by Tia Siren
As he staggered to his feet, I made to help him, but he swiped his hand at me like a snake, knocking mine away. Still seething, he staggered up the stairs and into his room. The door, like a guillotine striking wood, slammed down behind him.
The silence that followed echoed inside the newly formed cavity of my heart. I turned to Jesse, who was breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon.
“I’m sorry, Jesse,” I murmured as I approached him. My hand cupped his cheek, and I gave him a kiss. Then, after I’d pulled away, I took his hand in mine and placed the engagement ring in his palm.
He gazed at me in horror.
“Does…does that mean you’re saying no?”
“No,” I said, closing his fingers around the ring. “It just means not yet. This will only work if Bill is okay with it. It’ll only work if we’re in it together, as a family.”
He seemed hurt and confused as he asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to talk to him.”
I turned to go up the stairs, but Jesse grabbed my hand.
“Wait,” he said. “He was pretty upset. Shouldn’t you let him calm down or something?”
He had a point. I closed my eyes and thought for a moment. My heart gave an impatient throb letting me know I was dawdling when I shouldn’t be.
“No,” I said. “Something tells me the best time to talk to him is now.”
Taking a deep breath, Jesse released me and watched as I made my way up the stairs.
Bill’s door was closed. Insistently, I knocked and awaited his reply.
Nothing.
I knocked louder and faster, but still, nothing happened.
“Bill?” I called, but there was no response. “Bill!” I yelled it this time. For some reason, my heart began to race. I continued to call his name and hammer on the door, but when still nothing happened, I disregarded his need for privacy and seized the knob to wrench the door open.
Due to my weekly cleaning schedule, I knew Bill’s room by heart. To the left of the door was a small bookshelf, filled with mostly comics, knickknacks, and several football trophies. To the right of the door was the crumpled heap of wrinkled sheets he called a bed. The bulk of the room, however, was dedicated to exercise equipment, most of which he never used. There was a treadmill, a bench press, a mat surrounded by dumbbell weights, and attached to the far wall, hanging from a metal band installed by my father years ago, he had a long, thick exercise rope.
Hanging from this rope—legs twitching, eyes bulging—was my brother.
“Jesse!” I screamed. “Jesse! Oh God, come here! Now!”
“What is it? What is it?” he cried from the stairs, but I was too horrified to respond. Moments later, Jesse burst into Bill’s room and saw my brother’s dangling body. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered as he dashed right to him.
Seizing him about the waist, Jesse lifted Bill up so that the rope was no longer putting pressure on his arteries. “Find something to cut the rope!” he roared, as my brother’s skin grew blue. “Hurry!”
I looked around the room, but my brain refused to work. It felt like an oiled ball, left to spin round and round in tumultuous water.
“Damn it, Mary! Hurry up!” cried Jesse, finally sobering me up.
“Right! Right!” I stammered and dashed down the stairs. I flung open the second drawer on our kitchen counter and retrieved a pair of scissors. Holding them tightly in my trembling hands, I bolted back to Bill’s room. “Here!” I cried, brandishing the scissors in the air.
“Cut! Cut!” Jesse ordered, swinging my brother’s body so that the back of the rope was to me.
Blinking tears from my eyes, I rushed to him and began hacking away at the rope with the scissors. It was a dastardly, devilish thing meant for taking weight and strain, and it took me about thirty seconds to cut the fucking thing through.
Then, at last, my brother was free.
Bill sagged to the floor, clutching at his neck, ripping away at the ropes that were still there like one would claw away a snake. His eyes watered as the skin beneath the rope grew purple and bruised. He toppled onto his side, gasping and retching. I flew to him, placing my hands on him, holding him, comforting him.
“What were you thinking?” I sobbed, and squeezed his hands, his arms, as if checking to see that he was real. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
But he did not answer. Instead, he pressed himself against me and wept.
