by Julie Bailes
I squeeze his shaft tighter, stroke him faster for several minutes, and heated liquid covers my hands. His warmth shoots onto my stomach and fire sparks in his eyes as he watches his cum cover me. When I’m sure he’s finished releasing himself, I take my fingers into my mouth and suck them clean, enjoying the taste of his salty sweetness.
“You are impossible, woman,” he growls. He lifts me under my arms as if I’m weightless and carries me to the bed, a new four-poster king-size one. “If something happens, and you go into labor because of this, I’ll never forgive myself.” He gently lays me on the bed, and I spread my legs to invite him in. “Please, try not to moan, or I’ll lose control. Fuck, I can’t lose control … I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” he pants.
I reach between my legs and grab his cock, pulling him to me.
He pulls back before consuming me. “No, not like this.” He gets off the bed and pulls me to the edge of the mattress. “Get on your knees and rest your chest against the pillows. If you feel anything, even the slightest cramp, you tell me. Promise me this, or I’m not doing it,” he threatens.
“Promise,” I blurt out a bit eagerly. Here I am, ass in the air and face in the pillow, with juices dripping down my thighs. I’ll tell him anything he wants to hear.
He brings his tip to me and slowly slides inside. Fucking hell, it’s amazing. The burn as he fills me with his thickness, the stretching … it provides mind-blowing pleasure! I bite my lip and smother my face deep into the pillow in an attempt to muffle my involuntary moans. How can he expect me to contain what I have no control over? He thrusts in and out of me slowly, and I hear him grunt as he struggles to control himself from fucking me the way we both desire. I’m starving for some ass-slapping and pounding, but I can’t tempt him. I know what we’re doing has risks, but so does everything else in life.
Although my nipples are sensitive, I remove his hands from my hips and place them on my breasts. This causes him to penetrate me deeper as he leans forward to keep hold of them as they bounce. “Fuck,” he hisses, his voice husky and breathless.
With the deeper penetrations and a few nipple pinches, I’m unable to harbor my moans. I moan frequently and loudly. He tries to avoid deep penetration, but I push back and meet him thrust for delicious thrust. He hisses and moans, and then fills me with his rhythmic release, putting me in an orgasm-induced coma.
My body goes limp, and the side of my face finds rest on the pillow. I remain with my ass in the air as the evidence of our sweet release travels down the insides of my thighs. Blake comes up behind me and a satisfied chuckle escapes him. “That good, huh?” he asks, acknowledging how lethargic I appear. I nod weakly. He lifts me from the bed and carries me into the bathroom. He then lowers me into the warm water. The lilac and vanilla aroma fills my senses. He pads across the room and turns on some soft melodies. Boyce Avenue’s “Faithfully” fills the room. I close my eyes and relax against the back of the tub. Blake pushes my back up and slides in behind me, spreading his legs to the side so I can relax into him.
I’m too weak to talk, but he’s used to my speechless aftershock that immediately takes place after killer orgasms. I listen to the music while his hands worship my body as he washes me clean. Once we’re pruned to the max, he lets me get dressed while he goes down and whips up something to eat. Rummaging through his overnight bag, I find one of his shirts and put it on. No panties, but that’s fine with me. I see a pair of socks and take them, too. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the small portion of my feet that I can actually see, pondering how I’m going to put these on. And I must’ve been considering it longer than I thought, because Blake rushes into the room panicking. “You okay?” he asks, breathing heavily. “You’re not hurting, are you?” He walks over and bends down in front of me. “What’s wrong, baby?” He takes my chin into his hand and pulls me in for a kiss.
“Nothing, really. I’m just figuring out how to get these damned things on,” I tell him, holding the socks up for him to see.
He lowers his head and laughs hysterically. “What’s so funny?” I don’t see what’s amusing about my big ass not being able to reach my own damn feet. He lifts my feet one by one and slides the socks on. Then he stands and offers me his hands. Even though my inner child wants to cross my arms and pout, I’m starving and can’t make it down these steps by myself. We go downstairs, and Blake’s blown up a huge air mattress in front of the fire and set up our dinner on the corner table in the living room.
