Tim grinned. “I hope it’s a girl.”
Bevin rolled her eyes. “You say that as if you’re wishing doom upon him!”
He laughed. “Naw, but a little girl just like Rosita? C’mon, I know you can imagine it!”
“I don’t know whether to say that’s mean or that’s epic,” Bevin admitted. “But…I’mma go with epic. The world could use more Rositas.”
Tim palmed her tummy, and Bevin placed her hand atop his. “The world could use more Bevins too…” He looked up at her, his eyes soft with yearning, and Bevin linked their fingers together along her stomach.
“Already?” she asked. When she’d been pregnant with Kerry, she’d read endless parenting and child-rearing books. Many experts suggested a three/four-year gap between children so future finances could breathe in between them. Kerry wasn’t even eighteen months yet, and already Tim was talking about more. The timing, admittedly, wasn’t ideal; she’d just enrolled in an MBA program, in addition to Tim being shipped off at a moment’s notice, and they’d just started getting used to their new neighborhood. Then again, the timing of Kerry’s conception hadn’t been ideal, either; and now, she could barely remember what her life had been like without her son.
Tim shook his head and shrugged. “Whenever…just…puttin’ it out there in the universe…” He kissed her hand and Bevin helped him stand. He pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered he was taking a shower as he pulled away.
Grateful Tim had a penchant for long showers, she was able to make the batter for the cake and pour it into the greased cake pans before he came out of the bathroom. She saved a spoonful of batter for him and her father, laughing when Martin lit up like a kid in a candy store at the sight of the coated spoon.
“You spoil him,” Beverly accused, all the while scooping a dollop of the batter from the spoon and ignoring her husband’s indignant huff.
“I learned from the best,” Bevin returned with a wink, and Martin snorted in agreement.
They all abruptly stopped talking at the sound of rapid footsteps headed directly into the kitchen. Bevin refused to look at her parents—her mother in particular—knowing she’d completely lose it if she saw them cracking up rather than simply hearing it. Instead, she held out her hand to take the batter-free spoon and return it to the kitchen. As expected, Tim was there, wearing nothing but a towel and water droplets beaded on his skin, with a spoon in his mouth and bliss across his face.
He wasn’t the least bit contrite, either. “So, you’re baking another cake for everyone else, right?”
“You are foolish!” she declared, washing the spoon with the rag instead of putting it in the dishwasher. Tim came up behind her and washed his spoon with his arms about her, dropping sticky kisses to her jaw and shoulder as if to coax a different answer from her.
“But I’ve been a good boy…”
“Good boys get entire cakes to themselves?” she asked skeptically and placed her spoon in the drying rack.
“This one does—think of it as an anniversary present.”
Bevin chuckled even as she felt the heat rush up her cheeks. To think they would have been married two years on Tuesday boggled her mind. Sometimes, it’d felt they’d been together for a lifetime and other times it’d felt as if they’d just begun.
“And how do you know I haven’t already gotten your gift?”
“Pft, I know you have,” Tim said, squeezing her as he put the spoon in the drying rack also. “Between you and my baby boy—I’ve got all the gifts I’d ever need. But a hummin’bird cake would be a nice bonus.”
Bevin laughed lightly and kissed his still-damp bicep as she left his arms. “I’ll think about it…” She smacked the hard planes of his stomach with the back of her hand. “Now go change.”
“You know, it’s kinda sexy when you use the Mama voice—”
“Nope; still not getting an entire cake to yourself.”
She beamed at his pout and sent him on his way with a slight slap to his towel-clad ass.
By the time the cakes had been baked and cool enough for her to stack and frost, Bevin’s eyes were so heavy each blink felt like a struggle. She placed the cake in the refrigerator so it would keep properly and sleepily told her parents goodnight. Tim was already in bed when she entered their room, his glasses low on the point of his nose and his head drooped down, a thick, paperback tome opened in his lap. She left him like that while she went to take her own shower and brush her teeth; and when she returned, the glasses were on the book with his head bent completely forward. Clucking her tongue softly, Bevin set the glasses on the nightstand and used the edge of the blanket on the bed as a bookmark. When she glanced back to his face, his eyes were trained on her, and a corner of his mouth lifted.
