A Mess of Reason

by A. Wilding Wells

  She puts her hands on my face, placing a small, tender kiss on my lips as I lift her sweatshirt up over her head.

  “Tess?”

  “I never did.” Her smile goes from ear to ear and I want to eat it off her face as she throws her arms around my neck.

  “Oh my God, my sweet girl…you never did? You trusted yourself. You found…you.”

  The look on her face makes my heart jump wildly as I pull her body up onto mine. I stand with her in my arms and spin her around in circles.

  “With a little help from a five-year-old named Gigi. I have super-duper powers now. I’m going to use them—wanna see?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I tell her as I pepper her face with kisses. Then toss I her gently back down on the bed and start to unbutton my shirt.

  “Hi, I’m Tess. I’m carrying your baby. I’m going to marry you. Wanna fuck?”

  I groan at her words. I can’t unbuckle my belt fast enough. Zipper down, and I’m out. Hard as a titanium rod.

  “Hi, I’m Scout. You’re carrying our baby. You’re going to be my sexy wife. And yes, I really, really want to fuck.” I climb on top of her as she giggles in that playful way that makes all my senses stand at attention.

  I study her face, the only face I’ve ever loved, as she pulls my lips onto hers.

  “God, you’re gorgeous…your lips, your eyes, your naked skin…your heart…. And in there…our baby. Our baby. Beautiful Tessie girl.”

  “Scout,” she whispers, taking me back to sixteen when we were here in this very spot. I’d just kissed her, then her hand was on mine, stopping me as I’d teased it up under her shirt by an inch. And it feels like my yesterday, my today, and my future are all coming together, wrapped up into one moment that my mind flips through as if it were a storybook.

  I peel her panties down, savoring every inch of her, every inch of the girl I’ve ached for my whole life. The woman that now will finally be mine for the rest of my life. A shift of electricity sweeps between us as I lace my left hand in hers, my thumb tracing the edge of the engagement ring I’d just placed on it minutes ago. Slowly I enter the wet depth of her tightness.

  “Tess…”

  Her eyes are lazy, seductive, but her movements mirror mine in sensuous need wrapped with reckless passion. The sensation of her moving beneath me sends a warm flood of urge through every vein in my body.

  “I’ve missed you, Scout. Oh…” Her soft kiss presses against my smile. Her whimpers of need, breaths on my neck, hands searching my body, are an invitation that makes me breathless and urgent.

  “Tess. So wet, so good. Sweetheart, fuck…”

  The sounds of our lovemaking, explorations of each other, and commitment to our future as husband and wife transform us from lovers to soulmates. Together we surrender, giving in to our primal needs and urges with ravenous claim.

  “Tess Steele…I love how it sounds as much as I love being inside of you. Are you going to take my name, sweetheart?”

  “Of course I am. I’m taking all of you…oh, God, yeah, Scout. So good…”

  “All of me? Like this…deep like this?”

  “I want all of you deeper in me.”

  Our wild hunger holds us captive and courts our collective climax. I feel her tighten around my girth, punishing me with deep aches and rhythmic thrusts as I crave my lustful release. I hold both of Tess’s hands captive above her head, fingers entwined as I make love to her in an unforgettable moment that has every fiber of my being in a full, soulful swell.

  “Tess…come with me.” I look into her eyes, which are glassy with love and tenderness, acceptance, and a raw fearlessness that I’d fallen in love with back when we were teenagers.

  “Scout, yeah…coming with you…” Her broken words transport and provoke my fire until we find and uncover the center of our pleasure together.

  *

  Tess holds her hand up to the light, flipping it this way and that, admiring the sparkles on her ring. “Sapphires, my favorite. They match your eyes. I know there’s a story here. Spill it, Romeo. Whose were they? What’s the missing gem mystery? Did you save it to fill the gap between my teeth? If only I could rap better—I could get all Iggy on you.”

  “Better? I’ve got bad news, Tess. You got skill, girl…but not in that department. Your dog is as likely to have baby kittens as you are to be rapping as well as Iggy Azalea.”

  She wraps her legs around mine, scootching her hips close to me as she giggles.

