by L. B. Dunbar
She let me undress her and redress her like a child. I wondered if she wanted a shower or possibly a bath, but her lids closed, signaling her exhaustion. She appears drained of energy and purpose, but I don’t believe she’s defeated. She’ll resurface to be the survivor I know, but for tonight, she needs to process. She needs pampering, and I’m here to pamper. She’s a wonder, and I marvel at her resilient strength. She’ll get through this—we’ll get through this—but not tonight.
“Brut,” she whispers in the dark. It’s after midnight, and I can’t sleep. I’m still too wound from the paranoia of something happening to her—something extreme, something life-ending. I don’t want to imagine such things, but my brain won’t shut off. I can’t lose her. And once again, I recognize my chance is here, whispering, waiting. Like Midge admonished me, I need to stop stalling. Tick-tock. If I had lost Lily, if it had been too late… I shudder with the thought, but still, I don’t want to consider if I never had this second time with her. What if.
No more waiting, I decide.
“What, sugar?” I’ve been sipping whiskey to release the demons and loosen my brain, so I’ll eventually sleep. I notice her eyes open in the dark room.
“Thank you for coming to get me.”
I lean forward, setting my glass on the nightstand and balancing my elbows on my thighs. “You don’t need to thank me for anything. I’ll always come when you call.” Although she didn’t call me for this emergency. How could she? If I hadn’t seen the television report, would she have reached out for me? I don’t ask these probing questions, wanting again to let her process what’s happened. I also don’t want to turn things around to me and my emotions. I need to think of her.
Her hand reaches across the space between us, lingering in the air a moment as her fingers wiggle in my direction. I quickly clasp them in my hand and raise them to brush my lips over her knuckles. I linger, a wave of relief I’ve struggled with all day suddenly crashing over me. My eyes close, and I swallow the lump in my throat. There’s so much to say but not tonight.
“Brut, honey.” She pauses. “Will you lay next to me?”
My heart leaps to my throat, choking along with the lump there. This woman is about to bring me to tears.
“I’d do anything for you, Lily pad. Anything.” My eyes open slowly to find the intensity of hers glistening in the darkness. I kiss her knuckles once again and stand quickly. My shoes and socks are already gone, so I shuck off my jeans and remove my shirt. Climbing over her, I’m careful of her legs and wrap my arm over her waist. She doesn’t curl into me but allows me to curve around her. This is where I want to be. This is where I want her to stay. Forever.
35
Handle with care
[Lily]
I wake wrapped around Brut. Literally. During the night, I shifted in my sleep and burrowed my head into his chest, hoping to drown out the sound of the brick breaking the window. The sound ricochets in my mind, and I recall thinking the building was going to crumble. I press against him, scared, but I wake against him…horny.
With one leg hitched over Brut’s hip, I rut against him like a shameless dog. I’d like to think I was dreaming, but I’m awake.
“Lily pad,” Brut whisper.
“Oh God, Brut,” I mutter, embarrassed by my behavior but unable to remove my leg from over his body. My achy breasts press against his firm chest, and I realize once again how they’ve grown. Brut’s hand comes to my hip, slipping under the T-shirt he dressed me in last night.
“What’s going on here?” he questions. He’s not complaining, just confused. I’m confused. I don’t know why I’m acting like this, but I can feel Brut’s hard-on, and I want at him. What am I doing?
“I just need…” I pause, retracting my leg, but he catches the underside of my thigh.
“Tell me,” he demands, and then he tugs my thigh, drawing me against him. I moan. No shame.
“This,” I purr.
“This?” he teases, slipping his hand farther under the tee and cupping the weight of one breast. He squeezes, and I moan, arching my back, forcing the heavy globe into his palm.
“Yes, please.”
“Or this?” He brushes his hand down my body, traveling my curves until he slips a hand into my underwear, grabbing my ass to pull me toward him.
I groan again until he drags a finger over the wetness at my core. I’m on the verge of losing my mind, and then he stops.