Chapter 10
Six hours later, I found myself sitting on a hard, plastic chair outside a curtained room in the emergency ward. My brother’s neck was bruised, but luckily, there was no permanent damage. The doctors weren’t holding him here because of his physical injuries, but because of his mental ones.
My brother, Bill Taft, local football legend, prom king, and possibly the most popular man of his graduating class, was on Suicide Watch.
How on Earth did it come to this?
Guilt overtook me, and for the umpteenth time, tears streamed from my eyes. I held my hands to my face, and then, in a fit of impotence and frustration, I slammed them against the plastic seat.
“What is it, Mary?” Jesse asked, taking my hands in his before I could slam them against the chair again. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? I wanted to scream. What’s wrong? Everything, you idiot!
But instead, my voice came out as barely a whisper: “It’s all my fault.”
“No,” he murmured. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is!” I snapped. “All of it. If we hadn’t gotten together, if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, none of this would’ve happened. Everything would’ve stayed normal.”
“Was it normal, though?” he asked quietly. “Think of it, you and your brother, before I arrived. Was any of that normal? Was any of it good?”
I inhaled deeply, trying to fight back my tears. “Some of it, maybe…there were moments…” Frustrated, I groaned and added, “It might not have been good, but it was never so bad he had a rope around his neck.”
Jesse exhaled and looked deep into my eyes. When he spoke, his tone was firm, but kind. “Your brother has been walking closer and closer to the edge of a cliff for years. Just because you were standing beside him when he fell does not make it your fault. In fact, I bet he only made it this far because of you. This is not your fault. You hear me?”
Swallowing a sob, I nodded and threw myself into his arms. He held me while I cried until I could cry no more. Sometime during my wallowing, I felt his hand worm its way gently under my arm to cup my tummy.
“If it’s the last thing I do,” he said, “I will find a way to make this baby’s life amazing.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I drifted off into a weary, troubled sleep. When I awoke, I found myself in Jesse’s hotel room. He had removed my shoes, but I was otherwise clothed, lying in his bed.
“Jesse?” I asked, blinking and looking around.
“Right here,” he replied from the little kitchen in the hotel room. He approached with two steaming mugs in his hands. “Would you like some tea?” he asked, gently holding one of the mugs in my direction. “I double checked. This one is okay for pregnant women.”
I nodded and gratefully took the cup from him. Careful not to spill any, I wriggled my way into a sitting position on the bed and took my first scalding sip. Though it was hot, it was sweet and soothing—his gesture just as much as the tea.
He sat down beside me and said, “I am so sorry to have put you through all of this.”
“Jesse,” I started, “you have been nothing but a comfort since you entered—or, reentered—my life. There’s absolutely nothing to apologize.”
We kissed and sipped our tea in silence. After several moments, he placed his mug down and turned to face me.
“You, my dear, look like someone who could use a massage,” he said.
“Oh,” I murmured, embarrassed. “You don�
�t need too. I wouldn’t want a trouble you—”
He silenced me with a kiss.
“No trouble,” he said. “None at all. Now roll on your back.”
After carefully placing my mug down on the end table, I obeyed. Gently, Jesse mounted me, placing his knees on either side of my butt. Mindful of the fabric on my shirt, he lifted it up and over my shoulders so that my back was exposed to him and, in a single motion, he unhooked my bra. The sense of relief and relaxation this brought was immediate.
Then his warm hands began massaging my back.
“Where did you learn to do this?” I whispered, overcome with soft, luxurious pleasure.
He chuckled. “When you train as much as I do, you learn how to treat tired muscles. Now, let’s find out where you carry your stress.”
His fingertips traced the outline of my muscles. They caressed my shoulder blades, flowed down the valley of my spine, and pressed on either side of my love handles. At last, his thumb pressed down, right over the spot at the middle of my back where my bra strap sits.
“Ahhh,” I gasped, without even realizing it. I sensed Jesse smiling as he kissed the back of my neck.
“Right there,” Jesse said as he massaged beneath my shoulder blades. “Right there is where your stress is. It’s because of your tits, you know. Those nice, big, lovely tits.”
