was nice to be appreciated. The man certainly brought out my will to please. He looked cute right after he came. All dazed and befuddled, his face slack, at peace.
I climbed back up him, lying on my side on his chest. Immediately his arms came around me, holding on tight.
"Sorry I grabbed your hair, held you down," he said, still breathing heavy. "Never done that before."
"It was fine."
"It'll never happen again. Don't know what the fuck came over me."
"Hey," I said, getting up on one elbow to look him in the face. Some serious panicky eyes there. "Ben,
He just stared.
I gave him a smile and carefully rolled off. "I'm getting water. You need some?"
A nod. "You really didn't mind?"
"I like being soft with you. I do. But I think getting a little rough with you now and then is fun too. I know we're kind of limited with what we can do with baby on board." I gave my belly a pat. "After, though?"
Another nod, this one downright enthusiastic, to the point where I was worried he might give himself whiplash. Seemed my man really did like to play.
"Great," I said.
After all, what was the point of having a gorgeous, hulking big boyfriend if you weren't willing to play with him? It was all just another healthy exploration of the bounds of our relationship. Us meshing in bed gave me good feelings. It gave me hope.
"I'll look forward to it." I gave him a wink.
I so had this girlfriend thing down. Go, me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Lizzy!" Mal skipped over to me, dragging Anne by the hand.
"Hey, you two." I sat, kicking my heels, down in the hotel cafe. My iced chocolate loaded with ice cream and syrup had long since disappeared from the glass in front of me. Not that I was cranky at being left waiting. All good. He hadn't forgotten me, he'd just gotten held up with something. I trusted him.
"What're you doing hanging down here on your own?" asked Anne.
"Ben's taking me maternity clothes shopping."
"When?"
I gave her a half smile. "Soon."
"Shouldn't you have Sam or one of his goons with you?" asked Mal, tucking his long blond hair behind an ear.
"No need. Ben'll be here soon."
"When?"
"Soon."
"You keep saying that." Mal frowned. "Give me specifics."
My cell buzzed in my bag. "This'll probably be him."
But it wasn't. Weirdly enough, my ex-roommate Christy's name flashed up on the screen. We hadn't talked since the nightclub abandonment issue.
"Hello?"
"I'm really sorry. Is it true?" came at me in an almighty rush.
"Is what true?" I asked.
"That you're pregnant?" she said. "I didn't mean to give them the photo, but then Imelda said it would be okay. That everyone deserved their fifteen minutes of fame. They said they were just doing a piece about life on campus. I didn't think you'd mind. I had no idea they were going to use it like that."
"Who is 'they'?" I asked, my insides twisting as the dread rose and rose.
"A reporter from The Daily."
"Check The Daily," I said to Anne. She whipped out her cell and got busy. "Christy, what photo did you give them?"
She paused, gulped. "Well, they just asked if they could use my pics from Facebook. I hadn't really thought that much about what was on there. I was kind of hoping they'd use the one of the two of us at Crater Lake. You remember I always loved that shot. But they wound up using that one from the Hawaiian luau at one of the sororities last year. When you were talking to those guys from Economics. I'm really sorry."
I knew the picture. All the girls had been in bikinis and grass skirts or sarongs. I'd worn cutoff jeans, covering more than most because that's how I'd felt comfortable. Each to their own and all. Everyone was sinking red Solo cups of beer, decorated with those dumb little umbrellas and chunks of pineapple. An interesting taste sensation. A member of the football team had worn a bright yellow mankini on a dare. It'd been hilarious. Good music. A good night. So I'd had a few drinks at a party while talking to a couple of guys, one of whom had thrown his arm around me for the shot. We were all grinning big, just enjoying the party. Why the hell would that excite a reporter?
Anne's brows drew tight and she showed me her cell.
College dropout pregnant with Stage Dive baby. Reportedly continuing living the high life with her numerous male friends. Grave concerns for the fetus's health. Vicious tug-of-war over custody anticipated. Demands for millions of dollars in alimony expected. A person close to the band reports they are horrified. Ben Nicholson as yet refusing to comment.
With numb fingers I hung up on a still babbling Christy.
Reportedly. Anticipated. Expected. It was all so brutally worded, the worst inferred to perfection by the photo. Assholes. They didn't have a clue who I was. Worse, they didn't even care. Whatever lies would sell. Thank god I didn't have a juvenile record for them to go poking around at, closed or open. Still, if they asked certain people about what I was up to during that misspent year of my youth ... Nightmarish thoughts flooded my mind. If Ben and I did split, if something happened and things turned bad, would it be enough for him to claim full custody of Bean?
Christ.
And what about when I went for a job? Who the hell was going to trust their kid to a psychologist with a background like mine?
