by Megan Hart
Sometimes I came fast and hard, but now I rode on waves of slow, steady climax. My orgasm built, receded and built again. My body tightened as we moved together, as Dan thrust faster. Heat flooded me and I bit down on the pillow to hold back my cries.
Our bodies slapped. I was so wet I felt slick heat sliding down my thighs. I breathed in the soft scent of fabric softener and the linen spray I used on the pillows; when I turned my head the heavy, familiar musk aroma of our fucking surrounded and overwhelmed me. I gulped in air saturated with our lovemaking. I wanted to drink it, eat it. I wanted to survive solely on the touch and taste and smell of the man behind me and the pleasure sending me whirling into mindlessness.
“Count them.” Dan’s voice, thick with desire, trailed off into a groan. “Count them for me.”
My long-time habit of counting in my head had diminished over the months we’d been married, but when he told me to now, I didn’t hesitate. “One,” I gasped as my first orgasm burst over me. “Two,” I groaned a minute later as the second burst inside me.
And later, not much later, “three!”
Three was the most I could manage. I shuddered with the last climax. My fingers dug furrows in the sheets. Dan thrust once more inside me and came with a shout that made me smile.
He paused for a minute before moving in and out of me a couple more times, then withdrew and collapsed beside me on the bed. A gush of hot fluid surged down my thighs and I let out a cry as I clamped my legs together.
He laughed. “Sorry.”
He wasn’t, but I didn’t care. “Feh. Hazards of the sport.”
I rolled onto my back, making sure to position myself on his side of the bed with a grin he didn’t notice at first. When he did, he rolled onto his side to put his hand on my belly. He nuzzled into my shoulder.
“You’re going to make me sleep on the wet spot?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a sigh of utter satisfaction. Already my eyes were trying to flutter closed, and I stifled a yawn with the back of my hand.
Dan snorted softly. “Nice.”
His hand made hypnotic circles on my stomach. I would have to get up in a minute to use the bathroom, to brush my teeth. Take a shower. But for now it was too nice, lying here with him, for me to move.
I put my hand over his to stop it from moving. I thought about Marcy, the swell of her giant belly in front of her like something belonging to another person. It was another person. She’d complained vociferously about getting fat, but I’d never really believed she meant it. She’d always said it with a hint of smug satisfaction, her hands on the mound of her stomach, holding it as though it were a prize.
“Do you really like me curvier?”
I’d been ready to fall into sleep, but Dan was almost there. “Mmm,” he muttered.
“Why?” I whispered as I threaded my hands through his hair. I didn’t really expect or need an answer. No matter what Dan said, I was going to love and hate my body in equal turns.
“It means you’re happier,” he mumbled against my skin, and fell silent.
It wasn’t what I’d expected him to say, but I knew he was right. I waited until he started snoring before I slipped from under his grasp and went to the bathroom to run the shower. I washed away the evidence of our lovemaking, but slowly, letting the hot shower sooth aching muscles and relax me even more.
I did some of my best thinking in the shower, and the day had given me much to think about. What Dan had said was true. I had been thinner, before, with hollowed cheeks and hipbones jutting from my skin, mountains on either side of the valley of my belly. I’d been able to count my ribs and see the delicate bones of my wrists. Now my flesh curved smoothly, without wrinkles, over all of me, and though I was nowhere near overweight, there was also no way to deny the difference. And I was happier, that was also true.
I was happy with Dan, our marriage, our life. Our house. My job, which had been precariously balanced a few months ago, had worked out in favor. With my brother back in the area and my relationship with my mother on steadier ground, I had a glimmer of a family life, not to mention that Dan’s mom and dad had embraced me as the daughter they’d never had. I had friends, health, success.
And I cried, thinking of all of it, and how easy it would be to lose it all, and of how terrified I was of that happening.
Tears disturb and confuse men, but women know the relief they can bring. I didn’t cry because I couldn’t deal with my life, but because I could. The hot water hid the sound of my sobs and washed the tears from my cheeks before I could even taste them. I cried for a solid ten or fifteen minutes, and when I was done, I turned the water to icy cold needles that stabbed me but refreshed me at the same time.
