Knocked Up

by Stacey Lynn

  I make this beautiful, intelligent, and oh-so-well-mannered woman fall apart with just the slightest touch. It makes me feel victorious, like I’ve conquered a difficult course and found my prize at the end.

  My dick is throbbing, pulsing with the need to sink inside of her and make her come until she’s tightening around my dick, but I hesitate, unable to remove my gaze from Cara, who is most beautiful immediately after climaxes, and a nervousness flickers through her eyes.

  It reminds me she hasn’t had many lovers, and yet she’s chosen me. Twice now, she’s made it clear she wants me. Our unborn baby aside, I’m so damn thankful to be with her again. She’s slightly scatterbrained, completely disastrous when it comes to tidying up, but she laughs in a way that’s freeing. She’s reaching for her dreams and fighting for them with a stubbornness I admire.

  She’s fucking amazing…and amazing to fuck.

  “I don’t know if I can go again,” she says, finally unleashing my bicep and reaching between us. Her hot palm presses against my dick and her slim fingers wrap around me. “You’re incredible.”

  “You can go again,” I assure her. I’ve seen her do it before. “Let me get a condom.”

  “I’m already pregnant, you know,” she teases, her other hand settling on her stomach.

  “I know.” I hesitate to say it, but she’s met one of the women I’ve been with since her, but I’m all in with this woman, including honesty. “I haven’t been tested in a while.”

  “Right.” Her excitement wanes and I lean forward. If I could kiss away her doubts or her fears I’d spend the rest of my life with my lips attached to hers.

  “I’ll do it this week.”

  “Okay,” she says, but she nibbles her bottom lip as I shift to the side and yank open a drawer next to my bed. I make quick work of ripping open the condom and rolling it on, before I return to her.

  She’s still lying on the bed, and while I want to take her missionary and feel every part of her body against mine and have her long legs wrapped around my hips, I’m really loving her growing breasts and stomach.

  I want to run my hands all over her while inside of her.

  I lie on top of her, shove my hand beneath her back, and roll until she’s on top. She immediately rubs against my dick and the pleasure from the heat of her makes me bite back a groan. I’m not even inside of her yet and could come.

  “Ride me,” I grit out with clenched teeth. “I want to see all of you, feel all of you, while you get me off.”

  “So bossy,” she mutters, but she’s smiling and spreading her hips, straddling me and pushing off my chest. Her hair falls down like a curtain, covering us, and I shove my hands into her hair, holding it back. Nothing will hinder my access or my view of her. Not tonight.

  Then she’s wrapping a hand around my length, guiding me to her, and she’s sinking slowly, oh so damn slowly, down me. I shove my head into the pillow beneath my head and arch my hips up into her.

  “Shit,” I groan, holding on to her head and pulling her down to me. “You feel so damn good around me.”

  I take her mouth, holding her against me while she starts moving, and I move my hips to her rhythm, working her mouth at the same time she works me over.

  And it’s not only amazing. It’s beautiful. Her whimpers shoot straight to my balls, her scent envelops me. The feel of her stomach brushing against my abs makes me pull away from the kiss. I slide my hands down to her neck, her shoulders, over her breasts that have grown since the last time we’ve been together and then I move my hands down to the swell of her abdomen.

  I rest my hands on her hips and hold her still.

  “Braxton,” she whines.

  “Shh, honey. I just want to look at you.” I want to treasure her more than I want to get off. I want her to know how much I fucking care about her and it has nothing to do with the baby inside of her, but her as a woman. But I still can’t deny that knowing she’s carrying a child, my child, makes her absolutely, one hundred percent the most beautiful woman in the world.

  I pin her with my gaze, my thumbs sweeping inside her hips. She jerks and moves but I keep her as steady as possible as she looks down at me.

  “You’re beautiful, Cara, absolutely beautiful.”

  “Soon I’ll be the size of a house.”

  “Then you’ll be the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen too.”

  She tries to roll her eyes, but I slam my hips up, forcing myself deep inside of her and her eye roll gets cut off as she groans from the feel of me.

  Tomorrow, I’m going to the doctor. I won’t take her bare until I can assure I’m clean, but I cannot wait to feel her heat directly on me.

  “Braxton,” she whimpers, moving wildly, and I follow her.

  I grunt. She moans. And we both lose control. I shift, lifting her at the same time keeping her connected to me as I move to my knees, cradling her so she’s in my arms as I take her down to her back.

  I can’t get enough of her. I want to watch her grow. I want to watch our baby being born.

  I want it all. All of her. Everything she can give me.

  I’m falling in love with her and it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

  “Cara,” I groan, as her body trembles beneath me. She’s clawing at me, falling into a second orgasm and I can’t hold out until she’s done, I plant myself deep inside of her, shove my forehead into her neck, and I groan her name again as I come.

  * * *

  —

  “This sound will never get old,” I say, listening to the whoosh whoosh whoosh of our baby’s heartbeat.

  We’re at the midwife’s office again for Cara’s fourteen-week appointment and thankfully, the dildo cam, as I’ve taken to calling it, is no longer necessary. Instead, she squirted some clear gel on Cara’s stomach and moved around a device on top of her belly a few minutes ago, quickly finding the baby’s heartbeat.

