by R. C. Martin
“OH, MY GOD—I love you!” I mumble on a moan.
I’m sure I sound half manic, but I don’t even care. He feels so fucking good! As he takes me hard yet slow, his strokes even yet adamant, the volatile feelings that consumed me a moment ago give way to something else. Now, as he stares down at me while plunging inside of my center, I have to fight the urge to cry.
He’s home.
My lover. My forever.
He’s home.
When he starts pumping his hips faster, I know he’s right on the edge. Then his thumb is pressed against my clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles around my bundle of nerves. I arch my back, pulling on my restraints, desperate for touch as my second orgasm rushes to the surface.
“Come for me, angel. Let go,” he growls, driving into me harder.
I do as he says, my body giving me little choice. As my core pulses, clenching his shaft, he roars with his own release. Buried deep inside of me, he stills as he fills me with his seed, and I marvel at the beauty of my man.
He props himself up with a hand on either side of my torso, his arms trembling as he looks down at me. We’re both breathless, our connection still intact as he asks, “Are you okay? Was that too rough? I lost con—”
“It was perfect. Now, get down here and kiss me.”
He grins at me slightly before he crashes his mouth against mine. We moan together when our tongues begin to dance, and my stomach clenches. Without breaking our kiss, he blindly fumbles with my restraints, unhooking me from the bed. As soon as my hands are free, I’m all over him. Chest. Arms. Shoulders. Back. Ass. Anything within my reach, I touch, grab, feel—and it’s amazing.
We kiss until he grows hard again. I mewl when I feel him pull out slightly and push back in slowly, alerting me to his readiness to go another round. Only this time, he loves me slow and tender. This time, I don’t fight my tears. When I come for a third time, it’s so hard, I swear I see stars.
After he fills me again with his release, he rolls us until I’m plastered against his side. The room is filled with the heady scent of our lovemaking, and our skin is sticky and coated in sweat. I don’t even care. It makes me smile, and I snuggle against him even more.
Then it hits me—like a jolt to my system—and I pop my head up to seek out his eyes.
“Baby?” I murmur, running a finger along his jaw to get his attention. He looks down at me, and I smile at the sight of my favorite blue eyes before I ask, “Will you make me pancakes?”
“Sure, angel.”
“Like…right now? My cravings are no joke.”
At the mention of my cravings, his face breaks out into the most beautiful grin, making my heart flutter. He then rolls me onto my back and presses a quick kiss to my lips before he mutters, “My girls want daddy’s famous pancakes, then how can I refuse?”
His words make me want to kiss him until my lips are raw and chapped—but its my hunger that lets him go.
As I watch him pull on his boxer briefs, I smooth my hand over my slight bump and remind him, “It could be a boy, you know?”
He chuckles, not bothering with his pants as he starts for the kitchen. “Blaine, I have four and three-quarter nieces and one nephew. That baby is not a boy.”
Giggling to myself, I smile up at the ceiling, marveling at how happy I am. I can hardly believe that only a few hours ago, the tears I was shedding in this bed were those of heartache—not at all like the tears of complete ecstasy and joy that I cried with my love inside of me. It’s uncanny, how quickly your whole life can change.
One second I’m craving pancakes so much it wrecks me; the next second, the man of my dreams is half naked, whipping up a batch to feed me after three amazing orgasms.
I linger in bed with a goofy smile on my face only for a moment, and then I climb out to follow after Michael. I look around the floor for his sweater, knowing it’s exactly what I want to wear, and then remember that he took it off in the kitchen. I unashamedly leave the loft completely naked in search of it.
He’s busy hunting for ingredients in my cupboards when I pick up his sweater and undershirt and hurry toward the bathroom. I clean up a little, stepping into my closet for a fresh pair of panties before I continue to make my way back into the kitchen. He spots me when I enter the room as he turns away from the fridge. He doesn’t move or speak for a second, and I rake my fingers through my hair a bit self-consciously, wondering what he’s thinking.