Stepping out onto the bath mat, I didn’t criticize my flesh, or obsess over the jiggle of my thighs. I scrubbed my face and combed the tangles from my hair and I slathered cream on every inch of bare skin I could reach, but I didn’t worry if there was more bare skin to cover than had been available a few months ago.
I turned sideways to look at my stomach in the mirror. It curved, but nowhere nearly as much as it would if I were pregnant. I put my hands on it, imagining the bulge. Of how my breasts would weigh so heavily. What on earth would that feel like?
Dan hadn’t been bugging me about the baby decision, but he hadn’t forgotten it, either. I’d seen him with Leah. I knew he wanted our child – children! I knew he believed we would be good parents. That we would love a baby.
He knew he could do it. He believed I could. I was the one uncertain of that.
My mother hadn’t been sure she could love the offspring of a stranger, even though Leah had become her son’s daughter as fully as if he’d created her. I wasn’t so foolish as to think one afternoon could change everything overnight, but I also couldn’t forget the look on my mother’s face as she looked down at my niece.
My mother had loved her children. If I wanted to be entirely charitable, I could postulate that she still did, no matter how difficult it was to see that love. And if my mother had been able to do it, if she could do it now with my brother’s child, well…maybe I could do it, too.
Chapter 6
It wasn’t until the next night that I realized I’d forgotten to take my pill the night before. I stared at the small foil package and the extra pill with some befuddlement. I couldn’t recall ever forgetting a pill before, not in all the years I’d taken it.
I knew the importance of taking them both, doubling up to prevent them from failing, but when my fingers made to punch out both pills they hesitated. What if I didn’t take the one I’d missed, but just kept on with the week as though I’d taken it?
I could have calculated the risk easily enough, if I’d had the statistics in front of me. I was very good with numbers. All I did instead was to pop the regular pill in my mouth and toss the other down the drain.
“Everything okay?” Dan looked at me from over the edge of his book. He’d started another garishly covered paperback, but he put it aside with his finger marking his place when I crossed to sit on his side of the bed.
“Yes.” I took the book from him and settled it on his nightstand.
“Ah.” Dan took off his glasses and put his hands behind his head. “You’ve come to ravish me.”
“I have.” We smiled. I ran a finger down his chest to where the sheets covered him. When I pulled them aside, I shook my head in mock scolding. “This doesn’t help.”
He looked at the soft cotton pajama bottoms. “Take them off.”
I stood. “You take them off.”
He grinned and hooked his thumbs in the sides, but I held up my hand. “No. Not like that.”
I took a seat in the rocking chair and gestured at him to stand up. “I want to watch you.”
The pajamas were already tenting when he got out of bed. “Do you want me to put on some music?”
“No.” I kept my face stern even though I wanted to giggle. I didn’t want to laugh; it would ruin the mood.
> Dan stood in front of me, thumbs hooked in his waistband. “You want me to just strip ’em off or what?”
“Surprise me.” I parted my legs so the hem of my short nightgown rode up. I was naked beneath.
I loved the way his eyes gleamed and the way his tongue snuck out to swipe across his lips. Dan didn’t have to worry about extra curves. He had been blessed with good genes. Now he eyed me, one hip cocked.
I inched my hem higher and ran a hand over the soft patch of hair between my legs. I wasn’t stroking myself. Not yet. But there was definitely the promise I might start.
He had such a playful side. It was sexy. Now, watching me, Dan ran his hands over his chest. Up and down, then over his belly. He traced the lines of muscle in his abs and the indentations of his ribs. He licked the fingertips on both hands and circled his nipples. It should have been silly, but my throat tightened.
He didn’t do a bump and grind. It was more like a slow, easy exploration of his body. He kept his gaze locked on mine the whole time, too. My hand slid again and this time found my clit. I moved my finger in small circles as I watched him touch himself the way I wanted to be touching him.