He doesn’t allow me to get my own plate; instead, he makes me climb into the middle of the mattress, as he hand-delivers me a plate of shrimp alfredo, salad, and a breadstick. He walks over to fix his own plate, only to drop it on the floor when he sees my plate’s empty when he turns around. “Damn, baby. I know you hardly ever chew, but did you even taste it?”
Actually, no. “Well … no,” I admit shamelessly. He cleans up his mess as I make myself comfortable in front of the fire. The popping sound from burning wood turns into my lullaby, and I begin to drift off as Blake eats his food.
The bed gives a little, and I hear the sound of running water and brushing of teeth, which reminds me I should probably brush mine. Nah, one night won’t do any damage. I hear him unzip the bag he brought down with us, but I don’t bother lifting these sand-filled eyes to see what he’s doing. “Babe, you sleeping?” he whispers. His fingers travel delicately down the side of my face, and I look to him sleepily, snapping my eyes open when I see a small velvet box resting on the pillow under my nose.
He helps me sit up, and I swing my legs off the side of the mattress. He gets down on both knees and takes both of my hands into his. My heart’s galloping like a racehorse. The flames from the fire illuminate his hazel eyes, hypnotizing me as he gazes passionately into my eyes. But what he doesn’t realize is that he’s staring into the eyes of a liar, a cheater, a woman unworthy of his love. My eyes sting as they fill with tears of joy, but mostly shame.
“Allie… God, baby, I love you so damn much.” He pauses to swallow. “You and our babies are my world, my entire life. Although I’m not around as much as I would like to be, you consume my mind every moment we’re apart. I’m not sure what the future holds for us, but I know it includes you. I promise to love you forever, grow with you, and thank God for you every single day of my life. I promise to continue losing my breath every time I see your beautiful face.” He pulls my hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of them before continuing. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Allie Grace Anderson. Will you do the honor of taking my hand, accepting my heart as forever yours, and marry me, please?” This is where I go breathless and shrink down into the size of an ant. Tears rolls freely down my face, and immediately, I become ill.
I knock him down as I stand and rush to the nearest bathroom, lifting the toilet seat and expelling everything within me; everything except the one thing I wish I could get rid of: shame and guilt. He’s at my side, holding my hair and rubbing my back. I stand up and press my back against the wall, bawling uncontrollably. “You don’t want to marry me, B,” I get out between heaves.
He takes my face between his hands and forces me to look into his dedicated eyes. “Baby, I can’t think of anything I want more than to make you Mrs. Blake Andrews. I want you, Al, forever,” he confesses.
Oh God, why? I used to be a strong woman. What happened to her? When did I become this feeble mess of a woman? That’s right; the day Wyatt walked into my life and claimed my heart as if he’d owned it his entire life.
“I promise you, you don’t.” I have to take in a few breaths before I’m able to explain to him why I’m no good for him. “I love you, B, you have to believe that,” I plead.
“I believe you,” he breathes, kissing the tip of my nose. I don’t have to tell him what I did, but I can’t build a marriage built on lies. I’m a metaphor for self-destruction. “Wyatt and I, we did something. Something I regret immensely,” I weep.
“Fuck!” he hi
sses, releasing my face and turning away from me. He paces the floor with his back to me.
“Please, don’t do that,” I cry out.
“Do what?” he snaps.
“Turn your back on me.” His face falls at my heart-wrenching plea; he knows my biggest fear is abandonment.
“Recently?” I nod. “That persistent son-of-a-bitch,” he sputters. His face turns bright red, and I realize there are tears falling from his eyes. “How? No, not how. Why? Allie, why?” he asks, bending over to catch his breath. He deserves an answer, but nothing I can say will make up for the way I’ve betrayed him. “Answer me, Allie! For fuck’s sake, say something. You’re carrying my babies, and you sleep with him?” he screams.
