by Lauren Rowe
I glance at Sarah, surprised, and she bites her lip. I didn’t know Sarah had offered Kat and Josh her treasured boy-names for their own use, and the revelation makes my heart pang for her. Of course, we have no use for Sarah’s chosen boy-names—the doctor told us our chances of getting pregnant again are practically nil. And even though that’s for the best, since just the idea of going through another pregnancy makes my hair fall out, it nonetheless broke my heart to watch Sarah break down in tears when she heard the doctor’s news.
“Hey, at least you’re getting to name one Faraday boy, huh?” I whisper to her, squeezing her hand. She nods, a bittersweet smile on her face.
God, I love this woman. My heart is suddenly aching for her.
I pat Gracie on the head. “Little G, will you crawl to the other side of Auntie Sarah, next to your mommy? I wanna cuddle Auntie Sarah for a minute.”
Gracie crawls out from between us, over Sarah’s lap, and flops herself onto the bench next to Kat’s ever-growing belly. Immediately, I fill the void vacated by Gracie, scooting my body right against Sarah’s, as close as humanly possible, forcing her legs over my thighs under the table.
Sarah smiles at me and puts her cheek on my shoulder. “Hi, love.”
“Hi,” I say, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and grabbing her thigh with my free hand.
She lays her hand on my chest and melts into me. “You smell good, baby. God, I missed you.” Her hand traverses my chest and slowly works its way down to the tattoo on the inside of my left forearm—and, just like that, the pang in my heart turns into a tingling sensation in my dick.
I’m vaguely aware that Gloria’s saying something about baby-naming traditions in Latino culture. I shift in my seat, trying to relieve the sudden pressure on my cock, to no avail. Shit. I love Sarah’s mom, I really do, but right now I don’t give a flying fuck about baby-naming traditions in Latino culture.
Slowly, I move my hand from Sarah’s thigh down the length of her pretty white dress. When my hand reaches the hem of Sarah’s dress, her eyes lock onto mine with sudden understanding of what I’m about to do.
I smile.
She bites her lip.
“Yeah, that’s a lot like my dad’s side of the family,” Kat says. “I think they’ve passed down the name Edwin as a middle name for boys for, like, four generations or something crazy like that.”
I slide my fingers underneath the hem of Sarah’s dress and then all the way back up her bare legs, skimming the insides of her smooth thighs with my fingertips.
Up, up, up my fingertips go.
Until.
Yes.
Pay dirt.
My cock twitches.
My lovely wife’s not wearing underwear, exactly as instructed.
Good girl.
“But I was like, ‘No son of mine is gonna have the middle name Edwin. I don’t care how many generations... ‘”
My fingers glide up to Sarah’s sweet pussy and brush lightly against her tip. She’s wet. My cock thickens in my pants. My fingers zero in on her clit. It’s hard. She shudders and so do I. Oh God, how I’ve missed getting inside this woman.
“I mean life is hard enough without having Edwin on your driver’s license your whole freakin’ life...”
When my fingers slip into Sarah’s wetness, she lets out a low moan, which she quickly passes off as a cough. Holy fuck, it’s been six fucking weeks since I’ve been allowed to put anything whatsoever inside my wife, and the sensation of her warm slickness tightening around my finger after all these weeks is making my hard-on jolt like a rabid watchdog on a chain.
Sarah’s pussy clenches around my fingers with her arousal. She squeezes my thigh under the table—all the while looking at Kat and nodding like she’s thoroughly engrossed in whatever Kat’s saying. Damn, Sarah’s good.
Sarah’s crotch is getting noticeably wetter and wetter under my touch—deliciously so. I slide my fingertip from her wetness to her tip and back again, over and over and over—and then back to her clit to stay a while—and, suddenly, Sarah’s hand moves from my thigh to my hard-on under the table. She squeezes.
I glance at her and her cheeks are bright red.
I smirk. This is fun.
Josh laughs and begins babbling about something or other—I think he’s telling a story about our business trip to San Diego these past three days. Blah, blah, fucking blah.
“It was so funny...” Josh is saying. “Jonas was just sitting there, crunching numbers, smashing every cockamamie valuation the guy had to Kingdom Come...”
