I loosen my fingers, which I’d curled into my chest. My blood feels like it’s gushing through me, as if a dam broke somewhere in my veins. Good? Everything is good? “Are you sure?” I ask.
“Would I hypothetically lie?”
A spontaneous smile takes over my face. My relief is physical, my limbs liquefying, my breath coming easier. I’m tempted to wake Nathan right away and tell him things might actually be good. “Do you think this person should get more tests?” I ask.
“Hmm. If she and her husband have been trying less than a year, here’s what I would suggest she do—relax. Remove unnecessary stress from her life. Start keeping a journal of what she does each day and how she feels. How her body feels. Know what I mean?”
I hesitate. “Not really. I’ve never kept a diary.”
“Don’t think of it as a diary. It’s more of a log with notes about your—her—feelings. Record what she eats, how she exercises, when she has sex. Stay healthy. When she’s ready, she should go off birth control and enjoy her husband.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s it? That’s how someone gets pregnant?”
“Well, not technically. Should I go into more detail?”
I laugh for what feels like the first time in days.
“Now you’ve got the idea,” he says, a smile in his voice. “Your body reacts negatively to stress, Sadie. When we talked about your past abortion, you sounded a bit . . . hopeless. Resigned to the fact that because of a decision you made ages ago, you’ve ruined your future. I’ve heard this before, and I recommend talking to someone about that. Speaking with a therapist will help you sort through some of the issues that may be blocking pregnancy.”
Months ago, I’m not sure I would’ve believed there could be any connection between my fears and my inability to get pregnant. Now, though, I already feel lighter for having shared the truth about the abortion with Nathan. “Thanks,” I say. “She will definitely look into therapy. She might even . . . buy a diary.”
“Good,” he says cheerfully. “And, listen, if none of that works and she doesn’t get pregnant in the next six to twelve months, there are more tests that can be done, starting with her husband.”
I’m about to thank him again when I stop. Did he say husband? “I’m sorry,” I say. “What do you mean?”
“Well, his sperm could be the issue. It’d be unlikely, considering the hypothetical spouse has gotten his wife pregnant in the past, but it doesn’t hurt to check him out.”
I sit back against the couch, my mind spinning. I see myself here in my apartment, open-mouthed on the phone, as if I’ve left my own body. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that Nathan might be the reason we can’t have children. Instantly, I’m furious with the way I’ve berated and punished myself. If Nathan were infertile, I wouldn’t love him any less. I’d never leave him because of it. I’d still be honored to adopt a child with him. The truth becomes crystal clear to me—Nathan and I are in this together until the end. I want to give him a family, but even if I can’t, I won’t let him go. Nathan asked if I’d choose him over a baby again, and I still would.
“Thank you, Doctor Harris. You don’t know what this conversation has meant to my hypothetical self.”
“Happy early Thanksgiving, Sadie,” he says. “Tell Nathan the same.”
I hang up the phone, feeling as giddy as a child with a new toy. I click on the first link Nathan has bookmarked. It’s a three-bedroom apartment in Cobble Hill that’s slightly out of our price range. The description tells me it’s ideal for a young family and in a quiet neighborhood and within walking distance of schools.
Next is a house in Dyker Heights. I click through every link. The folder makes sense now. When I’d seen it before, I’d assumed Nate was looking for his own place. These are all for families. Nathan spends time in Brooklyn because that’s where he wants to be. Near his friends. In a family-friendly neighborhood. Somewhere long-term.
I don’t care that it’s the weekend. I choose a few of my favorite listings and make some overdue phone calls.
I sneak into the bedroom where Nathan’s sprawled on his back. One arm reaches toward my pillow. It would be wonderful to crawl in next to him, but he needs his rest. I dig in my nightstand drawer for the remainder of my year’s supply of birth control and take it into the kitchen. I push every pill through the foil into the sink, crumple the wrappers, and toss them in the full garbage before tying it off.