“You knew I was in here the whole time,” she mumbled, squeezing his feet hidden by the duvet and he wiggled his toes comically.
“Yeah, I did, but I love it when you take care of me.”
She closed the bedroom door softly and shut off the main light, using the lamp on the nightstand to guide her to the bed. As soon as she got underneath the covers, Tim pulled her against him and she curled into his body.
“I’m your wife; it’s my job to take care of you,” Bevin said. Before marriage, the womanist in her would’ve railed against such a notion; but now, as a married woman, she used the term deliberately. She loved and cared for her husband and he loved and cared for her in return. Saying the words were only the tip of the iceberg for expressing the sentiments; actions resonated even more deeply than mere declarations.
Tim hugged her closer. “And you do it so well. I’m a lucky sonofabitch for it too.”
Bevin smiled sweetly and kissed him goodnight as she reached across his chest to turn off his lamp.
Early the next morning found the Capshaws walking to the park, Kerry carried in his father’s arms and chattering away. Bevin played an identifying game with him on the way there, her left hand free to point out various things along their route since her right had been commandeered by Tim. Not that she minded much; she loved the way his strong hand enveloped hers.
They headed immediately for the swings once they reached the park, and they set Kerry in one fit for toddlers his size. Bevin snapped photos with her phone while Tim pushed his son, both Capshaw men laughing with joy as they played. After that, they went on the slides together, Kerry secure in her lap as they went down and Tim cheering them on enthusiastically. If Tim hadn’t been so big, he would’ve given it a go, but he didn’t want to risk getting stuck on the apparatus.
From there they went to the monkey bars, with Tim giving his son a mini lesson in pull-ups; then a bumblebee spring rider; then a see saw, with Kerry in her lap to give them better leverage against Tim. They capped off their excursion on the merry-go-round, all three whooping as the air whooshed across their faces.
It was already impossibly warm and muggy by the time they returned to her parents’ house, and they greeted Bevin’s mother coming out as they were entering.
“Babies!” she cheered, kissing all of them on the cheek. “Making a Cracker Barrel run—I assumed pancakes and sausage all around.”
“With a side of biscuits?” Tim asked, pleading with his eyes.
“And patties for me?” Bevin added.
“I’ll ask them when I get there,” Beverly promised and laughed when Tim placed a smacking kiss to her cheek.
Bevin showered and washed up Kerry since Martin had recruited Tim into helping him set up the front and back yards for the barbecue. Beverly had returned once mother and son were dressed, and Bevin helped her mother set the table for breakfast. When that task was done, Beverly relieved her daughter of her grandson and Bevin went into the backyard to check on the other two men in her life.
Tim’s gray T-shirt was already soaked thanks to the heat and humidity, and her panties became soaked at the sight of the ripples and ridges of his muscular back and torso. Tim stood and stretched after setting up a card table, pausing a s
econd before turning toward the backdoor. Bevin would’ve been embarrassed had Tim caught her ogling him the way she was at the beginning of their relationship; but she was a married woman now, a married woman to a fine specimen of a man.
“Like what you see, Mrs. Capshaw?” Tim called out, making a show of it by wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt and taking his sweet time doing so.
“I love what I see,” Bevin corrected, fanning herself. “My husband’s so fine he blows my mind!”
Tim grinned and shrugged. “Just tryna keep up with my wife, ’tis all…”
“Yeah, yeah, a little less flirting and more moving,” Martin grumbled. “Baby Bevin, go on back in that house and stop distracting the boy. Why else you think I sent your mama to Cracker Barrel?”
“Because you wanted pancakes,” Bevin sassed, and Tim’s deep chortle echoed through the backyard.
Martin sucked his teeth and glared, but his grin dulled the effect. “For your husband’s safety, please go back in the house, baby girl.”