“I didn’t sleep with him. I promise.” He punches a hole into the drywall, scaring me because I’ve never seen him so angry. And his livid tone causes me to flinch. “Shit,” he mumbles, turning around to grab my face as he realizes how frightened I am. “I need for you to tell me what you did. I need to know if it’s dismissible or not. Just … please, tell me.”
“I went there because I was lonely, desperate for human interaction. Sophie and I aren’t friends anymore. You’re never home. Mom and Carson work just as much as you, and Wyatt was the only person who had time for me,” I croak.
“Are you kidding me? I’m always there for you, and you know it. You know I’ll drop whatever I’m doing if you need me,” he defends.
“I don’t want a part-time love, Blake! I need you to be there for me when I need you, not only for emergencies. Yes, if there’s something wrong, you’re there. But when you’re home, which isn’t much, you’re sleeping. I miss you,” I wail.
“Tell me what happened,” he demands, changing the subject.
“I went to talk to him, as a friend. I was emotional, vulnerable, and things between us got carried away. We didn’t have sex, but he did …” I can’t spit it out. How do I tell the man I love, the father of my unborn children, that the man he despises most paralyzed my mind by pleasuring me?
“He did what, Allie?”
“He used his fingers,” I mumble, both ashamed and embarrassed. He falls to his knees and hangs his head in his hands. Cautiously, I reach down and tilt his head up to me. “I’m sorry,” I apologize sincerely. He takes my wrists and tugs me down to him. His eyes skim my body as he contemplates his next move. He places his hands to the sides of my swollen belly, rests his forehead on top of it, and weeps. I run my fingers through his hair and join him, drowning in sorrow.
He caresses my stomach in silence for what seems like hours. Finally, Blake stands and helps me to my feet. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he mutters hoarsely.
“Home?” I ask. “That’s it? You don’t want me anymore?” Why am I surprised? I’m not worth fighting for, never have been.
“You know I want you. Dammit, Allie, when I asked you to spend forever with me, I meant it. I want you, always. Just … I can’t deal with this right now. I’m this close to beating the life out of that bastard and going to prison for the rest of my life. Is it worth it? Fuck yeah, but I have a family to think of. I love you, and that won’t change. You broke my trust, shattered that shit to pieces, but trust can be earned again,” he expresses. He takes my hand and leads us through the house and out to the car.
Once we’re in the car, I have to ask a question I’m nervous to know the answer to. “You still want to marry me?” I ask, holding my breath as I wait for his response.
“One day, yes. But now, I just need some time to process this shit, alone. I’m going to take you back to the condo, and I’ll come back here.” He turns the music up and begins to drive me home. As he watches the road, I watch him, thanking God that Blake’s not giving up on me. He needs space, and I understand that. I won’t break his trust, never again. He’s my happy ending, and I’ll prove that I’m his.
Twenty-One
~Wyatt~
The home phone rings just past ten o’clock, and I answer it in hopes of hearing Allie’s angelic voice. Unfortunately, the voice that fills my ears is anything but heavenly. “Ugh! Where’s Allie?” she screeches, causing my ears to bleed.
“Not here,” I snap, hanging up the phone. The phone rings again. Fucking really? I pick it up, but I don’t say anything.
“Please, tell her I’m ssso sssorry … I miss her. I miss her real bad,” she slurs.
I hear wind and the sound of passing cars. “Are you driving?” I don’t give a shit what she does with her life; she can poison herself with alcohol if she damn well pleases. However, I’m concerned about other lives she’s putting at stake.
“Maybe, maybe not,” she giggles.
“Pull over, and tell me where you’re at. I’ll call a cab to come get you,” I insist.
“NOOOOOO! I need to find Allie. I miss her,” she repeats. I’m not going to get anywhere with this girl, not while she’s sloppy drunk.
“Listen, don’t call here again. Just get to where you’re going, and stay there.” I end the call and unplug the line, preventing her call from coming through if she decides to call back.