With my keys in one hand and a Hefty bag in the other, I go into the hallway. I’ve only taken two steps toward the trash chute when the door to 6A opens. I freeze in place, my instinct to flee firing off, but it’s too late. I brace myself to see Finn for the first time since I dumped him, but it’s Kendra who comes out. She has my Burberry coat thrown over an NYU shirt that looks several sizes too big.
She stops and looks over at me. “Shit. Did you hear all that?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Sadie, right?”
My throat is suddenly dry, but my hand sweats around the trash bag. I nod. “Right.”
“Any chance your adorable husband has a single brother?” Her expression sours. “I find myself suddenly available.”
Since she appears more annoyed than angry, I wonder—does she know about me? She isn’t exactly lunging, claws out, like I would expect. “No, he doesn’t,” I say. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Kendra.”
She shrugs. “My luck, he’d be a cheating bastard anyway.” She waves and takes off for the elevator. “See ya.”
Finn flies out of his apartment and starts down the hall after her. “Kendra, hang on. We still have a lot to—”
“Eat shit,” she throws over her shoulder. “And I’m taking the bitch’s coat. If anyone deserves Burberry for getting fucked, it’s me.”
She boards the elevator, leaving Finn staring after her. With a hand on his hip, he drops his head for a few silent seconds before turning back for his apartment. He stops abruptly when he sees me. “How long have you been standing there?”
I shift on my feet. The garbage bag crinkles louder than seems possible. “I saw all of it.”
“Perfect,” he mutters. He has twenty-six days’ worth of beard and new black circles under his eyes to go with it.
“You told her about us?” I ask.
“Not exactly. It was a surprise visit. There was evidence . . . the coat, for one.”
I walk cautiously toward him. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“One day, though, you’ll see—this is a good thing. It’s better to be honest with her now—”
“You’re going to talk to me about honesty?”
I close my mouth.
He sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “This wasn’t how I expected things to go. It was easier when I thought you’d be by my side for—”
My apartment door opens behind me, sending my heart into my throat. I close my eyes, hoping I’m imagining that Nathan has just come into the hallway.
When nothing happens, I look over my shoulder. Although Nathan’s eyes are puffy from sleep, they’re shrewd and sharpened above my head—at Finn.
“Nate—” I begin, holding out my free hand.
Ignoring me, he beelines for Finn. Nathan is by no means violent, but all at once I see the tension in his muscles, the balling of his hands, the grit of his teeth. I drop the trash to catch his arm, but he’s already past me. He raises his fist and clocks Finn straight across the jaw. I cover my mouth, gasping as Finn retreats a few paces, one hand clutching his face.
Nathan shakes out his fist, flexing it.
“Oh my God,” I say, unable to conceal my shock.
“It’s okay.” Finn squeezes his eyes shut and works his jaw side to side, wincing. “I deserved it. But if there’s more coming—”
“I feel sorry for you,” Nathan cuts him off.
Finn pauses. His green eyes go foggy as he looks from Nathan to me. “You should.”
I want to tel
l Finn and his broken heart that he’ll meet his own soul mate—a woman who thoroughly belongs to him in a way I never could. A woman who, unlike Kendra, won’t hold him hostage if she doesn’t get what she wants. I can’t promise him that, though, and he isn’t my concern anyway. He’ll have to figure it out on his own.
Nathan turns around. He doesn’t look at me, but he puts his arm firmly around my shoulders. “Come inside.”
“The trash—”
“Leave it.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
We’re barely in the apartment when Nathan grabs my bicep and pulls me to him. “I want you.”
I glance at his hand on me, red and possibly swelling. “You need ice.”
“I need you, Sadie.” He leans in, his breath brushing my cheek. I can see his pulse racing at the base of his neck. “Now.”
I blush furiously at the growl in his voice. It’s been too long since he looked at me with this much love—this much lust. My insides coil and tighten deliciously. I look away, bashful, as if I have an enormous crush on my own husband. I sort of do. “You can have me,” I say, wrestling my arm from him. “Right after I take care of your hand.”
We stare each other down. He narrows his eyes like a lion that’s spotted its next meal. I take a step back. He takes one forward, bouncing on the balls of his feet. I bolt for the kitchen with him hot on my heels. I manage to grip the handle of the freezer right before he captures my waist and lifts me off my feet.