Bevin scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “My husband is a Navy SEAL, an elite soldier; you can’t possibly tell me he’d be distracted by me just standing here watching him!”
“Sugar, enemy fighters don’t make force me to work with hard-ons like you do—”
Martin dropped the folding chair he’d been carrying and it barely missed his foot. Without another word, Bevin promptly returned into the house, managing to hold in her giggles until she was out of the backyard’s earshot.
It seemed one moment the house was quiet with just the five of them, and the next it was full of food, family and friends, and fun. As expected, Bevin barely got to see or hold her child; but Kerry was a happy, easygoing baby and she trusted everyone in the house to love and care for him—particularly since her mother led the charge. Also as expected, Rosita ushered her into her old childhood bedroom as soon as she crossed the Moores’ threshold with the Velezes and Ulrich in tow. Bevin didn’t even have time to laugh when Rosita closed the door in Ulrich’s face, for Rosita immediately launched into a recount of how the night went. They mimicked their old confessional positions from their youth—both lying on the bed flat on their backs while staring at the ceiling. Their hands were linked and Bevin didn’t speak until Rosita finished purging.
“You know you’re gonna marry him, right?”
Rosita sputtered, her fingers tightening around Bevin’s. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way…”
“Why? Because he was dating Patrice first? Or because you thought he’d be a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of dude for you? Hate to break it to you, but I’ve always told you you weren’t wired that way. You’re not raised by Milagros and Juan Velez without at least considering a traditional family being in your future.”
“I didn’t do it the ‘traditional’ way, though,” Rosita reminded her.
“You’re still you,” Bevin teased and chuckled, squeezing their fingers again. “And you picked a good one, Rosa.”
The soft smile on her friend’s face told Bevin more than Rosita’s words had during their whole conversation.
They said little after that, both taking in the music and laughter of the barbecue amid the quietness of the bedroom. It wasn’t long before a knock sounded on the door, and both ladies sat up as Bevin told the person to enter. Tim and Ulrich appeared in the frame but they didn’t enter, and regarded them tenderly. Rosita groaned and fell back onto the bed, taking Bevin with her, and Bevin laughed at her friend’s antics.
“You see how rude he is, lookin’ at me like that?” Rosita mumbled into Bevin’s shoulder. “¡Es un mojón!”
She laughed harder and snuggled Rosita. “Callin’ your baby daddy a piece of shit isn’t very nice.”
“Agreed,” Ulrich said, now coming into the room. “She’s been calling me that all night, but I choose to believe she’s doing so ironically.”
“Why can’t you be the meathead I’d pegged you to be?” Rosita demanded, sitting up again. Ulrich grinned at her and crouched down so they were eyelevel. Rosita averted her gaze and crossed her arms at her chest, but Bevin saw the amusement in her expression.
“The only reason we even met was because we were taking classes for the Navy—elite classes for an elite fighting squad of the Navy—and you have the gall to have pegged me a meathead?” Ulrich asked, all the while kissing Rosita’s cheek.
“I don’t like you,” Rosita insisted with a pout.
“You right; I think it’s much stronger than that.”
Bevin hid her face with her pillow to muffle her guffaw, but she heard Rosita slapping Ulrich and cussing him out in Spanish as they left her room. The door closed behind them, but she knew she wasn’t alone. She waited until her giggles subsided to remove the pillow from her face. Tim was there, leaning against the door with his arms crossed at his chest, and his expression was the furthest thing from innocent.
Bevin immediately began shaking her head. “Mr. Capshaw, you tryna get us in trouble.”
He nodded in counterpoint and sauntered towards her, his powerful body graceful and virile with each step he took across the short distance from the door to her. Whipping off his shirt, He kicked off the flip flops he’d been wearing and lowered his body until he barely grazed her, then pushed back up and repeated the action again. Every time he came closer, his lips brushed against a new part of her face and neck, until Bevin groaned in frustration and brought his mouth down on hers. Even his triumphant chuckle didn’t diminish the pleasure she gained from his kiss.
