by Raquel Belle
“A house with a fenced-in yard would be good,” Rob says.
“And one of those hidden, electric fences, just for good measure,” I say.
***
“Have I ever told you that seeing you pregnant and naked really turns me on?” Rob asks.
I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror, still wet from a shower. “That makes one of us,” I say.
There are boxes in various stages of packing strewn throughout my bedroom. Rob’s got two suitcases filled with his own clothes in one corner. His house sold almost the same day it listed so he’s staying with us until we get into our new house next weekend. We’re on our way to the closing in an hour, and all I can focus on is how much I resemble a hippo right now.
“I have three months to go,” I say. “How can I possibly be this big already? Am I giving birth to a linebacker?”
“You look gorgeous,” Rob says, stepping behind me, our reflections looking at one another. He wraps his arms around my midsection, his hands resting on the bump. Slowly, he moves them up to cup my swollen breasts. They’re huge, really, a fact that also delights Rob very much.
You know the one thing about being pregnant? I’m always horny. It’s ridiculous, actually, how live-wired my skin is right now. So even though we only have an hour before we need to be somewhere, and I’m still naked and wet, my body has other ideas the moment Rob’s hands start roaming my body.
I lean back against him as he touches me, tweaking my sensitive nipples, dipping his fingers into the already wet folds between my legs. I moan, and it’s an encouragement he understands immediately, fingers slipping inside of me, stroking me to a quick orgasm as we watch the whole thing unfold in the mirror.
After I come, I make my way to the floor, on my knees as Rob enters me from behind. He tells me to watch while he fucks me, and I obey, watching intently as he pushes in and out, my larger breasts swaying like pendulums as the pace increases.
He tells me over and over how gorgeous I am. How lucky he is. How much he can’t wait to be my husband. It’s not his usual dirty talk, but it still turns me on, and the minute a finger finds my clit, I come again, crying out and pushing him to his own climax, as well, watching his face as he spends a few moments off of the earthly plane.
When he slips free, he helps me up and apologizes for getting me dirty after just taking a shower. I play mock-angry and tell him he’ll have to help this hippo get clean all over again.
“That’s a punishment I’m willing to suffer,” he says, a seductive glint in his eyes, as he leads me back to the shower.
We are precisely fifteen minutes late to the closing.
Later that night, we sit in a mostly-packed house with candles lit, a pizza in front of us, and two glasses of mock-champagne. The kids are with Alex for the weekend, and we have the dog boarded until we get into the new house. It’s oddly quiet.
“Congratulations,” Rob says, clinking my glass. “How do you feel?”
“I feel …” I sigh. I’m not sure I can find the words.
“Are you sad?” he asks.
“No,” I say. And I mean it. “I thought I would be, but I’m not. I guess I feel relieved? Like this one part of my life that was pretty hard is now over. I feel like I can really start fresh with you. So I guess I’m happy, but that’s too simple a word for it.”
“I know what you mean,” Rob says. “I waited so long for this. To be with you like this. Saying ‘I love you,’ or ‘I’m ready,’ or ‘I’m happy,’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“I’m so sorry I was so stupid,” I say. “I was careless with you. It was a mistake.”
“We’re done apologizing,” Rob says. “We needed all of this to happen so we could get right to this exact spot.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say. “I do love you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” he says. “Just not as much as I love you.”
He leans in for a kiss and just like that, it’s like he’s lit a match, and I’m on fire with wanting him. I reach out and rub him through his pants, loving the feel of his cock hardening for me. Our kisses become more intense, his tongue flicking against the back of my teeth, my teeth biting against his bottom lip. Soon, I’m rather awkwardly trying to straddle him, my skirt riding up, my clit rubbing greedily against his hard cock through his pants and my underwear. I come. Easily and loudly and with a few swear words involved.
“Goddamn,” he breathes against my neck, as I keep dry-humping him like some wanton, horny teenager. “Pregnancy is awesome.”
“It kind of is,” I say.
“Let’s see if we can break a record, he grins, putting his hands on my ass and lifting me up, his mouth hot through my panties, now wet from my own lust. He licks and bites and then tears them away completely as I rub myself against his face. His lips, his tongue, the scratch of his five o’clock shadow—they are all tools of my satisfaction, a satisfaction that is never sated lately.
He frees his cock, and I lower myself onto him, throwing my head back as he enters me fully. “God, I love this,” I say, breathless.
“I love you,” he says, his face buried in my chest. “I love these.”
“You’re like a teenager,” I say, riding him, feeling yet another orgasm blossom in my abdomen.