I devolve into peals of breathless laughter as he half swings, half tickles me. He sets me down facing the counter, my back to him, then slides his hands under my sweater. I close my eyes. Listen to our labored breaths. Appreciate the splash of chills over my skin. He tugs my top over my head, dropping it on the ground. My hair crackles with static while he combs his fingers through it. He unhooks my bra, tosses it, and reaches around to open the fly of my jeans. Seconds later, my pants and underwear are halfway down my thighs.
He runs his hand over my collarbone and rests it at the base of my throat. My heart pounds like it’s the first time a man’s ever touched me. Nathan reaches forward and picks a birth control pill out of the sink. “Is this . . . what I think it is?”
I turn in his arms and place my hands on his cheeks. He draws his eyebrows together, two wrinkles deepening between them, as if he’s concerned about what I’ll say.
“Let’s make a baby, Nathan.”
His expression eases with relief. He takes my hand and trails kisses from the inside of my palm up my forearm. With his big, enveloping arms, he hoists me by my waist. I shriek with surprise when my bare ass hits the cold countertop. Flour and sugar, leftover from my baking, bite into my skin. From this position, I get to watch his dance, the feverish way he rips open his fly and hops out of his pants and underwear. He reaches behind him to yank his t-shirt over his head.
And then, finally, but also swiftly, he’s sandwiched between my knees. He cups the base of my head and kisses his way up my neck until his mouth devours mine. Our tongues slip and slide faster than I can keep track.
He pulls my hips to the edge of the counter, and I wrap my legs around him. Teasing me, he traces the head of his cock up and down my slit. “I don’t think I can take it slow right now.” He presses in a little and groans. “Just to touch you with only my dick and feel how wet you are . . .”
I bite my bottom lip as he stretches me, slides inside me. He’s lost his dad, and he almost lost me too. I can feel his hunger, and I want to feed him. “This is a new start for us. Promise me, Nathan.”
He lifts his head to look at me. Sunlight filters through the kitchen window. His pupils constrict, his eyes a piercing almond-brown. “This isn’t a beginning or ending. It’s just where we are. We have a long and happy life behind us—ahead of us too.”
I dig my fingers into his shoulder as he breaks me open. With each heartfelt word and deliberate thrust, he rubs my sweetest spots. I’m practically purring. “Okay, Nathan. I trust you.”
“You want this baby?”
“I want this baby.”
He rears back, and I brace myself to take all of him, but the oven beeps. We freeze. He checks with me, an adorable expression of suffering and indecision plastered on his face. He knows I might want to stop. I don’t. It feels like sunshine after the rain to have him inside me again. But, there’ll be a price if we don’t. “It’s caramel apple pie,” I tell him. “Your call.”
He winces, as if I just slapped him. “I have to choose between pie and sex?”
“Warm and yummy,” I say. “I even got vanilla ice cream.”
He looks sidelong at the oven. “For the pie or the sex?”
I giggle and push him off me. He acts reluctant, but he smells the same delicious baked apples and homemade crust I do. “It’ll just take a minute,” I say and hop off the counter. “Otherwise it’ll be ruined.”
As I get out the oven mitts, he grabs an apron from the side closet and ties it on me. “Hot food and naked skin don’t mix.”
I bend over to check the pie and predictably, Nathan’s hand rounds the curve of my behind. “Mmm,” he hums. “You’re all the dessert I need.”
“Get me a cooling rack from the top cupboard, will you, babe?”
He slaps my ass. I gasp with the unexpected sting. “You’ve got flour on your buns,” he says. “And it’s making me hot.”
My motor is still running too, the throb between my thighs deeply unsatisfied. I place the dish on a trivet he set up. “It just needs to cool off.” I tease him as I toss the mitts aside, “Maybe I should let you cool off too.”
“Oh, I’m cool as a cucumber,” he says, scooping me up again. He plants my floured buns in the same pile of powder, takes a step back, and looks me over. He’s tall, lean, and hard everywhere. His sculpted shoulders. His muscular thighs. His pink, engorged cock, still glistening with traces of me.