He turned around to slide the waist of his pajamas down just far enough for me to see the small patch of hair at the base of his spine. I loved to lick that spot. He loved me to lick it. He eased the elastic a little lower, then lower again, to reveal the crack of his ass. He tossed me a look over his shoulder and turned, pulling the waistband up again.
“Tease,” I murmured.
He laughed softly and pushed the cloth down in front until the first fluff of his pubic hair showed. He’d offered once to shave down there, but I’d protested. Now he just kept himself trimmed. I held my breath as he pushed the pants lower, lower…
“You are a tease!” I told him when he let go and the elastic snapped back up around his hips.
“You told me to surprise you.” He hooked his thumbs into the fabric but didn’t pull it off.
I couldn’t deny it. Instead, I parted my legs wider and gave him a full glimpse of my body. I slipped my fingers down low enough to find slippery fluid. He licked his mouth again.
“I love to watch you touch yourself,” he said.
“Let me see you do the same,” I breathed.
Dan put a hand over the bulge in his pants. He stroked himself a few times through the cloth. Then he reached inside and stroked again. His face tightened and he bit his lower lip a little.
“No fair!” I said.
Dan’s laugh came out a little strangled. “Fine.”
He pushed his pajamas down, finally, and stepped out of them. His gripped his erection as he kicked away the bottoms. When he stroked down, slowly, I couldn’t decide where to look: at his face, taut with desire, or at his cock, so deliciously hard.
My body responded. My breath came faster, my pulse sped up, my clit grew harder beneath my fingertips. The curved wood beneath my bare ass had warmed to my skin, smooth, and I slid on it as I set the chair to rocking.
We’d fucked on this chair, more than once, and I thought of that now. Of how Dan’s prick felt inside me as we rocked, of how good it felt when my clitoris rubbed his stomach. How easy it was to thrust and move with the chair helping us.
Dan’s hand moved up and down on his erection. I did love watching him. There was something singular in him jerking himself and in watching how he moved his hand to bring himself the most pleasure. He added a twist to his wrist as he stroked the head of his cock. I caught a glimpse of pre-come glistening as he stroked. He stood with his feet spread apart to anchor himself, and it was easy to imagine myself on my knees in front of him.
I knew how he’d taste and the sound he’d make when I closed my lips over his penis. I didn’t, though. I watched him stroke himself, instead, as I brought myself closer and closer to climax.
We could have finished that way, watching each other. But when my cunt gave its first spasm, hovering on the edge of coming, I pulled my hand away. I wanted to squirm on the chair. I wanted to push my cunt against the air, or squeeze my thighs together, keeping myself from tipping into orgasm but only barely.
“Dan,” I said.
That was all it took. He crossed to me in two strides. I almost came when he pulled me to my feet. The world tipped a little as pleasure swooped over me, but I breathed deep and managed to hold it off. Dan took my place on the chair and pulled me onto his lap. I slid onto his prick, my clit against his belly, our mouths locked. I cried out, the sound lost against his lips. He fucked upward as his hands cupped my ass.
I was already coming. My body jerked. My fingers dug into his shoulders. He thrust harder as the chair rocked. The floor squeaked. He said my name. My orgasm became all-encompassing, immense, enormous. The world. The universe. Pleasure overtook me.
Dan yelled when he came. His final thrust lifted me up and when we settled the chair kept rocking, though we’d stopped. He put his arms around me, tight. I felt him throb inside me as my cunt fluttered in climax. I couldn’t always feel it, and tonight it seemed especially appropriate that I could.
I thought of him spurting inside me. Dan’s body had made sperm, small wriggling and invisible, that even now were swimming mightily up the convulsing corridor of my vagina to seek the cavern of my womb. Would it welcome them? Had my body created an egg, waiting, even now to be conquered? It wasn’t likely, but neither was impossible. Many women who’d counted themselves “safe” had ended up getting pregnant.