“You’re so soft, sugar,” he mumbled against her mouth, his hands pushing up the long skirt of her coral maxi dress. “Why you always so soft…?” His fingers found the damp crotch of her panties and he hummed in the back of his throat. “Wet too…”
A Backstreet Boys poster stared back at her, but it was unfocused and hazy. She’d never gone through the teenage rite of passage of making out with boys in her room, but she thought her husband was the perfect person with whom to finally make it happen. She yelped slightly when he tugged on her bottom lip as he slipped two fingers inside of her, and her vaginal muscles immediately clamped around him. Tim groaned against her mouth and she began pumping her hips against his hand.
“Fuck,” he whispered, breathing harshly against her cheek. “I’m so hard for you Bevin, baby.”
“Looks like a fantasy of yours is comin’ true, after all,” Bevin mumbled into his ear, then she bit his earlobe gently. “Defiling me in my childhood bedroom…”
Tim groaned and thrust his thick fingers hard inside of her. She gasped, growing wetter at the squishy sounds his thrusts created. Tim crooned as he pumped, egging on her impending first climax on until she flooded his palm with a muted cry.
“Off, baby, off,” he demanded gruffly, yanking down his shorts and boxers with one hand and pumping his engorged cock with the other. He glistened in the shafts of sunlight that came through the blinds of her window, letting her know he stroked his dick with her come. The sight turned her on so much her clit throbbed, and she spread her legs and circled it to relieve the pressure.
Tim grunted and bent forward to kiss her raised knee, going higher to her slick thighs with his tongue leading the way. Bevin somehow managed to jerk off her dress and snap off her bra, laughing throatily when Tim’s other hand immediately grasped a sable globe.
“So soft,” he mumbled, right before flicking his tongue against her clit. She became spineless, her legs falling onto the bed and splaying out, conveniently giving him more room. He braced both his hands on her hips and went to town, nibbling, slurping, licking, and sipping from her channel. One hand moved to stroke through the tights curls of her mound and eventually settled low on her belly, using it to brace her against his mouth so he could get his complete fill. Bevin knew she was going to die; his tongue and lips granted her no rest, no quarter, from the orgasms invading her body.
“Tim, Tim, Tim,” she chanted breathlessly, and pushed his head closer to her even as she tr
ied to shy away from his mouth. He laughed against her and tugged on her nether lip with his teeth.
“You wanna come, baby?”
“Tim!” she sobbed, sitting up so he could feel the full power of her glare. He pulled back, his mouth shiny with her essence, and Bevin surged forward to kiss him. He gathered her close and moved up her body, letting his tongue duel with hers. The taste of her in his mouth made her groan and press closer to him.
He was never close enough.
“Bevin, baby, Bevin,” he murmured, reaching a hand between them to guide his cock inside her. They both hissed as she created slick vice around him, and Tim lightened the kiss, sweeping his hand along her bare back.
“Feels good to be home,” he whispered against her temple. She accepted his preliminary thrust with a soft sigh, her fingernails pressing into his scalp when the next one came firmer. The other hand glided along the ridges of his taut arms and back, her body shuddering at the warm puffs of his breath into her sweat-sheened neck. He felt so full inside of her, stretching her deliciously.
“God, I love you,” he muttered, tangling their fingers together and thrusting faster and harder into her. She squeezed his hands and matched him stroke for stroke, dipping her head so she could capture his lips with hers. He was a heavy, welcome weight atop and around her, and she arched her back to feel more of him press against her.
He took her cue and adjusted their positions until he was leaning against the wall with her straddling his lap. She ground herself atop him, all the while keeping their foreheads together. His hands guided her hips and his words added fuel to her inner fire.
“Want me to bust inside you?” he asked, his breath tickling her lips. “Want me to fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days?” He shoved her down hard into his lap and she whimpered. “Let me give you a daughter who looks just like you, sugar…”
Bevin bit her scream into Tim’s collarbone as she came, and he was a split second behind her.
Trolling Nights: Interludes Page 2