He answers my unasked question when he murmurs, “I missed you.”
It feels so good to hear him say it that I almost forget to reply, “I missed you, too. So much.”
With my half-gallon jug of milk in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other, he closes the distance between us and kisses my lips. Pulling away slightly, he mumbles, “Lets get you two fed.” He then kisses me once more before he gets to work.
Michael
“SO, UM, DO you want to know the sex of the baby?” she asks.
I look over at her as she hops up onto the counter, perching herself in the corner between the sink and the stove. She crosses her ankles, fidgeting with the sleeves of my sweater as she bites the side of her cheek. It takes me a second to really think about what she’s asked. I’ve never had to give such a question a thought before. Even while I’m in the middle of satisfying her current pregnancy craving, I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that she is, indeed, with child.
“I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice to know. Do you want to know?”
She nods, sweeping her hair behind her ears as she tells me, “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon. It was too early to tell last visit, but I was told that there was a good chance I’d be able to find out this time.”
“What time is your appointment? I’d like to be there.”
“Really?” she sighs, the expression on her face hopeful.
I furrow my brow slightly, picking up the bowl full of batter and closing the distance between us. I rest my hand on her bare thigh and rub her soft skin gently as I inform her, “From this day forward, when it comes to my personal life—you are my top priority. Professionally, I have obligations that will sometimes interfere with our lives, you know this. That doesn’t make you any less important to me. And this child,” I pause, gently placing a hand on her stomach. “I will be there, every step of the way.”
She nods, drawing in a deep breath as she places both of her hands over mine, keeping my hand against her belly. After a hard swallow, she murmurs, “Two o’clock. My appointment is at two o’clock.”
“I’ll check in with Paul sometime this afternoon to make sure I can get away for an hour. Then, moving forward, I’d like you to connect with him before scheduling your visits.”
“Okay,” she mutters, frowning at me slightly. “But who’s Paul?”
Slipping my hand from underneath hers, I flip on the burner beneath the skillet on the stove as I explain, “Paul took Heidi’s position after she resigned.”
“Heidi resigned? Why?”
I think back on the day she delivered her letter of resignation. It was only a couple of days after Veronica had mailed back signed copies of the divorce papers. Not exactly my best day.
“She was quite fond of Veronica,” I admit, scooping a measuring cup of batter onto the warm pan. “News of our affair is not widespread. Only those in my closest circle are aware, but she’s one of the few who caught wind of it. She told me that she wasn’t a gossip and I didn’t have to worry about her going to the press, but that she couldn’t work for a man she no longer respected.”
I hear Blaine’s quiet gasp before she whispers, “Michael—I’m so sorry. I know that she was important to your staff.”
“It was a tough loss, but with every transition comes some growing pains. We’re adjusting fine.”
“Baby,” she mumbles, sounding defeated. I look to her and find her fidgeting with my sweater sleeves again. Her gaze is trained down in her lap, and her shoulders are slumped as if she’s carry
ing the weight of the world on them. “Why do I suddenly get the feeling that this isn’t going to be any easier than it was before?”
“Hey,” I grunt, reaching for her chin. I lift her head until her gaze aligns with mine. “I’m right here, Blaine. I’m right here. This won’t be like before. You know why?”
She tries to fight her smile, but I see it light up her hazel eyes as she says, “Because you’re right here.”
“Exactly. Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together. Hear me?”
“I hear you,” she assures me with a nod.
“Good.”
I lean in to press a kiss against her lips, and she hums, returning my affection happily.
Taking hold of the sides of my face, she keeps me close, mumbling, “I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you for coming back to me.”
“I was always coming back for you, angel,” I mumble in return.
“I know,” she whispers.