Going back into the living room, I fire up my laptop and search for vacant homes within the area. I want to stay as close to Lucille as possible. After all, she’s Lacy’s grandmother, and I’m sure I’m going to need some help. Lacy won’t always be this sweet blue-eyed angel she is now, and Lucille has experience with a smart-mouthed teenage daughter.
After hours of searching, I find the perfect house. It’s a three-bedroom home with two full bathrooms. There’s a garage and bonus room that’s perfect for a home gym, or maybe even a play area for Lacy. I jot down the information so I can give it to my realtor next week. I shut the power off and set my computer aside. I’m tired, but there’s a million things floating around in my mind. I toss and turn for what seems like hours. Just as I’m able to relax and drift off, something hits the floor upstairs and jars the ceiling. Knowing that Lucille’s upstairs, I get up and two-step it up to her room, hoping to find her unharmed.
I barge into her room without knocking and see her clutching her cell phone to her chest, petrified and pale as a ghost. I try to help her stand, but her legs are like noodles. They wobble, and I have to hold her so she doesn’t collapse. She fists my shirt and attempts to stand on her own. With her legs weak like a fawn, she makes her way into her closet and fights with her jacket. I go over and help her slip her arms inside, wondering where she’s off to in the middle of the night.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To Al-Allie,” she stutters. I look over to her alarm clock and see it’s later than I thought, rounding 1:30am.
“At 1:30 in the morning?” She nods and lowers herself to the floor. She stretches her arm under her bed and sweeps blindly for a pair of shoes, pulling out a mismatched pair. Despite the fact that she’s pulled out a flat dress shoe and a boot, she puts them on and sprints down to the door. I swoop down, grab the matching boot and follow her down the steps.
“Here,” I say, handing her the boot. “Where are you going, Lucille? Honestly, I don’t mind going to get Al if she needs someone to come get her.” I still can’t figure out why she looks terrified.
“You can’t get her. Wyatt, Allie’s been in a terrible accident. That was the hospital. They said they’re taking her back for surgery, to deliver the babies. I-I have to get to her.” Her entire body shakes from fear. My heart contracts and doesn’t release. I grab the keys and run to my Jeep. Lucille climbs in beside me, and FUCK! My windshield’s fucking frozen. “Motherfucker!” I jump out and run inside to fill a pot with hot water. I run out to the Jeep and toss the water on my windshield to break up the ice. Tossing the pot into my backseat, I jump in, turn on the wipers, and set the heat on defrost. As soon as I have a visual on my side of the window, I back out of the drive and do one-hundred miles per hour the entire way to Onslow.
When we arrive, Lucille and I dart into the emergency room. Thank Heavens she works here. The staff don’t ask
questions when we burst through the triage doors, and Lucille begins searching for Allie’s chart. “Shit!” She slams the chart down and heads for the stairwell. I don’t know where we’re heading, but I follow behind her. Eight flights later, we’re running down a hall and stop at a nurse’s station, but it’s empty. This isn’t Lucille’s department, but you wouldn’t guess it by the way she goes around to the computer and pecks on the keyboard, searching the system for Allie Anderson. After a few clicks, she finds the information she’s looking for and dashes off.
We take a turn down a hall and approach double doors that have a big red sign that reads ‘Authorized Personnel Only’. She pays it no attention and tries to enter, but she needs a badge—the badge she left at home. “No! No, no, no,” she wails, banging her fists against the door. “I have to get in there, Wyatt. I need to be by her side,” she chokes.
I pull her into my arms and swallow my fear of what’s happening to Allie in order to ease hers. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” I’ll do whatever it takes to get her to Allie.
“I need you to—” She stops talking soon as someone of ‘authority’ swipes their badge and opens the doors. She knocks the man in surgery attire out of the way and runs down the hall, but she doesn’t get far.
Before I’m at her side, a man and woman have Lucille pinned against the wall, but she’s resisting them with all her might. “Get your hands off her,” I snarl.
“Sir, we can’t allow her in there.”
Lucille slides down the wall, pulls her knees into her chest, drops her head, and she cries out, “I just want to be with my daughter. She needs me.”