  And I helped make this tiny, tiny little sound. It’s the coolest.

  “I think it’ll get even better when the baby’s here,” Pam, the midwife, says, with a gentle and teasing smile.

  I like her. She’s kind and patient with a soft voice, but she also talks to Cara in a no-nonsense way about her morning sickness and how everything else is going. So far, besides the heartbeat, there haven’t been any surprises, just the report that everything looks good.

  Cara’s even beginning to put on a little bit of weight, which is a good thing considering all the puking she’s done the last couple of months.

  But ever since she’s moved into my place, she seems to be feeling better.

  “Thank you,” Cara says, and I hold out my hand to help her sit up. She wipes off the gel on her stomach and lowers her shirt.

  I’ve had my hands all over her body multiple times since last weekend, and all I want to do is scoop her into my arms, take her back home, and devour her all over again. It must be some primal instinct left over from cavemen.

  “Any other questions?” Pam asks. “Because if not, you’ll be able to schedule another appointment for four weeks and if you’d like, we can do an ultrasound for then as well. We like to do them around twenty weeks to ensure the baby is growing properly.”

  “Yes,” I say. I haven’t called our baby him for fear of pissing off Cara again, but I’m really tired of saying it all the time as well, like we’re not sure if there’s a baby or a basketball or alien inside her. “We want that.” I look down at Cara. “Don’t we?”

  “Can we find out the gender then too?” Cara asks.

  Pam nods. “We can certainly try if you’d like to know.”

  “We want to know,” Cara says, looking up at me this time as bashfully as I just looked at her. “Don’t we?”

  “I do.” I’m grinning.

&nbs
p; Parenting has already made me a fool for a baby I’ve never met, but, yeah, I want to know. Boy? Girl? There’s a lot to figure out.

  “Okay then,” Pam says, laughing softly at our ridiculousness. We are ridiculous. We’ve done nothing, studied nothing, at least I haven’t. Periodically, Cara gives me some random fact, something she’s been doing since the weekend, with her eyes on the screen. At least she’s finally started looking into pregnancy information like Jenna suggested.

  This morning it was, “Hey, did you know our baby is the size of a lemon?”

  To which I’d replied, “Can we call it Squirt?”

  Yeah, finding out the gender is necessary.

  “I’ll leave you two alone then, and when you’re ready, make your appointments up front. You’ll have to go to a different building for the ultrasound, but we can schedule your prenatal visit immediately following, or at least try to. And don’t forget you can call me if you have any questions. None are too small, I promise.”

  “Thanks, Pam,” Cara says.

  I thank her as well, and after Cara finishes fixing her clothes, grimacing when her shirt doesn’t tuck so easily into her pants, she grabs her purse. “Ugh. I’m going to need new clothes soon.”

  She’s taken to wearing only loose sweats and oversized T-shirts at my place, and today it looks like she’s trying to force things into the waistband of her jeans. It looks uncomfortable, and what if she’s squishing the baby? I’m smart enough not to ask. If I’ve learned anything it’s that pregnant women can be emotional.

  “We can go shopping after work tonight.”

  I have to get back to MadInk, barely having enough time to take her to lunch.

  “Maybe this weekend,” she says, and her nose scrunches. “I can probably wait until then. Come on, let’s go get those appointments scheduled.”

  I follow her to the front desk, where we schedule everything for exactly four weeks from today. I take a card with the times of our appointments on it so I can take that morning off from MadInk. I’ll have Stella put the dates in the calendar when I get back to work.

  “Okay,” I say, once we’re back in my car and settled. “What sounds good to you for lunch?”

  I doubt I have to ask. Ever since we went to El Gaucho last weekend, Cara’s been eating spicy Mexican food almost nonstop. Pregnancy cravings are no joke.

  She turns to me, her grin wide and easy, and laughs. “Tacos. What else?”

  See?

  Chapter 22

  Cara

  My feet are propped up on the coffee table in front of me. Netflix is streaming a ridiculously amazing show about Vikings. In my lap is the book Jenna’s been telling me to buy that I finally got around to purchasing. Next to me is a notebook and pen, which I’ve been using to scribble down every single baby item known to man I have to purchase. Jenna wasn’t kidding. Babies need more supplies and gear and accessories than I had realized. In one hand, I’m holding a large chocolate shake that was once topped with whipped cream, and in my other hand, I’m holding a greasy, delicious French fry. Lucy’s head is on my thigh, wide eyes glued to me ever since I came back from grabbing my dinner. She’s staring at me, waiting for me to drop a fry.

  She doesn’t seem to care about the food in her dish despite the dozens of times I’ve told her she has her own food.

  I’m dressed in my sole remaining pair of black yoga pants that are stretched to the max at the seams, and my sweatshirt is so old it has holes in the wrist cuffs…not because it’s fashionable, but because I’ve owned this since my freshman year of college.

  Needless to say, I look pretty much like the mess I currently am when Braxton walks in when he’s done with work.

  “Whoa,” he says, laughter rich in his voice. “Looks like someone’s finally over the Mexican craving.”