Whatever Josh is babbling about right now, I don’t give a fuck. There’s only one thing I care about.
Sarah opens her thighs wider and thrusts her hips toward my hand and I continue working her up and down and in and out with increased fervor. Again my fingertips land on her clit and begin massaging her in earnest.
A strange noise catches in Sarah’s throat.
Her pussy flutters.
My cock jolts.
Oh, God, I’ve got to get inside this woman.
“Right, Jonas?” Josh suddenly asks.
“Right, Josh,” I say evenly, not missing a beat. I don’t know what the fuck I just agreed to, and I don’t care.
I begin finger fucking Sarah in earnest under the table, reaching deep inside her, stimulating her G-spot, enjoying the sensation of that secret bundle of nerves filling up like a water balloon at my command. Fuck, I can’t wait another minute to get inside her. My cock is throbbing outrageously. If we were alone, I’d already be inside her right now, riding her ’til she screamed.
Sarah shifts in her seat and suddenly jerks her body away from me. Oh, she’s getting close. I’m a shark smelling blood. I pull her into me, sliding her ass on the bench right up against me, and reach up inside her again, flicking her G-spot with my fingertips with purposeful strokes.
“Oh,” Sarah says, arching her body into my hand. She suddenly slaps her hand over her mouth and bows her head.
I’ve never wanted to fuck Sarah as much as I do right this moment. I’m in pain with my arousal. For a split second, I imagine myself trying out that fingering technique Sam the Squirt-Master told me about the other day—the supposedly surefire way to induce any woman into involuntary squirtitude—and, even in the midst of my arousal, I almost burst out laughing at the idea of making poor Sarah ejaculate for the first time all over her own mother. While sitting in a fucking chain restaurant. Next to her niece.
Just for the sheer amusement of it, I switch to massaging Sarah’s clit again, even though it’s a bush-league move at best, and based on Sarah’s reaction—she likes bush-league moves a whole fucking lot. After about fifteen seconds of working on her clit in earnest, Sarah throws her elbows down on the table, covers her face with both hands, and makes a weird noise, obviously stifling a moan.
“Sarah?” Gloria asks. “Are you sick?”
Sarah doesn’t respond.
“Sarah?” Gloria asks again, obviously deeply concerned.
Sarah shakes her head, unable to speak.
“Sarah, what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Sarah says, her voice trembling. She removes her hands from her face. “I’m fine, Mom. Just had a weird hot flash or something.” A little yelp escapes from her mouth and she shudders. “I’m fine now.”
I don’t let up. This is too hot to stop now.
Sarah slams her fist down on the table. “I’m fine,” she says, gritting her teeth. “Yes.”
“Are you feeling like you’re gonna throw up?” Gloria asks, her face awash in pure anxiety. “You look like you’re gonna throw up.”
“Auntie Sarah trow up.”
“Nope. I’m fine,” Sarah says, her voice tight.
I’m merciless under the table, a fucking sniper. The God of the Old Testament—a wrathful and vengeful God. I don’t know why I’m deriving sick pleasure from pushing Sarah to climax right under the nose of our entire family—in a restaurant with fucking kiddie menus, no less�
��but I am. Oh God, yes, I am.
“Are you sure, querida?” Gloria says. “You don’t look well at all.”
Sarah nods. “Yup,” she squeaks out, her voice straining. “Yes. I’m. Sure. Yes. I. Am. Yes.”
“Okay,” Gloria says. She squints at Sarah for a beat before turning her attention to Gracie. “How’s your pizza, querida? Is it yummy?”
With Gloria’s attention diverted from Sarah, I lean into her ear and whisper to her. “I wanna fuck you so bad.” And that’s all it takes to push her over the edge. Like a storm door slamming open and shut in a tornado, her sweet pussy suddenly contracts around my fingers, over and over—her juices dripping down my hand.
And yet, somehow, through it all, my little howler monkey manages to keep quiet as a mouse... until the bitter end when she gasps audibly, drawing her mother’s attention yet again.
“Oh my God, Sarah. You’re sweating. Honey, I think we need to get you to the hospital. Something’s wrong.”