“So are you. Slutty little teenager,” he growls. “I like it. I hope you always want me like this.”
“Even when I have gray hair and no teeth?”
“Even then.”
“Even when my pussy dries up like a prune?”
“Well, maybe not then …” he says with a laugh. “But pretty much forever.”
“Let’s get married,” I say.
“Well, that was the point of my proposal, wasn’t it?”
“I mean now. Tomorrow. Let’s go to the courthouse and make it real.”
“But the kids?”
“We’ll do a ceremony with them later. I want this. I want you.”
He hesitates and I expect him to be practical, to say no. But instead he says, “Okay.”
It’s hard to make love when you’re in your third trimester and look like you ate a basketball, but we make it work. He leads me to bed, strips me naked, and spends time kissing every part of my body. I’m live-wired and loud, and he meets my eyes several times, the intensity there pushing me further and further to the edge. He positions himself on top of me, his cock sliding back inside me, his arms taut as he holds himself above my protruding belly.
“I want to look in your eyes,” he says. “I want to see you.”
The mirror has been a favorite for us lately, because we mostly have to do it from behind to accommodate my size. But tonight, he pushes against me in missionary position, and I throw my arms up over my head to grab the headboard, giving him a full view of my hard nipples and heavy breasts, as his eyes roam and then settle on my face. I move my hips to meet his thrusts, and he never wavers, looking into my eyes the whole time, until the moment my pussy clenches once more, and he loses control. He closes his own eyes for only a second before opening them again, finding my gaze, and roaring into his climax.
As he releases, he tells me over and over how much he loves me. How good this is. How right. And I find myself crying because it is, indeed, all of those things, and more.
Epilogue
I shut down my computer and turn off my desk lamp, pulling on my black ballet flats and grey, wool blazer before grabbing my purse from under my desk. I head out of my office, waving goodnight to my colleague, Elizabeth, who has also become my friend.
“Sip and snack on Friday?” Elizabeth, asks as I walk by her office. “You in?”
“Let me check with Robbie, but I think so,” I say.
“Yay!” she says.
I scurry toward the other end of the facility, past two millennials playing pool at one of the game stations, and then past the computer lab, where three others are developing a sustainability software for a client in Dubai.
This work envi
ronment is certainly different than any other I’ve ever worked in. It’s cheerful, and innovative, and supportive. I actually enjoy coming in each day, and I never dread the work I have to do. I have just started traveling to visit with clients all over the country, and will eventually, probably travel internationally as well. It’s not something I ever imagined doing, but it’s thrilling. It’s also a bit scary and guilt-inducing. I hate leaving the kids, but Rob is supportive, so I’m sure it will get easier.
I round the corner and see the day-care rooms ahead. I pick up my pace, eager to see my sweet, chunky, baby girl. She’s six-months old now, with the sweetest, healthiest fat rolls on her arms and legs. She has one tooth on the bottom already, and she shows it off with frequent smiles and easy laughter.
One of those smiles erupts as soon as I enter the room. Her arms go up immediately, and I scoop her up and cover her in kisses.
“How was my sweet girl today?” I ask.
One of her teachers approaches and rubs a hand over the sprinkling of curly blonde peach fuzz on her head. “Miss Tatum was quite the comedian today. She made lots of funny sounds and cracked herself up all day long.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I say. “She discovered she could blow raspberries last Sunday while we were in church for my ex’s baby’s christening. It was quite the convergence of comedy and embarrassment.”
“I’m sure everyone forgave her,” she says with a wink. “See you tomorrow.”
I gather Tatum’s things and throw her diaper bag over my shoulder while balancing her on my opposite hip. She grabs my necklace and starts chewing on it, as I wander out and back down the hallway. When we turn the corner, we run into Rachel Lauffett, who instantly beams at my chunky, little baby.
“She is just the prettiest little baby,” Rachel says, unable to resist the urge to rub the top of her head. It’s a regular occurrence. That round head and those blonde curls attract a lot of attention.
“Thank you,” I say, nuzzling Tatum’s little face. She gives me a big smile in return.
“Hey, I’m glad I ran into you,” Rachel says. “I talked to Bob from Skelton Financial today.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, and he is just ecstatic that you’re coming out to lead the data mapping process for them next week. I can’t even tell you how relieved I am that he likes you. We’ve gone through three consultants already, and he’s not liked any of them.”
“He’s an old crank,” I say, “but he is a sucker for babies. As soon as I showed him pictures of Tatum, he went soft and gooey.”