Dan had buried his face against my chest with a happy sigh. His hair tickled my nose. Our bodies glued together, sticky from sweat, as the chair rocked to a stop. I didn’t move, too content to bother.
We didn’t have secrets any more, and I was glad for that. Even so, I didn’t tell him I’d forgotten and then deliberately not taken my pill. I wasn’t sure there’d be a point in telling him we may or may not have made a baby.
“I love you.” Dan kissed my collar bone.
“I love you too.” So easy to say it, now.
Easier to mean it, too.
Chapter 7
“FUCK ME WITH A BARBED WIRE DILDO!” Marcy’s voice echoed through the tiled hall, and nobody blinked an eye. “Where the fuck is Wayne?”
“I’ve left a message with his secretary, on his voice mail and on his cell,” I told her. “He’ll be here.”
Marcy let out a low, guttural groan. Sweat had plastered her hair to her forehead. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and the corners of her mouth had cracked a little. She gripped my arm with fingers like talons, but I didn’t dare show a wince. I wasn’t the one getting ready to push a bowling ball out of my body.
We’d been walking for an hour as she labored. Marcy had called me when her efforts to get in touch with her husband had failed. She’d driven herself to Harrisburg Hospital and I’d met her there, not because I had any burning desire to watch my friend give birth, but because she’d had nobody else.
Funny how Marcy hadn’t considered me her last resort, though. She’d hugged me fiercely when I got there and chattered on and on in a bright, happy voice as we got her settled in. It took me twenty minutes of listening to her babble for me to realize Marcy was terrified.
Her water hadn’t broken yet, so she’d been encouraged to walk up and down the halls to help with her labor. The first half an hour had been fine. She’d been upbeat, if still a little manic, but as time wore on and the contractions got harder and Wayne was nowhere to be found, Marcy had ceased with the little Susie Sunshine act.
“God damn him,” she said. “I fucking told him to keep his motherfucking phone charged…Fuck!” She clutched her belly and stopped, hunching. She breathed in a series of rapid, whistling breaths while I stood by, helpless to do anything but watch.
“He’ll be here,” I repeated. Please God, I prayed. Let him get here. Soon.
When the contraction stopped, the tears started. Marcy turned to me with a desperate look. “Thank you for being with me, Elle. Thank you.”
Guilt stabbed me. “Of course I’d be here for you, Marcy. You know that.”
She gripped my hand as another contraction rolled over her. Her lips thinned to pale lines in her face. “Fucking hell!”
Marcy wasn’t the only woman in labor. I could hear the burble of television sets in some of the labor and delivery rooms, and an occasional grunt or cry. There were women giving birth all over the place here, the air was thick with the odor of blood and fear and joy; my stomach kept trying to turn and I wouldn’t let it.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Marcy gripped the wooden hand rail along the wall. “You’re always so together, Elle. You’re always so calm.”
I was anything but calm, but hell, Marcy was expecting me to be something for her and I could give her that, at least. “It’s all going to be okay.”
She nodded and then looked up at me, her face a mask of surprise. I didn’t know why until a second later when the rapid patter of liquid hitting the tile floor caught my attention. We both looked down, though I doubted Marcy could see past her belly.
“My water just broke!”
“It’s okay.” I gripped her hand. “Let’s get you into your room.”
It all happened very fast after that. Nurses and midwives showed up to do their jobs. Wayne, tie askew and hair windblown, arrived with a story about traffic and dead cell batteries. Marcy forgave him at once. The looks on their faces when he held her hand and kissed it was like something from a movie.
Wayne’s eyes rolling up in the back of his head and him hitting the tile floor with the sound of a pumpkin breaking open was somewhat less glamorous.
I’d been edging my way out of the room at that point, preferring to leave them to their privacy, but when Wayne hit the ground Marcy shrieked my name and I found myself at her side in a second.
“He’s okay,” I told her. Two orderlies got him to his feet and into a chair, where he promptly put his head between his knees.
“Get ready to push,” the midwife said. “Elle, can you hold her leg for her?”