Sarah looks down at the table for what seems like forever. Finally, she lifts her head calmly and wipes her beaded brow. “No, I... I’m okay, Mom. I think I just need to... “ Sarah takes a big, steadying breath. “I think I need go to the bathroom for a second just to... splash some cold water on my face.” She visibly shudders. “I’m just a little nauseated.”
“I’ll take you, baby,” I say. “Let me help you.”
Sarah looks at me and nods furiously. “Yes, please. Yes. Thank you, Jonas. Yes. Right now. Good idea. Yes.”
I pull my hand out of her and, slowly, slowly—with Sarah’s eyes tracking my every movement—slide my glistening fingers into my mouth. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you feeling all better.”
A small tremor rocks Sarah’s body. She squeezes my thigh forcefully. “Kat, can you and Gracie scoot down to let us out, please?”
“Sure thing, sis.” She flashes Sarah a look that makes it clear she knows exactly what Sarah and I are intending to do in the bathroom.
“Don’t be silly, mi hija,” Gloria says, standing. “Jonas can’t go with you into the ladies’ room—I’ll help you.”
Sarah looks at me for help, but I’ve got nothing.
“Come on, honey. You don’t look well. Come with me.”
“No, actually, I’m okay now,” Sarah says abruptly. “Perfect, in fact. I don’t need to go the bathroom, after all.” She grabs an ice cube out of her water and touches her forehead with it. “See? This is all I need. A little cold water, and, boom, I’m great. Wow. That was weird. Just came on suddenly. But I’m fine now.”
“Do you think you have a fever?”
Sarah shakes her head.
Gloria sits back down slowly, but she’s clearly on edge—and understandably so after what the poor woman’s been through with her beloved daughter these past few weeks. “You know what, querida? I think I know what’s going on here.”
Sarah looks at me, obviously gripped with sudden anxiety, and I almost burst out laughing at the expression on her adorable face.
“You’re trying to do way too much too soon,” Gloria declares emphatically. “That’s the problem.”
Sarah exhales audibly and her body relaxes next to me in the booth. “You think?”
“Of course. You always push yourself too hard. You have to realize you can’t keep going at the same pace you always have. Your body’s still healing—and it’s producing milk for the babies, too. Both of those things take a lot of extra energy. You’ve got to rest. Listen to your body and give it exactly what it needs.”
Sarah’s been squeezing my hand like a vise during her mother’s entire lecture. “You know what, Mom? Thank you for that advice. I’ll do exactly that—I’ll start giving my body exactly what it needs.”
“Are you just pacifying me, mi hija, or are you really gonna take my advice?”
“Mom, I swear on all things holy, right after we leave this restaurant—the very second I get home, in fact—I’m gonna start following your advice to a tee.” Sarah shoots me a secret smirk that makes me cover my mouth with my hand.
“I gotta go pee-pee,” Gracie suddenly blurts. “Mommy, I gonna pee-pee.”
Kat’s face lights up. “You wanna go pee-pee in the toilet, Gracie? Oh my God! Good girl. Hang on.” Kat struggles to scoot Gracie and herself out of the booth quickly, but it’s slow go with Kat’s belly.
Gloria bolts up from her chair on the outside of the table, putting her arms out. “Hand Gracie over the table. I’ll run with her to the bathroom.”
I lean over Sarah and grab Gracie like the kid’s on fire and practically throw her to Gloria, who then darts off toward the bathroom with Gracie in her arms.
“Oh my God, that’s so exciting,” Kat says, her gaze following Gloria and Gracie across the restaurant. “If Gracie could be out of diapers by the time Jack comes, I’d be a happy momma.”
“To potty training!” Josh says, holding up his beer.
“Here, here!” Kat says, clinking Josh’s beer with her club soda.
I tap Kat’s glass with my beer. “Here, here,” I say.
“Come on, OAP Cruz,” Josh says, holding up his beer to Sarah.
Sarah raises her glass, but she’s clearly still distracted by her arousal.
“Hey, Josh,” I say. “Do me a favor and stop calling Sarah ‘OAP’ all the time, would you? You don’t even know what it means.”
“Of course I know what ‘OAP’ means—that’s why I say it all the time,” Josh says. “Will told Reed exactly what it means that night in Thailand, and Reed told me.” Josh winks at Sarah. “I think it’s hilarious.”