I smiled into the pillow and wiggled a bit so he could sense my breasts moving beneath me. Typically, I felt uncomfortable when guys talked about tits and pussies, but with Jesse, it was all okay. When he said those things, I could tell it was because he loved not just my body but me as well.
My stress, terrible as it was, began to slowly melt beneath Jesse’s expert touch. Soon I was entirely sprawled across the bed, my arms and legs out, my back naked before him. He did not neglect any of me. When he was finished with my back, he moved on to my arms, rubbing my shoulders and biceps, even down to my hands. Then, he went to my neck. I felt both his hands wrap around the back of my neck, just under my hairline. His power was evident, and his hands huge. If he’d wanted to, he could have strangled me in an instant, but I was not afraid. I was comfortable. So, so comfortable.
My neck. My hair. The delicate skin behind my ears. Jesse brought pleasure to everything. Then he moved down below my waist. Quickly, he removed my pants and underwear, and then cupped my butt cheeks. He rubbed and massaged my skin, before spreading my cheeks so that his fingertips could reach every part of me. Though he had not yet touched my core, I felt myself growing wet. He seemed to sense this, for he worked his way closer and closer, running his fingertips along the bottom of my butt and pressing just inches away from my opening, but he did not touch where I wanted him most.
Instead, as if saving the best for last, he moved to massage my thighs.
I was soaking wet and every sweeping motion of Jesse’s hands, down from my knees up to my core, brought with it a little ripple of pleasure. The closer he got, the wetter I became and suddenly, I found myself moaning with pleasure.
At last, Jesse took a single finger, reached between my legs. He ran it down the length of my pussy, from my clit all the way to the bottom of my opening.
I gasped.
His voice was husky when he asked, “Do you want it?”
“Yes,” I panted.
“Then roll over,” he said, and I did in an instant.
At first, he didn’t penetrate me. It wasn’t for lack of arousal. Though his boxers were still on, I could see his erection pressing to the very limit of the fabric. Instead, he bent between my legs and kissed me on my core.
“Ah, no,” I protested meekly. “I haven’t showered…need to shave…”
Jesse paused and smiled at me, the warmest, most accepting smile I had ever seen in my life. “You look beautiful,” he said, kissing my labia, “And you taste delicious.”
His lips moved to my opening, and his tongue dipped inside making me gasp. Although the pleasure was not as acute as when we fucked, it was still all encompassing as it rippled through me. His fingers caressed me, opening me up wider so he could get deeper with his tongue. His forefinger found my clit and stroked.
I moaned with pleasure, slowly rocking my hips as he brought me closer and closer to climax. My hands gripped the sheets. My breasts bounced with each deep, panting breath I inhaled. And then, his tongue moved to my clit.
“Yes, Jesse. Yes,” I cried, seizing him by the hair and pressing his head between my legs. His skill and talent were incredible. He licked me from every angle, pushed and squeezed and stroked, never too roughly, never too gently.
Moments later, I felt myself come. My whole body shook with it. Jesse paused and ran his wet lips against the inside of my thigh.
“You feel better?” he asked, a cocky grin on his face.
I manage to nod.
“Good,” he said.
Seizing me around the waist, Jesse flipped me over.
He grabbed the tops of my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the bed, where he rammed his cock into me doggy style. It was electric, it was unbelievable and it was fucking deep.
Jesse’s cock felt so huge it seemed to be delving into the full length of me, from my pussy all the way up to my chin. He grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head back, demonstrating his power and mastery over me. I screamed with pleasure as my insides molded to take him all the way in.
Using the grip on my scalp, Jesse pulled me back and pressed my body against his. He jerked my head around and kissed me violently while his free hand grappled with my breasts. I felt utterly consumed. My mouth, my tits, my pussy, all were heightened to their peak with sexual explosions. I came again, so hard that my whole body flexed breaking his hold and slamming my torso back onto the bed.
And then he did something I had never experienced before.
