Rearing back, almost exiting me completely, his thrust coming back is so hard, I’m nearly thrown from the bike. Grabbing onto the
rear cowl and the front handle bar, I brace myself. Knowing Skylar, he’s going to
take full advantage of having me splayed out on his pride and joy, taking what’s his.
As the rain continues to fall, I slip and slide across the seat, praying that I have
strong enough hold to keep me from flying off. With each stroke, his hips smack against
mine, pushing me closer.
“I love you,” I pant, the emotional connection between us right this second is quickly becoming too much to bear. Every ounce of love and anger Skylar’s felt tonight, he takes out on my body and I’m eating it up, wanting … craving more.
“I love you more,” he growls each word. Another strike of lightening, closer to shore this time, breaks my concentration and the orgasm that started to build slowly fades away.
Skylar reads my body like nobody ever has before. He can sense when frustration is
about to take me over. Like the true gentleman he is, Skylar’s fingers run quick
circles over my clit and licking the rain from my bare stomach.
“Sky. Oh. My,” I scream, my breath lost in the intensity of my pleasure. When I close
my eyes to take a mental image of this moment to cherish for the rest of my life,
tears slip from the corners and my lips turn up in the largest grin. Stars form behind
my lids and there’s nothing more precious than what’s just happened here.
I know to most it seems like mind blowing sex on a motorcycle … and it totally is.
But the bond we just forged will last a lifetime. Whenever we fight or argue, I’m
sure both of us will think back to this night and remember exactly why we’re together.
Unpredictable, unwavering and unimaginable; that’s the kind of love we share.
The ride home is exactly how you would imagine it. Have you ever tried to put on
a bathing suit after you’d been swimming? How it doesn’t fit in the right places
and you struggle to feel even halfway normal looking, even after you get back in the
pool? That’s how these yoga pants feel. The tank and sweater aren’t much of a problem,
but the pants. Not to mention the delicious ache between my thighs.
By the time we finally get back to the apartment, not only am I dripping all over
the place, I’m chilled to the bone. I’m going to be shocked if I don’t wake up in
the morning with a runny nose from hell and a headache to match.
I don’t always have the best ideas. They’re mostly fun, but I never claimed to be the brightest crayon in the box.
The second the elevator dings, indicating our floor, I bolt to the door. My sweet Skylar, the one who has the only set of keys tonight since mine are sitting on Danny’s end table, takes his slow-as-molasses ass forever to put the key in the lock. He’s either completely frozen or is having a good time watching me squirm. These pants have to go and I have to use the bathroom like nobody’s business.
As soon as those fancy little tumblers move and the door is unlocked, I race to the
restroom, praying I don’t lose my bladder all over the hardwood floor. Not only would
that be embarrassing, but I’d have to clean it.
Washing my hands after my business is handled, I let the hot water run on my hands for longer than needed. The chill slowly leaving
my body, I glance in the mirror at the shower, knowing my next plan of attack.
Turning the water to boiled lobster, I climb inside, my skin prickling at the sudden
temperature change, painfully tingling under the spray, and I realize I’m still wearing
my clothes. Even more awesome.
I strip down, leaving everything in a not so neat pile in the corner of the tub. With exhaustion creeping into my already sore body, I don’t bother lathering up and washing my body. This is more for the need of warmth than anything else.
Once I feel like my body is back to the norm instead of the near hypothermia a few moments ago, I grab a towel from the back of the toilet and dry myself quickly and sloppily, not caring one bit if I make any kind of mess.
With the plush black towel wrapped around my still shivering, even though warm, body, I walk into the bedroom to find a pair of sweat pants, long sleeved thermal night shirt and a pair of Skylar’s thick socks lying on the bed for me.
And he thinks he’s the lucky one.
After getting dressed, I walk out of the bedroom in search of Skylar, only to find
him at the dining room table. He’s prepared the most comforting feast I’ve ever seen
in my life; fried turkey and cheese sandwiches, two bowls of steaming tomato soup
and a mug filled with what appears to be hot tea. This is exactly what I need to finish off such an amazing day.
“This all looks wonderful,” I sigh, sitting in the chair across from him and draping the throw blanket he left here for me around my shoulders. This is the kind of thing my mom would do when I was little and sick—making sure I got hot comfort food in my belly. She said it was a family secret to make you feel better in no time.
“Well, it’s two birds with one stone. You need to warm up and you eat after sex.
So, finally, you get the sandwich you asked for the other night,” he laughs. I can’t
help but join him.
Not wasting any time, I dip my sandwich into the soup, savoring every bite. If there are two things Skylar does flawlessly every damn time, it’s fucking and making sandwiches. He’s a keeper.
It doesn’t take long for me to finish my meal, put all the dishes in the dishwasher
and climb into bed. Once I’m actually lying down, the ache in my back is very much
apparent. There should be a warning label on all motorcycle seats that says something
to the effect of ‘If you enjoy not being in pain, don’t fuck on this bike’.
Groaning and trying to find a position that’s bearable, Skylar walks into the bedroom, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling the blankets back from his side.