* * *
1 Always mine. Forever my angel.
Michael
I STARE DOWN at the small, black velvet box in my hand as I twirl it around and around between my fingers. The sun has barely begun to make its late entrance as another day dawns, but I can’t sleep any longer. Sitting on the edge of the bed, with my back to Blaine, I think over the last week and a half. It only took me about three days to come to the conclusion that our arrangement isn’t working—but I suppose, in the back of my mind, I always knew that would be the case.
With our schedules the way that they are, it seems as though we’ve slipped into the same patterns we had before. The bed we share is no longer morally impure, but I still feel as if I’m sneaking into it when I come to hold her for a couple hours before work. I only spend the night on the evenings when she’s not working, as that seems to make the most sense, but I’ve reached my limit. I’ve had enough. This is not the life that I imagined for us, so it’s time I rebuilt what we have. For the last week, I’ve been laying the groundwork. Today, I intend for us to start our lives together—as one.
As we were meant to be.
I’m not sure how long I sit up, waiting for Blaine to wake, but I don’t wish to disturb her. We had a late night, and I know that she needs her rest. Aside from what seems to be an attempt to make up for lost time, her sexual appetite is more ravenous than it’s ever been before. Given that she’s capable of satisfying me in ways I never imagined possible, I’m certainly happy to oblige—but I know her body is also working to grow and nurture a life, and I respect that more than anything.
When at long last I hear her start to stir behind me, I stop spinning the ring box and wait. As if right on cue, I feel the bed dip slightly as she rolls toward me. The tips of her fingers graze across my lower back as she mumbles, “What are you doing, baby?”
Looking at her from over my shoulder, I can’t help but smirk at the sight of her. She’s beautiful, even with her messy bed head—especially with her messy bed head—and the look in her eyes causes my chest to swell a bit with pride. I can’t predict how my plans will affect the future of my political career. However, as I stare into her warm, hazel gaze, I’m assured that she’s mine. No matter what happens, I won’t go down without a fight, that much I’m sure of; but at the end of it all, as long as she’s still looking at me the way she’s looking at me now, I’ll live to fight another day.
This is how I know that what we have is right. This is how I know that she truly is the great love of my life. I would risk anything for her—I will risk everything for her—and I’ll harbor zero regrets.
Closing the box in my fist in order to hide it, I signal with a small nod as I command, “Come ‘ere. We need to talk.”
I see the apprehension in her eyes as she processes my words. It wasn’t so long ago that I used those same words before delivering news that broke her heart. Nevertheless, I watch as she draws in a deep breath before sitting up and scooting toward me. When she doesn’t sit beside me, but rather presses her naked chest against my back and circles her arms around my waist, I allow it. I want her to feel comfortable and safe, not anxious and afraid of what I’m about to say.
Resting her chin on my shoulder, she whispers, “Is everything okay?”
“It will be,” I promise, touching my forehead to hers.
Her arms tighten around me as she insists, “Tell me.”
“I have an interview tomorrow afternoon with the press corp. I set it up last week. I intend to make a public announcement, introducing them to my new wife.”
I can feel it the instant her body goes rigid all around me. “Wh—what?” she breathes. “Michael, what are you talking about?”
Without looking away from her, I reveal the small box in my grasp, holding it up for her to see. She doesn’t break our stare, but even still, I know she sees it when her breathing starts to quicken.
“Michael?”
“Our marriage license is in the backseat of the town car. This afternoon, after my parents return home from church, I’d like for you to meet them. If all goes well, I intend to marry you with my father acting as the officiant.”
“Michael…”
“If he refuses, I have more than one judge who I could ask a favor from. Either way, by the end of this day, you will be Blaine Luella Cavanaugh.”
She blows out a heavy breath, dropping her forehead to my shoulder. As she shakes her head, she pleads, “Wait. Slow down.”
I reach around to grab hold of the back of her neck while I press a kiss into her hair. Holding her tenderly, I go on to explain, “That’s just it, angel—we can’t slow down. We’ve missed our chance to take things slow.”