“Brut,” I whimper, tears prickling my eyes. I’ve been a hot mess of horniness, increased by the pregnancy.
“Lily, I won’t deny you anything. But first, I think we need breakfast.”
Noooo, my head screams, and the rejection stings. But Brut is right. I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, and maybe food will add perspective. However, I haven’t seen Brut in a month, and I’m practically ravenous for him. I nod, and Brut kisses my forehead, waiting. He’s letting me decide because in my heart, I know Brut will have sex with me if I want him to, but I’m sensing something holds him back, and he wants me to agree. We need breakfast…and I need to tell him things before anything else happens between us.
+ + +
“What’s going on here?” I ask as I enter his kitchen.
Brut left to give me a moment to freshen up before coming downstairs, promising to make me waffles. He had mentioned in the past his home was run down and in need of a facelift, but what I see seems like a freshly painted house. The stairway leading down to his living room is light gray with white trim around the windows and the banisters have a dark wood railing. It’s beautiful and classic. The hardwood on the stairs matches the dark rail, and the floors in his living room look the same. The furniture is manly. Light brown leather chairs sit across from a dark gray couch. The item I notice first is a matching ottoman. The setting is modern. A flat screen hangs above a fireplace. The mantel holds black and white images of his family—Chopper, Hank as a rock star, Brut, his father.
I enter the kitchen to find white cabinets missing a countertop. A large Viking stove, industrial and stainless steel, graces the center of the main wall. My heart skips a beat at the appliance. I turn slowly, finding a farmhouse sink under a window. My eyes take in a double-door refrigerator, also stainless steel. The protective film still on the outside.
“What’s going on?” I repeat, taking in the full expanse of his small kitchen. A circular table centers the space with four chairs. The table doesn’t match the updated décor, but it’s obvious Brut has been improving his home, and it looks strangely like the kitchen I described in our game of what-ifs.
“Someone once told me if I didn’t like my house, I should rehab. I decided it’s time for a change.” Brut shrugs. He’s turned to face me, his back to the waffle iron which rests on a piece of wood over the cabinets as a makeshift countertop. “Maybe I’ll sell when I finish, but I’ll fix it up first and see what I think.” He turns back to the iron and removes a waffle, plating it and then motioning for me to sit at his table. A glass of orange juice awaits me.
“It’s like you’re nesting,” I say without thinking as I take my seat and thank him for the waffles. My mouth waters, and I suddenly feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.
“What’s that?” He chuckles as he turns back to the iron and pours more batter into the grid.
“When a woman who is…” My voice drifts. Oh God, I choke on my words. Then I swallow. I don’t know how to tell him.
“What is it, Lil?” His voice softens as he looks at me over his shoulder. I shake my head, signaling nothing, but my heart knocks in my chest. Tell him, it growls.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of anything,” Brut begins. “You can stay here. You can’t return to live there, Lily. It isn’t safe. I don’t want you working in that location either, but first things first. Insurance claims and the landlord before any other decisions are made.”
“It’s not that,” I mutter, holding back the moan as a bite of waffle fills my mouth.
“Then what is it?�
�� Brut takes the seat nearest mine, setting his plate on the table as he looks over at me.
“Nesting is when a pregnant woman prepares for having a baby. She cleans and reorganizes in preparation.”
“Oh.” Brut laughs nervously. “Well, I still want you to stay here.” He scrubs at back of his neck, staring down at the waffles on his plate. Tears fill my eyes, and I swallow.
“Lily pad, it wouldn’t be that bad, would it?” Hurt fills his eyes as he looks up at me.
“It’s not that, Brut.” All my life I’ve wanted to be with you. “I’m pregnant.” I let the bomb drop, and my voice lowers along with my head. I can’t face him. My skin prickles with the rejection he’s going to give me. The feeling he’s trapped all over again, this time from the beginning of the pregnancy and from the other sister.