Sarah’s face drops and I’m sure mine does, too. Motherfucker. I’m gonna track down that motherfucking piece of shit “2Real” and pummel his goddamned, fucking face for blabbing Sarah’s secret. It was one thing for Sarah to babble it to Will, but she was drunk off her ass and under the spell of the mega-star on her ringtone. In retrospect, I don’t even blame her. But that piece of shit? I can’t believe he had so little respect for Sarah that he immediately shot his mouth off to—
“Other Asshole’s Property,” Josh says slowly, interrupting my rambling thoughts. Josh laughs. “So fucking hilarious.”
My jaw hangs open.
“I don’t know why you’re so touchy about it, bro,” Josh continues. “I mean, so what if Will called Sarah that ’cause he had the hots for her? It’s actually an indirect compliment to you.” He swigs his beer. “Asshole.”
Chapter 34
Sarah
My mom is sweet.
My mom is kind.
My mom is nurturing and good.
I love her. I love her. I love her.
I have to keep reminding myself of these positive and loving affirmations so I don’t haul off and throttle her. After dinner, my mom was so worried about me, she insisted on riding back home with Jonas and me in our car, despite Kat being the one who picked her up and brought her to the hospital in the first place, goddammit. And no matter how much I insisted I was fine and she didn’t need to come home with us, no matter how much I assured her Jonas would take care of me, just like he always does, and always will—because he’s my husband, Mom!—she still wouldn’t back down. Jeez. Now I know how it feels to be married to me. Talk about having a woman go Latina on my ass.
“Let’s get you out of that dress and into your pajamas,” Mom says as we enter the house.
“No, Mom,” I say, because there’s no way in frickin’ hell I wore my delicious-anticipation dress from Belize just so that my dearest mother could rip it off my goddamned body. Jeupucha culo.
“Well, let me get you some tea, then. And where’s your thermometer? I want to take your temperature.”
“Oh my God, Mom. I’m fine.” I settle onto the couch. “Please. You shouldn’t have come. Jonas is gonna take extra good care of me—just like he always does.”
“Well, I know that. But he just got back from an important business trip. Let him get himself situated and de-stressed while I get y
ou settled in and make sure you’re okay.”
“Mom, I’m just gonna pump and go to bed.”
“Fine. You pump while I make you some tea and find the thermometer. And then we’ll get you into bed. I won’t be able to sleep tonight unless I know you’re getting plenty of rest.”
Where the heck is Jonas, I suddenly wonder? Why is he leaving me all alone to face this demon-woman on my own? But the thought has no sooner formed in my mind than Jonas is handing me my pump, his eyes burning like hot coals.
“Thank you, love,” I say.
He nods and walks away without a word.
Oh dear. I can only imagine the homicidal thoughts he must be having toward my mother right now. Well, actually, I don’t need to imagine them because I’m having them, too.
Jonas leaves the room and I don’t blame him. The man wants to bone! Bone, bone, bone! And so do I. Good lord, so do I. I wanna effing all-caps bone. Right after I show him something, that is. Something epic. Something I did for him while he was gone on his business trip. Something I have no intention of showing him with my freaking mother looking on. Good lord.
Fifty-seven sexless minutes after Jonas and I first arrived home with Mom in tow, Jonas re-enters the front door of our house, having just dropped my mother off at her house. I’m still sitting on the couch, right where my mother left me, having just finished emptying my boobs and drinking the mug of chamomile tea she insisted I drink. The minute Jonas enters the door, he pulls out his phone and emphatically presses a button—and “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons immediately starts blaring through the sound system.
“It’s bonin’ time, baby,” he barks, bounding toward me, unzipping his pants as he goes, a look of sheer elation on his face. “Bone, bone, bone.”
I stand from the couch and put up my hand. “Hang on. I’ve got something I wanna show you first.”
“Ha, ha.” He grabs me and kisses my neck, his hard-on spearing me in the hip.
“I’m not kidding. There’s something I want to show you first. It’ll just take two minutes.”
“The only thing I want you to show me is the inside of your vagina.” He pulls on my dress.