Instead of rolling me back onto my stomach, he positioned me on my side, so my right hip pressed into the bed. He stretched my right leg out between his knees so that the whole length of me from shoulder to heel was splayed out beneath him. He lifted my left leg and hooked it around his waist so that my knee cinched around his hip bone, leaving me stretched, spread, and ready for him to drive inside me.
He chuckled, gave my left nipple a pinch, and plunged into my pussy.
The orgasm was almost instantaneous. I buried my scream in a pillow as I clawed and tore at the sheets. Jesse continued to pound at me, working the tip, working the shaft, slapping his balls against my inner thighs. His hand found my breast and jiggled it, now for his pleasure, with every endless penetration.
Once more, I felt myself getting close, but this time he was coming along with me—pun intended. After a few more pumps of his hips, Jesse exploded inside me, filling me with wave after wave of cum. I had never been pumped full this way. Its depth was incredible. Its strength made my whole body shake and scream as I orgasmed as well.
At last, his pounding slowed. He released his vice-like grip upon my breasts and slid his hand down the length of me, relishing in the dips and turns of my body. He slipped out of me, gave my butt a grateful pat, and collapsed onto the bed beside me.
I chuckled, nuzzling against his shoulder. “It’s good to know me being pregnant doesn’t turn you off,” I teased, breathing in the sweet smell of him.
“It definitely doesn’t. Just wait until you’re out to here,” Jesse replied, holding his hands in front of his tummy as if cupping a volleyball. “We’re going to be doing it all the time, but you’re going to be the one on top. Riding, riding, riding, every single time.”
“Hey!” I protested, outraged. “I’m perfectly happy to play cowgirl even when I’m not huge, it’s just that you always seem so insistent.”
“That I am,” he said, walking his fingers up the bridge of my nose. “That I am.”
His other hand dipped between my legs to explore my throbbing flesh. I think, if we hadn’t been so worn out by our crazy day, we would’ve gone again.
But now there were more serious things to think about.
“We have to find a way to solve this,” I said in a stern tone.
“What?” he said. “How to have sex when you’re baby huge? You stay on top, it’s easy.”
“No,” I said and rolled my eyes. “What to do about my brother.”
Jesse groaned as I expected he would. My words were certainly a mood killer.
For several minutes we lay in silent thought. Then, ever so slowly, as if I dared even think it, something occurred to me. There was no question in my mind that my idea would be dangerous for Jesse, but the way I saw it, there was only one way.
I turned toward him and kissed his lips lovingly. Then, I said in a solemn and sincere voice, “Jesse, I have a crazy idea.”
Chapter 11
All the time I spent only lounging and hanging out with Jesse made it easy to forget that he really was a celebrity. That reality came crashing down on me when he offered to give an interview at the town’s radio station and the execs accepted him on the spot. They scheduled a time within the next day, and I felt slightly guilty at their enthusiasm. I wondered how they would react to the contents of Jesse’s interview.
We spent the night before the broadcast naked in Jesse’s hotel room. Though we clung to each other, we were too nervous to have sex. Our minds were too focused on the interview awaiting us the next day. We scripted what he was going to say and then rehearsed his lines until Jesse knew them by heart. Although I would not be saying anything, I would be with him at the station. His story, after all, was irrevocably tied to my own and to my brother’s. Still, when we woke up the morning off, I was incredibly tense.
In a thoughtful gesture, Jesse requested a scrumptious breakfast through room service, but we only ate a few bites. I blamed morning sickness. Jesse didn’t have such a convenient excuse. He was nervous, plain and simple.
After our little meal, we began getting dressed. It was funny. We would be talking over the radio, and therefore, no one would see us. Still, for some reason, I felt the need to put on my most carefully-adorned makeup and my loveliest dress. Jesse had chosen to abandon his usually colored tee and blue jeans getup for a full-fledged suit, with a tie that matched my dress. I realized we were borrowing confidence from our appearance. If we looked respectable, maybe, somehow, we could feel respectable.