People were talking but I couldn't quite make out the words. It was like being underwater, the noises distant gibberish. The bubbles in my ears made hearing anything impossible.
Hands held my face, tipping it up. Then he was looking down at me, dark eyes intent. "Sweetheart?"
The bubbles burst, reality intruding, pushing the shock aside. "Ben?"
"Let's go up to the suite."
"Yes," I said, taking Ben's hand and letting him lead me, shelter me with his body.
There was yelling behind us. A sudden scuffle and the clicking of cameras. Security closed in. Everything happened so fast. I guess the paparazzi had been following Ben, figuring he'd lead them to me--knocked-up party girl, money-hungry whore extraordinaire in a bikini top.
Mal and Anne followed close behind, piling into the elevator. Soft pan flute music filled the air. No one said anything. Worse yet, no one even looked that surprised. Apart from me, that is. The whites of my eyes and pale face were perfectly reflected in the shiny metal doors. They slid open and Anne grabbed at my arm.
"Let me talk to her."
"Later," said Ben. "Right now she needs to lie down and chill out before she falls down."
"I'm not going to fall down." But I held on tight to his hand just in case. "I'm fine."
Anne let me go without further comment. Just as well. I couldn't dump all of this on her. She was still in blushing bride, newly married mode. No way should I be messing with that. Lately she'd taken on more than her share of big-sisterly duties, accompanying me on doctors' visits, staying behind with me in Portland.
The suite seemed eerily quiet after all of the commotion downstairs. All of the noise and thoughts continued rattling around in my head, however. Out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows the city carried on. Christ, this was really happening.
"Come and sit down." He led me to the suede couch.
I disentangled my hand from his, shaking with some emotion. I just wasn't sure which, yet. "No. I ... I don't want to sit."
Ben collapsed on the couch, crossing his legs, ankle to knee. His arms spread out along the back of the couch, watching me pace back and forth. So many words were crammed inside me, fighting to get out. If I could just think straight. No point taking it personally, the journalists and photographers were just doing their jobs. Didn't make them any less of a bunch of gossip-mongering asshats, but there you go.
"I feel so ... so powerless."
"I know," he said.
"They basically made me out to be some alcoholic who has orgies every night of the week ending in Y." I rubbed my hands against the sides of my jeans. Still staying up by virtue of a hairband. Though pants weren't much of a problem in the scale of things right now.
"You're not," he said, so certain.
"My numerous male friends," I sneered.
"It's bullshit."
"Why does it always come down to sex with women in the media? How many people have you slept with?" I asked, hands on hips. "Well?"
His tongue played behind his cheek. "I, ah, I didn't really keep count."
"They didn't infer you were some kind of slut, and you've probably slept with dozens more people than me."
He gave a careful nod.
"Hundreds?" I hazarded.
He cleared his throat, turning away and scratching at his beard.
"Right. Not that it matters. And yet I'm the slut because I'm the woman. Like it's anyone's fucking business how many either of us has slept with or if I enjoy going out for a beer occasionally. I'm not getting behind the wheel of a car and driving drunk. I'm having a few drinks with friends at a party and organizing to get home safely. And if I'm taking someone home, that is none of their business. Those hypocritical motherfuckers, condemning me for these things. What consenting adults do in private should not be entertainment for the world at large. Nor is it in any way a viable judge of a person's character."
"Liz."
"Mother-fire-truckers." I gave my belly a pat of apology. "Sorry, baby."
"Liz."
"That double standard between men and women drives me insane."
"Yeah, I'm getting that." One side of his mouth tipped up. "You want me to sue for defamation? I can get the lawyers onto it now, if you want. See what we can do. But they probably can't do much. The press had a field day with Jimmy, and we could never get a retraction on even the most out-there stuff they wrote. But if that's what you want..."
With a sigh, I went back to pacing. "It's out there. No matter what, it's out there now."
A slow nod. "Yeah, sweetheart. It is."
"I just ... I never thought this would impact on my future this way. I knew studying would have to take a backseat for a few years to motherhood." I pulled my blond hair back off my face, giving it a fierce tug. "I knew Bean would have to come first, that's the reality of it. But I thought one day..."
"You will get to finish your study and practice psychology. Don't you dare give into this shit." Ben sat forward, elbows on his knees. "There will always be some fucknut out there saying something, trying to bring you down just to make a buck or because they can. Because their own lives are shit. You cannot let them win."
"They're saying it to a potential audience of billions on the Internet, Ben."
"I do not care," he said, eyes blazing with anger. "You will not let these shitheads win. You're better than that. Stronger."
I stared at him, amazed. "You really believe that?"
"I know it. From the minute word got out you were pregnant, you weren't looking for someone to blame. You were pulling yourself together, planning ahead for your baby."
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