“My back is fried. I think a few discs have shifted while we broke in the GSX-R,” I say, wincing as I roll over to my side.
“If I was hurting you, I wish you would have said something.” Rolling me onto my stomach, Skylar makes work of massaging my lower back, easing the pain one touch at a time.
“I wasn’t really thinking straight,” I joke, smirking even though he can’t see me.
Skylar’s fingers gently coax the muscles and nerves to stop their spasms and relax. Every time he applies a little more pressure than before, I’m being slowly lulled to sleep. Mere minutes—that’s all it takes for his magic hands to have me in a heavenly state; more than enough to fall asleep and hopefully stay that way through the night.
*****
Sharp, stabbing pains in my lower back drag me out of the most wonderful dream. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I had to have pulled something, this just isn’t normal.
“Sky,” I whisper, nudging his arm, hoping he’s not out cold.
“Hmmmm,” he grumbles, rolling onto his side.
“Skylar!” I yell, needing to break his trance.
“Yeah. I’m awake. What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting straight up, eyes still closed.
“Babe. My back. I don’t know what’s happening. I think I need to go to the ER.” I’ve read too
many articles about people who are now paralyzed because they didn’t get a back pain
looked at right away.
Oh God. Oh God. My breathing turns rapid and the extra stress of my body moving, trying to compensate
for the panic attack that’s already begun, causes the throbbing to worsen. I can’t take anymore. I’m going to puke. Uncontrollable tears flow down my face, only
increasing my agony. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Sweets, I’m here. Let’s get you dressed. Come on. Can you sit?” Skylar’s at my side of the bed, kneeling in front of me, wiping the tears from my flushed cheeks.
“I, I don’t kn-know,” I say, hiccupping while trying to catch my breath.
“You gotta calm down a little. Just breathe with me, okay?” Skylar takes my hands
in his, staring deeply into my orbs, sending subliminal messages to my brain that I’m going to be okay. He pulls me into a sitting
position that hurts, but not as bad as lying down. Skylar will protect me with everything
that he has. Remembering that, my breath comes easier and I’m able to stop the flow
of tears.
Picking up one foot, he slips it inside a house slipper, and then the next. For the
first time since Skylar and I moved in together, I’m wearing a pair of sweat pants
and a tee shirt to bed, which happens to be the best possible scenario tonight. Inhaling
deeply, I brace myself for the discomfort that’s sure to arise when Skylar helps me
stand.
Expecting the pain actually makes it easier, but now that I’m vertical, the pain radiates
to my midsection, causing me to double over, clutching my knees.
“Okay, I’m gonna carry you. When I lift you, hold on and don’t let go.” Skylar keeps one arm against the middle of my back, the other under my knees and in one swift motion, I’m lifted up and being carried toward the front door bride style.
Instead of putting me in the front seat, Skylar carefully lays me across the back seat. He even thought ahead to grab a pillow off the sofa to put behind my back for support. Not that it does much to help ease the pain, but the thought behind it melts my heart almost enough for me to forget everything else.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mira
“Is there any chance you’re pregnant?” the young girl in the light green scrubs asks once we’re inside the x-ray room.
“No.”
“Okay, well we’re just gonna put this over your belly, just in case,” she says, helping me get onto the cold metal table. Placing a heavy lead apron over my midsection, she walks into the attached booth with a man wearing a white lab coat.
“Just lie still and try not to move. It’ll make getting the images the doctor requested
easier,” the man says through the intercom. That’s easier said than done.
Thinking back to the registration desk an hour ago calms my mind enough to not focus on the pain and follow the simple directions just given to me.
Skylar was all kinds of amazing when we first arrived at the hospital. When we pulled
in, he refused to let me try and walk inside—instead opting for a wheel chair that
was parked just inside the doors.
After he pushed me to the registration desk, he gave the admin all of my information,
including digging through my purse until he found my insurance card and driver’s license.
When the triage nurse tried to make him wait in the other room while she took my vitals,
the looks he was shooting at her made me giggle.
“Ma’am, he’s not leaving,” I said firmly, followed by an outburst from Skylar.
“You’re damn right, I’m not leaving. You’re gonna have to call security or something. And make sure they’re big guys, cuz I’m gonna put up a fight.”
“You’re okay, sir. I was just thinking of Ms. Adams’s privacy rights,” the nurse said, eyes squinted, gaze unwavering.
Then once we were back in a room, the next nurse came in, taking a blood and urine
sample. We were told that most significant back pain in a woman my age usually had
something to do with a meningitis or kidney infection.
The doctor’s first order was an x-ray. He said it was the easiest way to rule anything
else out. If nothing showed, we would move onto Plan B.
“Just one more set and you’re good to go,” the man’s voice startles me out of my memory.
“Okay,” I say quietly, careful not to move too much. The steel beneath my body is not only cold, but there’s absolutely no give. This can’t be good for someone in severe back pain.
Finally, they’re done with their jobs. The young woman assists me back into the wheelchair and pushes me into the hall where we’re met by Skylar.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
“We got everything we need. It’s all been sent up to the radiologist for analysis.