“Nate,” I scold. Heat rises up my chest. “How will we ever make a baby if we don’t cross the finish line?”
He smiles slowly. “It’s just—you, in your apron. And the flour in your hair. You’re so beautiful, Sadie. It’s been too long since I told you.”
I get flustered under his praise and look away. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I hide my smile. “You’re the one who’s beautiful.”
He comes to me and turns my face to him by my chin. He pecks me hard on the lips and pulls back. Holding my gaze, he squats down to push my knees apart and my apron up. He kisses my pussy like he did my mouth, once, fast and hard, and then looks up at me with a shit-eating grin.
“What?” I ask warily.
“Tastes just like caramel apple.”
I shove his shoulder, but he holds firm. My laughter dies when he goes back for more. He sucks my clit between his teeth, then dives deep. I open my mouth toward the heavens, enjoying every nuance of his exploration. I grab onto anything I can—on one side, the sink faucet, on the other, the edge of a cupboard. “Oh my God, Nate. Where have you been with that tongue?”
He eats me out like I’m Thanksgiving dessert. In a way, I am. I smile as I moan. With a particularly pleasurable flick of his tongue, I grasp his hair. He stands up, licking his lips. “Now for the main course.”
It isn’t the first time Nathan has seduced me with cooking terms, but with his hair sticking up from where I pulled it and the irresistible smile on his face, it might be the cutest. He hauls me to the counter’s edge. The apron rides up, exposing me. We both watch as he takes his shaft in his hand and presses the tip against me. There’s nothing cute about his cock, or the way it fills me. Once he’s inside, he takes my hips and slides me onto him, steady but fast. He grits his teeth until he’s buried to the hilt. “God, Sadie. What was the matter with us? This is where we belong. It’s so clear.”
My only response is to arch my back. He grabs one of my tits through the ruffled top of the apron and squeezes. The ceiling blurs as my body submits to Nathan’s hard, commanding thrusts. He moves his hand to my mouth, his fingers pres
sing inside, urgent. I suck on them as he takes me faster, rougher. He uses his wet thumb to circle my clit. I’ve been on the verge so long, it doesn’t take much for me to capture my orgasm. I shut my eyes. My pussy closes around him, sucking him deep. He groans so passionately, it’s his primal sounds that take my climax to the next level and drive me wild.
When I’m spent, I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and give my body over. He slams into me, his thrusts powerful and assertive. “I love you,” he breathes on my neck. “Only I can love you this much.”
I answer him by hanging onto him more tightly. I meet his need and take him painfully deep. I tell him with my body what I can’t with my words—I’m sorry I ever doubted you.
“Fuck, my, God, yes,” he rages. His muscles are alive with tension. Veins cord his neck, forearms, temples. His last drive is the deepest, and he comes, claiming me from the inside out.
He hugs me frantically, feeling the backs of my shoulders, gripping my waist and hips. He digs his fingers into my skin as if to make sure I’m real. “Sadie.”
“Nathan.” I squeeze my arms around his neck and rub my smooth cheek over his scratchy one. “I’m here.”
He exhales into the crook of my neck, relaxing. When he straightens up, I loosen my hold, but keep my arms around him. He pushes my hair off my face, then kisses me. Slowly, our lips part, and I slide my tongue along his. He angles over me, trying for deeper. “Let’s do it again,” he rumbles with his whole body.
I laugh into his mouth. “All right. But can we move to the shower? There’s flour in my crack.”
He captures my bottom lip with his teeth and grins. “I’ll meet you in there.”
I slide off the counter and cross the apartment to our bedroom. In the bathroom, I flip on the shower. As I’m untying my apron, the trashcan catches my eye. It’s stuffed with calla lilies, and a couple of them are spotted with Ginger’s blood. I steady myself against the counter as the echo of shattering glass sounds in my ears. Ginger’s howling. Nathan’s crestfallen face. I grip the edge until my knuckles are white. It all could’ve gone a different way.
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 36