  “Now, for the ring…you’re onto my secret ways, are you, my almost Mrs. Steele?”

  “Almost Mrs. Steele…I like that. A.M.S. Might be my new license plate on Gypsy Girl.”

  “The sapphires were the Duchess of Windsor’s.”

  She gasps upon hearing her name. It’s as good as telling her Christmas is now a monthly holiday.

  “I’ve always known I was going to do something with them for you. In my mind I had prayed for this. I bought them last year at an auction in London. They were in a small hat pin of hers. I know you loved her. I’m a good listener, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Her eyes trace my face like it’s a map, searching every corner for something, until she lands on my eyes—finding me.

  “The missing stone is for good luck.” I bring her ring finger to my lips and kiss it. “My grandmother lost a stone in her ring the year she and my grandfather got married. She never replaced it. She told me it was an opening in their relationship to always let light in, a good luck harbinger. She called it the ‘imperfection of marriage,’ which is what makes it such an exquisite union. I kind of liked that, being a story guy and all.”

  Her eyes are hypnotic, a near dreamlike state glazing over them as she looks at me while drawing circles in my chest hair.

  “You always knew we’d be here. You always knew. It’s like everything you’ve ever done for me was all building up to this, Scout.”

  “Your super powers are on high mode and my force field is down. Yeah, somehow I knew it would all work out for us. I didn’t know when, but I knew eventually it would.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  TESS

  “Are you ready for me—and naked—because I’m almost ready.” Being nine months pregnant and horny doesn’t exactly go together like peas and corn. But my hormones are on overdrive and although I look like a giant, ripe peach, I feel remarkably sexy…and holy man candy, do I need to get some.

  “Sweetheart, no woman like you has to ask her husband if he’s naked and ready for a lap dance. I’ve been sitting here with a hard-on nursing this drink for ten minutes waiting for you to come out of there.”

  “Sorry, I just want it to be really good…really sexy. I’m just finishing up.”

  My arms encircle my beach-ball-sized belly as I try to reach past it. I feel a bit like I’m at the circus tryouts. Putting on fishnet thigh highs has never before had me breaking out in a marathon sweat.

  I peek out the door to see my handsome husband of two months as he sits on the leather chair in our bedroom, buck naked. He’s been begging for a pre-baby lap dance. Who could refuse a man who wants that from his post-pop preggers wife? Post-pop, as in one week past due. As in, get out here now, baby! Scout finds this whole pregnancy thing very hot: the bigger I am, the more horny he gets. The nice thing is once I got to my twentieth week, beyond all my nausea, my tits got…well, blimpluscious. And yes! I was all in.

  “Sexy? You already are, baby! That belly alone…hottest thing ever.”

  “Very funny!” My belly, for the record…it’s not sexy. It’s stretch-marked to the hilt and my burn scars now look like Silly Putty gone rogue. All I need now are the Sunday comics tattooed all over my bigness. But I love that he says it anyway. A well-trained man, if ever there was one.

  “I love your belly. Come on, sweetheart. You don’t have to try hard—but you better come out of that bathroom if you want me to stay hard.”

  “Okay, close your eyes. I’m coming out!” I sing it in my best Diana Ross—which is ma
rginal at best.

  “Close my eyes? Not a chance. Get your sweet ass out here, woman. I want a show!”

  I press play on my iPhone, volume at full bore. “Ain’t No Other Man” by Christina Aguilera starts blasting as I sashay out of the closet in my four-inch silver heels, fishnet thigh highs, and tiny lace robe that ties in the front over my whompin’ belly. I skipped the panties because good Lord, I can’t see down there anymore unless Scout holds a mirror about two feet away from my lady parts. Getting lace panties on is worse than the stocking hullabaloo.

  My bra, though…oh sister. I’ve gone from a 32A to a 36C. Seemed impossible to me but I am living proof that miracles do happen. I officially have fun bags. Yup, my very own dairy section. And let me tell you, we have used and abused these Victoria’s Secret wannabe angels like nobody’s business. So yes, I have on a bra that will make Scout’s head spin. It’s made of tiny gold mesh chains with sexy gold tassels in the front. I got it in online from a fancy store in Paris. Gonna shake my moneymakers, now that I’ve got some!