Once he’s done, he’ll send everything down to her doctor.”
Skylar takes over wheeling me down the hall, the girl just a few paces ahead, leading the way back to the ER. I’ve been to this hospital many times and never realized how big it was. Thank God for her, if not, we’d end up in the morgue or something.
We make it back to my room, consisting of walls made out of sheets, without seeing any dead bodies or zombies. Skylar lifts me from the chair and lays me on the bed. Taking the plastic chair next to me, we impatiently wait for the doctor. At this point, I’m kind of hoping for a kidney infection versus the other possibilities. Meningitis does not sound like a good time whatsoever.
Thirty minutes and two infomercials later, the doctor pulls the curtain back, stepping into the room with another woman in a white coat I’ve yet to meet.
“Ms. Adams, this is Dr. Ciak. She’s the on-call OBGYN and here to offer you a consult.”
What? OBGYN? What the hell do I need her for? Unless …. Oh shit.
“What’s an OBGYN?” Skylar whispers in my ear.
“Obstetrics and gynecology,” I mutter, not breaking eye contact with the woman who’s wearing an unreadable face.
“I get the gynecology part. What’s the obstetrics shit about?”
“She’s a doctor for pregnant women.”
“You’re pregnant?” he pulls my attention. Turning to the pair of doctors, “She’s
pregnant?” Looking back at me, glee pouring out of him.
“No. No. No. Don’t get excited. Back pain, stomach pain … this isn’t good. This is actually really, really bad. Skylar don’t let it be real. Ignore it. Ignore them,” I plead with my eyes.
“Mira, you are pregnant, however, you are in the beginning stages of a miscarriage.
We can stop it. There’s no guarantee, but we can try,” Dr. Ciak finally speaks, her
voice low and without emotion. Her bedside manner is killing me.
“Yes. Please. Do everything you can. Please,” Skylar’s tells her, his eyes full of hope. “Mira, we’re going to have a baby.”
Leaning over the metal railing of the gurney, he places a loud, wet kiss to my forehead. His joy is making it even harder for me to tell him that this isn’t good news. Especially when I throw in the fact that my mother had four miscarriages before she finally carried me to term. Pregnancy in my family just isn’t the happy occasion it is for most couples. It’s full of pain and heartache.
“I’m going to prescribe you a progesterone cream you’ll need to apply. This will
help keep your body from miscarrying the fetus. Then the rest is pretty simple. Prenatal vitamins, bed rest and a limited diet. Again, there’s no guarantee this is going to work, but it’s your best chance to
carry to term and deliver a healthy baby.”
“Sweets, did you hear her?” Skylar says, breaking me from my mindless stare. Putting my hands over my stomach, I turn my face toward the doctor.
“How far along am I?”
“Well, you’ll still need to consult with a regular OB. I would suggest someone specializing in high risk pregnancies. But to answer your question, from the tests I’ve seen, I would guess you’re about 5-7 weeks, pretty early on.”
Rubbing my index finger softly over my flesh where my future child lives, the emotions hit me all at once. Crying, I look up at Skylar who also has moisture built up against his bottom lid,
smiling at me like he’s just won the lottery.
“We’re gonna have a baby,” he says again, taking my lips in a light kiss.
“We are.”
“I’ll have your discharge papers brought in soon, as well as your prescription, and then you’ll be good to go,” the ER doctor says, walking out behind the OBGYN.
After I’m discharged, the ride home is uncomfortably silent. I don’t want to say anything to take away Skylar’s happiness, but I don’t want to be the one to burst his bubble. I’m probably going to let the new doctor we have an appointment with in two days be the one to knock him down a few rungs.
“I’m surprised you’re not on the phone with your mom and Kylee. You couldn’t wait
to call them after I proposed.” My ever-observant Skylar, pinning the tail exactly on the donkey’s ass.
“I don’t want to tell anyone until we’re out of the first trimester. This … the whole miscarriage thing … it’s scary and I don’t want anyone to get excited or happy for us until we know if I’m going to be able to carry this baby.”
“Let’s just live in the now, okay? We’re having a baby. I’ve always known that I
wanted you to be the mother of my children and now, well, you got a little Skylar
inside of you.” I’m pretty sure he’s legitimately bouncing in the driver’s seat as
we speed down the highway.
Skylar makes a point to carry me through the parking garage, in the elevator and back inside our apartment. Once he’s cut the hospital bracelet off my arm, he climbs in bed next to me, resting his head next to my belly and softly speaking to our baby that may, or may not make it.
“You gotta promise to not make your mama too sick, little guy … or girl. She likes to eat all the time, and she’ll be pretty cranky if she can’t have her sandwiches.” I snort, softly chuckling. Of all the things he could have said to my still flat stomach, he’s already giving orders to our baby.
Our baby.
With my OBGYN appointment scheduled for New Year’s Eve, the twenty-four hour wait
to go to my new doctor seems like it’s taking forever. I did go against my earlier
advice to myself about telling anyone and called my mom. I figure if there’s anyone who will understand what I’m
Epiphany Page 8