His chair scrapes on tile floor, and I hold my breath. My chair moves, his hand on the seat, and I look up to find Brut lowering to a squat before me.
“Whose?” His question chokes him, and he swallows hard.
“Yours.” Panic fills me. How can he think it was anyone else’s? Was he with someone else in the time we’ve been apart? I want to cup his face as if to reassure him, but I worry that when the gravity of what I’ve said settles, he won’t want me touching him.
“Lily pad.” He scrubs a hand down his face, and I’m hyperaware of the scruffy scratch to his jaw. “How? When?”
“When we were on vacation. We didn’t exactly practice safe sex.” I take a deep breath. “I’m due in early June.”
Brut’s lips twist while his eyes lighten, almost dancing. “You have to stay with me now.” His voice is nearly a tease.
“Brut, I don’t want to be in your way. I don’t want you to feel trapped or feel like I did what my sis…” A large hand clamps over my mouth, and those eyes sparkling a moment prior darken.
“You will never be like her. Never compare yourself. I don’t feel burdened or trapped or anything else. Lily, with you, I’ve always felt…”
The momentary pause kills me as my heart races. “What?”
“Everything and beyond.”
A tear slips down my face as my head nods. I understand what he means because I’ve felt the same.
“Lily, stay here. Be with me.” His voice softens as he cups my face, begging me with his eyes, but I feel as if I can sense his heart. He wants me here. After a moment of his silent plea, he releases my face and lowers to my stomach. He kisses me over his T-shirt. His lips press on the cotton before his eyes leap upward.
“May I?” His hand already grips the edge of the shirt, lifting the material. When my stomach is exposed, Brut leans forward, pressing a more lingering kiss on my belly. His eyes close as his mouth remains on my stomach, as if he’s speaking to lima bean without words. My trembling hands come to his hair, brushing back the tendrils and combing through the white. We aren’t young anymore, I think.
As if reading my thoughts, his head pops up. “Are you okay? Everything’s okay, right? I mean she’s—”
“You mean I’m not young?” I tease.
“You aren’t old,” he says exasperated. “But being over forty, I know there can be risks.”
“So far so good. I’m having an ultrasound for the baby’s heartbeat next week.” A perk of being an older pregnant woman is the doctor requests this test immediately after calculating I’m roughly six to seven weeks along.
“A heartbeat,” he murmurs, his hand covering my belly, laying his warm palm on my skin. He hesitates, and there’s a question I’m hoping he won’t ask. There will be no discussion. This baby will be born, and I will raise lima bean alone. Unless…
Brut stands instantly, startling me. “Let me get the bathroom in my room set up for you. You must want a shower.”
I’m startled by the suggestion especially since I haven’t finished eating, and Brut hasn’t even touched his food. However, I can’t deny that I need a shower and maybe a few minutes of space. Brut looks like he’s thinking and maybe this excuse is a means to give himself some time alone.
He excuses himself, and I wait a short time before climbing the stairs to his room. Compared to the lower half of the house, the portion being redone, the upstairs needs some attention. I don’t know why I’m thinking these things other than my brain speeds forward. I haven’t lived in a house in a long time. I wonder if a nursery could be set up here. Brut offered for me to stay, but is it only temporary?
I step into Brut’s room and find him standing in the middle. He grabs the back of his neck again, and I don’t know what to say. Suddenly, I feel awkward around the man of my dreams. Maybe because I don’t want to lose him. Maybe because I’ve just dropped something huge on him. Maybe because I want to help him process, but I also want to give him space. I don’t know what to do.
“I know it’s not your stuff, but everything you might need is in there.”
I nod because I don’t trust the tears in my eyes and the scratch in my throat. I step forward for the bathroom after he waves toward the door. I enter, closing the door behind me, and take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. I’m a mess. My hair is wild. My eyes too large and sad. My tan skin fading. My hands rest on the counter, and I look down to find Scrabble tiles on the towel.
Stay with me, they spell. I gasp, shaky fingers coming to my lips. My other hand scoops up the pieces, and then I turn for the door.