  The smile on his face as he watches me come out dancing gives me a storm of butterflies in my belly. He’s all devilishly handsome, with eyes sparkling as he takes me in head to toe. We’re both cracking up and I know with every fiber of my being that even though I feel like a capsized turtle, he really does find me sexy as all get-out, because he’s that guy. Big as I am, let me tell you—I can still move. And this being my favorite dance song…this little almost mama is shaking her groove thang.

  “Tess.” It comes to me in a low, rumbling growl. I love the way he says my name. Nothing sounds sexier than a man calling your name with want and need in an erotic, dark tone. “Jesus, sweetheart—hot as fuck. Get over here. Lap dance time.”

  “There are rules, Scout.”

  “There are times to play by the rules and times to break them. I’m making my own rules for you, little hot mama. No panties, nice. Let’s shake this robe thing off—I want prime real estate in my lap.”

  Scout pulls the ribbon on my robe and moves it off my shoulders. Now it’s just me in a few barely-there bits…and his ready-to-roll beautiful maleness.

  “Turn around. I want to see your sweet ass ride me. Give it to me, girl.”

  I spin myself around, put my hands on my knees, shaking every ounce of my sex at him as I giggle. His laugh kills and eggs me on, those deep groans laced with lust and chuckles making my pulse kick up like a lit fuse. After palming my ass with his hands, making me wetter than a puddle, he pulls my hips onto him, allowing me to slide up and down his stiff length as he kisses the back of my neck with wet, sweet, tender licks. I gyrate my hips in circles, then move with slow strokes across him, dragging my saturated sex against his velvety girth.

  “Fuck, Tess, this hot. Turn around and straddle me. I want those gorgeous melons in my face.”

  I turn to face him, and he spreads my legs over his knees, allowing me to shake the bounty of my breasts across his lips. I go full tilt, as if I’ve had them forever. I own these girls. They are, no question, my new favorite sex accessory. Too bad they don’t have an off-vibration button.

  Scout breaks all rules, per usual—thank God for the bad boys—and slips his fingers under the chains that crisscross over my nipples. I don’t need much more that a featherlight touch and good Lord, the orgasms are so powerful now, I’m certain I’ll go into labor or orbit every time I come. He strokes my nipples with one hand while caressing every inch between my legs with the other. He’s all male. Hands roving, sex radiating off him, his masculine scent of barely-there spice clinging to space between us.

  “Scout, I’m gonna…”

  I’m so close. So very achingly close. His fingers slide through my velvety folds, pausing on my clit for the perfect little rub at each pass. He unfastens my bra and consumes my breasts like he’s lapping a bowl of milk. The sound of his suckling, as I look down to see my pink nipples gliding in and out of his begging lips, drags every ounce of pleasure from my core as I come.

  “Good girl,” he says in a husky growl. “Oh baby, that was gorgeous. To see you lose it on my lap… Okay, now turn back around and straddle me so I can fuck your wet pussy.”

  “Careful, Scout, I’m pretty hot right now. You can’t say those words without making me want to blow again.”

  “What words, sweetheart?” he says as I ease myself onto his lap, pressing my back against his sweaty chest, feeling his unshaven face nuzzle against me.

  “Fuck my wet pussy.” It’s a broken whisper, a sultry promise. He loves anything naughty that falls from my lips. He baits me, and I let him have it because he waits for it like a starved dog outside a butcher shop. I feel his hands holding his cock as he slides it into me, burying himself so deeply it makes my toes curl in ecstasy. I want all he’s got to give. His sex-roughened groan has me wetter than ever as I rise and fall in slow, penetrating pumps over his rigid length.

  “I just needed to hear you say that. Oh fuck, Tess. You’re still so fucking tight…gripping my cock. You are the sexiest thing ever, baby.” His hands hold my breasts as they bounce up and down in rhythm with my acceleration. He twists my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making me want to come undone already. His hands are perfection to watch, those long beautiful fingers working over my curves, owing every inch of me.

  “Scout, I’m not long for it, honey…oh!” The bomb inside of me is about to go off again as all points in my body begin to gather and sweep together like the swirl of a tornado.