  I dip my fry into the shake and pop it into my mouth. “I had a craving. Sue me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He walks to me and bends over the back of the couch, kissing the top of my head. “How was your day?”

  “Busy, I worked at Gallio’s this morning and spent the afternoon painting.” I grin up at him. In the last two weeks, my morning sickness has abated to more of an annoyance than an impending doom, and I’ve been more inspired than I can ever remember feeling. I blame my new painting space and the incredible views I see morning, noon, and night, and it’s not a complaint. “Yours?”

  “A pain in the ass. I worked on a back piece that took most of the day.” He holds up his hand and curls his finger. “My hand feels like it might become a claw permanently.”

  “Nice. Did you eat?”

  “Yeah. Stella and I grabbed some takeout.” He points to my shake and cardboard container of fries. “Is that your dinner?”

  I pop another chocolate-coated fry into my mouth. “I’m working on my calcium intake.”

  “You’re a nut. Let me go take a shower and I’ll be back.” He glances at the television, where a fight scene filled with mostly half-naked men wearing furs grabs his attention. “What are you watching? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  He stops near the mouth of the hallway and turns back to me, as if he’s just realized he’s forgotten something. “Hi, Lucy.”

  The dog’s ears twitch but she doesn’t take her eyes off the fry in my hand.

  “Ah, I see,” Braxton says. “I’ve been replaced by the love of greasy food.”

  “It’s the dinner of champions.”

  His laugh echoes down the hallway and I pet Lucy’s head. “Good girl,” I say and give her the fry she’s been patiently begging for. I love this dog. I work fewer hours than Braxton so I’m home a lot more than him. I like that she follows me everywhere, always sitting at my side, usually with her dopey face resting near my stomach.

  Braxton has mentioned before she’s difficult to adopt out because not everyone wants a pit bull, especially a mixed breed of one, and I’ve been secretly hoping I can talk him into adopting her. I don’t know how I’ll be able to say goodbye to her. I was never allowed to have pets growing up, my mom insisting they were too much work and they smelled and shed, but even with the dog hair that’s frequently sprinkled all over my clothes, I’ve completely fallen in love with her. She seems so much larger than she did a month ago when I met her, and Braxton’s place isn’t exactly the best for a dog as big as she’s going to be, but I still can’t imagine giving her up for anything.

  Not that it’s my call.

  I hold out another fry, which she steals just as quickly, as Braxton comes into the room.

  “Oh, that’s why my girl has no use for me,” he says, heading straight for us. “You’ve stolen her from me with fries and ear rubs.”

  “She likes them,” I insist, and scoot over on the couch so he can slide in next to me. It’s become our nightly routine when he gets home from work. We eat, chill on the couch curled up next to each other, and most nights, I wake up as he’s carrying me to bed.

  His bed, because since the first time we slept together two weeks ago, we haven’t spent a single night apart.

  Lucy gives him an annoyed look as he takes the spot where she’s been resting and ignores him.

  “How’s my little guacamole doing?” Braxton asks, his hand resting on my belly.

  “And you say I’m a nut.” Ever since I told him the baby was the size of a lemon, he’s taken to checking a website that measures a fetus’s size using fruits and vegetables for references. I love it, though, the way he’s always asking about our baby, or how I’m feeling. I’ve never felt so pampered or taken care of, and over the last two weeks since we’ve been living together, I haven’t just begun falling for Braxton, I’m completely head over heels in love with him.

  He’s not only an incredible man, he’s going to be an even more amazing father.

&n
bsp; “Well, yeah. You’re sixteen weeks so he or she is the size of an avocado. Given your abundant cravings of Mexican food, I figure it’s also filled with spices.”

  “Nice.” I drain the rest of my shake and eat my fries while I hand Braxton the remote so he can put on whatever show he wants. I’ve been putting off telling him about a phone call I received from my parents a couple days ago, but I can’t avoid it any longer. “I have to talk to you about something.”

  One of his arms is slung over my shoulder and at what has to be an ominous tone in my voice, he grips me tighter.

  “What is it?” He drops the remote onto his lap and turns, lifting me so I’m facing him. “What happened?”

  “My parents called.”

  We haven’t spoken of them since the day after I moved in. They’ve been shoved into a back corner, collecting dust bunnies while at least I pretend that someday my parents will become decent people. At my statement, Braxton’s eyes widen and a muscle jumps. “They did.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “And they want to see me for dinner. Tomorrow night.”

  “How kind of them to give you a day’s notice.”

  My gaze slides to the left and Braxton’s hand lands on my thigh. “Cara? They called today?”

  “Not exactly.” I can’t look at him. I haven’t technically lied to him, but it’s the first time I feel like we haven’t been completely honest with each other either. Somehow, it feels like I’ve betrayed him in some way.

  “When did they call?”

  “Monday?” I chance a peek at him as the weight of the couch moves.

  He shifts back, pulling his arm from behind me. “I see.”

  “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, I just wanted to avoid thinking about it.”

  “What’d they say?”

  My hand rests on my stomach, as if I’m already feeling the need to protect my baby. I can’t hide the cringe when I say, “They want to talk to me about my situation.”