Brut sits on the edge of his bed, his hands folded between his thighs.
“Brut,” I whisper, and he looks up at me. There’s another plea in his eyes.
“I mean it, Lily. Stay here, okay? We’ll work everything out.” This is his line. I’ve heard it before. Something in my stomach sinks, but more noticeable is the racing of my heart.
I step toward the nightstand and set the tiles on the surface, picking up only a few. Brut’s eyes press into me as I work and then I turn to him. Reaching for his hand, I open it palm upward and lay three tiles against his warm skin.
Yes.
Instantly, I’m tackled to bed. I let out a squeal while Brut climbs partially over me.
“Did I hurt the baby?” Worry fills his tone, but he’s already lowering his head and lifting the shirt I wear. He leans down to press kisses to my stomach. Soft suction caresses over my entire belly, warming me, baptizing me. Brut seems rather excited while still shocked. His hand follows the kisses, gently caressing my belly as if he can feel lima bean inside me.
“How are your legs?” The question startles me, and I chuckle.
“Better, thank you.” The numbing cream they initially swabbed on my skin wore off, and I have other medication to take for pain. My shins are still covered in bandages, but I didn’t need any stitches. The large swatches of gauze up my legs add to my disheveled appearance.
Brut scoots lower on my body, traveling over my underwear, and my breath hitches as most of his body rests between my spread-eagle legs. I’m instantly where I was this morning, and my fingers dig into the covering on his bed.
“Explain to me what was with this morning?”
I’m embarrassed to recall how I dry-humped him and was preparing to beg him for sex. His rejection put things in perspective. I needed to get this huge secret off my chest. Now that I have, I decide it wouldn’t hurt to add more truth to the morning.
“Pregnant women can be horny. I’m off the chart. I think I’m craving sex more than ice cream or pickles.”
Brut’s head pops up, a look of shock on his face at my honesty. Okay, maybe I’m being too truthful this morning.
“Did I just say that out loud?” I guffaw to cover my humiliation, but my tongue winds up to ramble more. “That’s another thing. I’m losing my mind a little, like misplacing my keys and not remembering I took out the trash to find I did it.”
“What you’re telling me is you need a little 739?” I stare at him a moment, uncertain what he means. “Like a booty call.”
I gasp, and then I remember the code we established at the beach house. If he w
as going to have sex with someone, he could text me to let me know.
“Oh. My. God.”
“You know, I’ll always answer that call from you,” he says, his voice lowering to a deep rumble before he exhales with a heavy breath over my hot core. The rhythm beating there is faster than my heart.
“A booty call,” I whimper. I don’t want to be a booty call to Brut, but right now, I’ll be anything he needs. I’m so desperate for his mouth.
“You’ll never be a booty call to me, Lily pad. Never.” His mouth covers wet cotton, and he exhales again, increasing the warmth down below. “Let me satisfy your hunger, Momma.”
My eyes roll back at the sound of him calling me the title, and then my back arches as he kisses me over the cotton. He tugs the material to the side, and his tongue swipes over me. I moan, my knees coming upward to brace on either side of his head. I don’t miss that one of his hands remains on my belly as his tongue pays me attention.
A strange thought occurs to me, and I say, “One day, you’re not going to be able to get on top of me because I’m going to get so fat.”
Brut pulls his mouth back and peers up at me. “Let’s practice then. Climb on top.”
Of all the ways Brut and I have been together, me over him has not been one of them yet. He flips to his back next to me, and I move to straddle him.
“Wait.” He places a hand on my hip. “Your legs.”
“Just lay back,” I demand, pressing on his shoulders to force him down. My body is going into overdrive. I’m willing to kneel on glass again just to get him inside me. In fact, if I don’t get his dick, I’m going to combust. Slipping off the bed, I whip off Brut’s tee and pull down my underwear. Brut perches up on his elbows to watch the hasty show but then falls back, staring up at the ceiling.