  “Oh, Tess, yeah…” he says as he slides his fingers down my ass crack—which almost makes me come right then—until I feel his fingers split open around his cock as they reach my clit, sliding back and forth with each intense penetration.

  “I’m there, Scout. Come with me…oh…” And as I say the words and claim the ache from the depth of my orgasm, I come like never before, wetter than ever… and holy mother of God, it keeps coming…and coming. As in, mini-waterfall…

  “Sweetheart, I think you more than just came, baby. Unless we just sprung a leak on the melons?”

  “What?” I say, while sliding up and down his length, claiming that last bit of pleasureful throbbing.

  “I think your water broke. I think it’s time.”

  “Oh my God…time?” Like a shotgun going off inside of me, panic hits.

  “Baby time, Sass!” His smile blankets me in a cocoon of love and warmth, sending shivers across every naked piece of my skin. I burst into tears, overwhelmed by the ecstatic feelings surging like lighting through my body. Baby time?

  “Scout…” I’m shaking as I look down at his soaked legs, the chair, the floor…then back up to his watery eyes. He’s all warm-milk calm, pulling my body into his, and it makes me cry even harder because I just know he’s going to make the best daddy ever.

  “Honey, it’s okay. Breathe. I’m going to go call the midwife and we’re going to get you set up by the birth pool just like we’ve been talking about. Don’t be nervous. We’re gonna do this together. Calm baby, calm.”

  Nervous? Nervous? I’m flipping out—nervous was five seconds ago. I’m terri-fucking-fied. Excited, but scared shitless. I’m about to go bungee jumping off the top of a building. But at least I know this: I’m about to have a baby tonight with the most amazing, lovely man who’s ever graced the face of this earth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  SCOUT

  From all outward appearances, you could call me calm. Calmer than a sleeping sloth, even. I realize there’s no choice in this: only one of us gets to flip their lid. Inside, my head is buzzing like a field of crickets on fire. I’m at the final game of the season about to throw the ball to the receiver, who’s going to zip down the sideline and touch that sucker down.

  Within one hour our midwife, Nora, is here and Tess has gone from orgasming on my lap to full-on contractions coming at her in stunning force. A hard, charging rush of adrenaline hits me every time she yells out in pain. I’m determined not to give away my fears, but fuck
if my emotions aren’t scattered about yard-sale style.

  “Fuuuuck! Scouuut! The next time a woman tells me natural childbirth is a beautiful thing, back the hell up so I can roundhouse kick her in the face. “Beautiful” would not be my most choice word right now!

  Yes. Like a wildcat swimming in the sea, she’s yelling. I kind of figured she wouldn’t be a lamb about it. I actually encouraged drugs, but the midwife thought differently and convinced us otherwise. I didn’t want to be a dick about it so I backed off. Right about now, Tess is saying dick would have been good. Not that I’m throwing anyone under the bus.

  “Give me a shot of tequila; I honestly cannot handle this! Scout!” Now she’s barking orders. I’m calm though. Calm, calm, calm. She’s officially been hacked into by the Tasmanian birthing devil that smells blood in the water, then infiltrates mothers in labor. I can hear it in her Beelzebub tone.

  “Tess, baby…calm. You would puke if you had a shot right now.”

  She grabs my arm with a death grip, literally drawing blood via three of her short, emerald-green nails. “Now! Dammit!”

  I shoot a look at the midwife with raised brows and question in my eyes. She gives me a concerned look with an unsure nod, then whispers to me that while it’s not the best idea in the book and not her suggestion even remotely, it’s our choice. Perfecto! Everybody wins!

  “Coming right up!” The pit of my stomach feels lined with acid as I hand Tess the shot that she promptly swigs back like an alley drunk. Minutes later, although the contractions keep coming in tsunami waves, she does seem a hair—fractionally only, but yes—more calm.

  Then we go into iron-clad lock-down mode. It’s time.

  “Scout, she’s at ten, so let’s get her into the bath again, and you get to play receiver this time, Mr. QB.” Nora takes my arm and leads me into position as though I’ve just had a lobotomy. That would be shock she’s identified registering across my face.