“She has that effect on people, I’m sure,” Rachel says. “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your good work. You have not let me down at all.”
“I appreciate the opportunity you gave me,” I say. “I’m happy to come pay it forward with good work.”
Rachel puts a hand on my shoulder and grins, saying she’d better go pick up her own kid before meltdown occurs. As it turns out, she has a two-year-old who goes here and a seven-year-old who is in first grade at a school nearby. It feels good to work for someone who understands family, who has a family.
When Tatum and I get home, we find Rob and the kids at the kitchen island doing homework. I watch them for a few seconds before they notice me, the noise level going from quiet to chaos in only the blink of an eye as the kids hop from their stools and race over to plant kisses on their baby sister.
They happily take her from my arms and run off with her, presumably to play in her room. Rob greets me with a hug and a fierce kiss.
“I missed you, Mrs. Duncan.”
“Well, I missed you, too, Mr. Duncan,” I say, taking another, greedy kiss from him.
“I was thinking about you all day,” he says.
“I was thinking about data and process mapping,” I say, “but you’ve got my attention now. And will continue to have it if you have a dinner plan in mind, and I don’t have to cook.”
“I’ve got the fixings for spaghetti ready to go and am mostly capable of cooking al dente pasta, warming up sauce, and throwing garlic bread in the oven.”
“Sounds good and easy,” I say.
“Think we have time for a quickie on the kitchen table?” he asks.
“No I do not,” I say. “Besides, we already christened the kitchen table. We haven’t yet done it in the laundry room.”
“That is true,” he says, “and the laundry room door locks from the inside.”
We scurry off, shutting ourselves in the laundry room of our new home, the home we now share with our three children. It’s big, and bright, and cheery. And it has a big laundry room that locks from the inside.
“Ever fucked with the spin cycle going?” Rob asks wickedly.
“Not yet,” I say.
He flips a few knobs and directs me to, “Hop up.”
Thirteen minutes later, my hair is a wild mess, my underwear is missing, and the kids are calling for us. We giggle, trying to pull ourselves together before heading out to see what they need.
Amy, now a sixth-grader and well-aware of the fact that we have frequent sex [that’s a story for another time], rolls her eyes and asks what’s for dinner. Rob and I head to the kitchen, promising spaghetti in fifteen minutes or less.
As we clean up and get cooking, I look over at my husband and find he’s giving me the sly side-eye, as well. We both grin and giggle like kids, and he smacks my butt playfully and tells me to “get back to work.”
Every day, I say a silent thank-you to Tate McCullough. I thought I hated him. For so many years, I did. But then, he kissed me and everything changed. Now, I thank him for opening me back up to the idea of having someone to lean on. I thank him for reminding me that I’m still a woman, and I can still be attractive to men. I thank him for showing me the pathway to what is now maybe the happiest time of my life.
We named our daughter Tatum because we now both thank Tate for helping us find this happiness together. Hating Tate made me realize just how much I love Rob Duncan, and it’s the least I can do to honor his role in my happiness.
THE END
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“The Princess And The Punk”
Jessa Ames is the perfect student and she’s on track to become the ultimate Librarian…that is until her selfish roommate leaves her in the lurch halfway through the semester of her senior year in college.
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About the Author
Raquel Belle was born in a quiet town somewhere in the Midwest, to a mom who’s still a homemaker and a dad who’s still a small business owner. She’s a middle child! (Oh no!) They had a picket fence, a Labrador, a Retriever and a Poodle. The dogs were named after Italian gangsters from the movies. She loved writing short stories and her first boyfriend was in the Chess club.
Yeah!
When the sheer normality of it all threatened to driver her insane, Raquel found an outlet in music…noisy music! (Hot, sexy, noisy music!) She still keeps her Jacksons and Fenders at her parents’ house, along with her Mesa Boogie half-stack (She drives the family crazy when she visits for Christmas). When she was of age she hastily ran off to the Big Apple. After graduating from NYU (where she kissed a girl for the first time) she took the time to do some continent hopping and visited most of South America, Africa and Europe. She loves Peri-Peri chicken—preferably Portuguese. (Seriously, it’s amazing!)
With her love for flame-grilled birds solidified, Raquel returned to the US and found herself at an advertising job in Chicago, which she stayed at for a ghastly seven years! After experiencing what it must be like to be a house-cat who just wants to hunt, she quit!
One night after having sold her first romance novel (YAY!), Raquel saw an old episode of “Kung-Fu” on late night television and decided to hit the road…and she’s been on the road ever since.