“Why?” she whimpers. Pulling away from me so that she can look at me directly. “Are you rushing this because of the baby?”
“Yes—and no.” Immediately picking up on her disappointment, I instruct one more time, “Angel, come here.”
This time, when I open my arms, she crawls out from around me and settles herself in my lap. She brings her hands to the center of my chest, absentmindedly grazing her fingers through my short hairs as she admits, “This isn’t what I wanted. I told you that I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”
“That’s not how I feel.”
“But you just said—”
With one arm around her waist, the other draped over her thighs, I pull her even closer as I explain, “You are not some woman that I’m casually dating. You’re not my rebound. You’re not my mistress. You’re the woman with whom I intend to spend the rest of my life. You’re the mother of my child—a child that I do not wish to hide.
“Blaine, I’m done hiding. I’m done hiding you. Would things be different if you weren’t pregnant? Maybe. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I want you by my side, where you belong—and that means telling the truth. I believe that it’s my responsibility—as a governor, as a Christian, as a father, and as the man who loves you—it is my duty to be honest. It’s who I am. It’s who I want to be.
“And you, my beloved—I don’t ever want you to feel as though I am ashamed of you or the precious gift that you’re carrying. Our life together starts now, and I want to do it right.”
Her eyes now brimming with tears, she sniffles as she asks, “What if they hate you? What if they lose respect for you? I mean, look what happened with Heidi. What if this messes up your entire career? What then? I don’t want you to resent me—”
“What if I never met you? What if I never came into that bar? We can’t live our lives wondering what if? We can only face what is. You know me. You know my history. You know that I didn’t get to where I am today without putting up a fight. If I lose their respect, I’ll earn it back. I won’t let the best thing that has ever happened to me ruin anything. I have a family to provide for—and I won’t let you down.”
She erupts with a sob at the same time that she takes hold of my face and pulls me to her. With our lips smashed together, she tells me, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” Giggling, she rea
rs her head back a little. Her tears still streaming down her cheeks, she says, “Wait—I don’t think you asked.”
I grin, bringing my mouth back to hers as I mutter, “I didn’t. And I’m not going to. You know what I am going to do?”
“What?”
“I’m going to make love to my fiancée,” I reply, scooping her up as I stand to lay her across the bed.
“Okay,” she breathes.
I let go of the little box in my hand as I settle myself between her spread legs. Somehow, I lose track of the ring in the sheets—but as we get tangled up in each other, neither one of us has a thought to care.
Blaine
I STARE DOWN at my hand, resting on top of my knee, and admire my new ring. It’s quite simple—the two carat, round-cut solitaire diamond perched on a rose-gold band, held in place by six prongs—but I love it. It’s elegant and beautiful, and it makes me happy that Michael picked it out himself.
“Can I see the others, again?” I ask softly, speaking of our wedding bands.
Reaching into his wool coat, he pulls out the small box that houses both rings and hands it to me. I smile at him as I take it, then shift my attention to the contents inside. Each band is made of rose gold. While mine is fitted with diamonds, his flat, matte band has a more signature touch to it. Since I had no part in choosing either of our rings, he went out of his way to make sure I knew that he’d had me in mind when he chose his. My name—Blaine Luella—is engraved on the inside.
“There are a few other things we need to discuss, Blaine,” he tells me, pulling me from my thoughts.
I close the ring box and give it back to him, hugging his arm as I give him my full attention. We’re on our way to dad’s place, so we can tell him our news. My guess is that we’ll arrive in less than ten minutes. I’m both anxious and excited to be there, but not entirely sure what to expect. Given my history with Michael, I know that dad doesn’t fully trust him. I’m hoping that today will be the day he changes his mind. I don’t know any other way to express to him that Michael is all that I want; and if the ring on my finger isn’t proof that Michael loves me as much as I’d always dreamed a man would, enough to keep my end of the promise with my father, then I don’t know what is.
