“Fuck me, my love. Fuck me hard.” The words pour out of my mouth like water.
With a thrust of his knees, he spreads my legs and then pulling me closer, flings my ankles on top of his broad shoulders. With a slow grin, he eyes my glistening, hungry, exposed pussy. Then, he leans in and kisses it, his warm tongue licking and flicking my clit. Titillating me. Driving me crazy.
Oh God! I groan with pleasure, but on my next breath, my groan morphs into a gasp that’s part sob as he buries his colossal cock inside me. I’m so wet and ready for him that it glides in effortlessly, taking me to the hilt. Another garbled sound fills my throat as he begins to pummel me.
His breathing grows harsh, mine ragged. He grips my hips, pumping fast and furiously as I dig my nails into the muscles of his back, so deep I’m convinced I’ve drawn blood. Madness . . . and my body succumbs to it, my clit stimulated with each powerful thrust, my muscles clenching around his length, clinging to its girth and the extreme pleasure he’s giving me, my nails digging deeper into his flesh, all propelling him to bring me closer to the edge. We haven’t fucked this way in ages and I don’t want him to stop . . . now that the waves of a stratospheric climax have begun to claim me. My toes curl and my heart beats in a frenzy, my pants becoming shrieks. I’m leaving this planet.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he commands and at his words, I force them open. His face shines with savage determination, his own eyes glinting with lust, his mouth parted to let in the flow of much needed air.
“Please, Finn, I can’t take it any more,” I sob. “Make me come.”
“Hold on, baby.” Somehow, I will myself to hang in there though my body wants to betray me, and on his next thrust, I come apart as his release spills inside me.
“Fuck!” he cries out, collapsing on top of me, taking my legs with him, his heart beating on mine, our heated breaths mingling, his hot cum pouring down my inner thighs, coating me like molasses. He remains like that for a few minutes before propping himself up on his elbows and gazing into my half-shut eyes.
“That was fucking amazing.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, running my fingers through his damp hair.
“I bet we made a baby.”
“Bet what?”
“Bet your sweet ass.”
“Fine. I bet yours we didn’t.”
A wicked glint lights up his eyes. “We’re not done. And the bet is on.”
In the days that follow, I feel different. I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s different, but I feel more energetic, more carefree, more in touch with my body. I convince myself it’s the aftermath of that epic orgasm—sorry, make that orgasms—that left me quivering long after that night. Even driving to work, I’ve felt a constant tingling between my legs that travels all the way down to my toes. An inexplicable lightness of being.
Two weeks pass. Finally, today’s the day. The test. Okay. I’m lying. I’ve been doing a pregnancy test every day since that night. So far, nada. I knew I would be right. I’ve begun to accept the fact that a baby isn’t in my cards. Our cards. And I’ve resigned myself to winning the bet I secretly want to lose.
The bathroom door is closed. I sit on the toilet, my legs pressed together, the pee-stick in my hand. It’s the last one I have, and after today, I swear I’m never going to buy another box. Good. I’ll save myself some money. I push and a hot stream of urine pours from my center. Midway, I spread my legs and put the strip part of the stick under the flow for a few seconds. God, I’ve done this so often I could do a YouTube how-to video and explain everything. Done emptying my bladder, I wipe and then flush the toilet. The roaring whoosh of the water makes me feel like I’m flushing down all hope. Standing up, I pull up my leggings and then set the magic stick on the tile counter. The window side up. Anxiously, I wash my hands, lathering them more than usual with the fragrant soap. I dry them off with a soft towel, avoiding eye contact with the stick. My heart ticks like a clock. My skin prickling. Straightening the magazine rack to pass the time, I try not to think about the outcome. Then, I glance down at my watch. Exactly three minutes have transpired. I pivot toward the stick, my eyes focusing on the narrow window in the middle. A distinct blue line appears. My heart skips a beat. In disbelief, I blink my eyes several times, thinking this will make my vision clearer. No longer batting my lashes, I stare at the window again. The line is darker. Thicker. My heart hammers, my chest constricts. I carefully lift the stick between my fingers and hold it up to my eyes. The results are loud and clear. Oh my God. This can’t be. I need to do the test again. Gripping the stick, I hurry over to the wastebasket and dig out the box of pregnancy detectors. I shake it madly, hoping another stick will fall out. Shit. Nada. I toss the box onto the floor.
A knock, knock, knock sounds at the bathroom door. Along with a quizzical voice.
“Baby, what are you doing in there? We’re going to be late for your awards dinner.”
The doorknob twists, and on my next frantic heartbeat, the door swings open. My sexy as sin husband, dressed in one of his few suits, strides in.
“What’s going on? You’re not even ready.”
Still in shock, I hold up the detector. “Look.”
Finn snatches the stick from me and stares down at it. His eyes widen, his jaw drops. “Holy shit. It’s positive.”
I nod.
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
Without warning, he gathers me into his arms, and the sob I’ve been holding back spills out against his chest. He plants a kiss on my head and then chuckles in my ear.
“I won the bet.”
“I accept.” My heart swells with unprecedented happiness. For once, the super competitive me, who’s always strived to be the winner, is happy she’s lost. Tears of joy fill my eyes and then I begin to laugh too. Oh my God! We’re having a baby!
Twenty-four hours later, I’m sporting a small tattoo on my ass. A delicate flower. A symbol of life.
Nine Months Later
Labor Day. Though I’m off from work, the Monday starts off like any other morning. Finn and I are both up early. Nine months pregnant and only twenty-five pounds heavier, I head sprightly to the kitchen to make breakfast. First, a pot of coffee for Finn, and then, some decaffeinated Earl Grey tea for me. The divine aroma of the coffee wafts up my nose as I boil water in the tea kettle. Inhaling the dark rich brew, I long for a cup. My OB-GYN, however, has forbidden me from drinking caffeine as well as alcohol during my pregnancy and despite my love of both, I’ve obliged. Once the baby is born, I can at least go back to coffee. One cup a day. My doctor’s assured me the caffeine won’t affect the quantity or quality of my breast milk nor the baby.
The baby is due in two weeks though she could drop any day. I believe it’s going to be a girl while Finn is positive it’ll be a boy. Three months into my pregnancy, we made another bet—same stakes. Either way, I just want to give birth to a healthy baby, and I’m grateful that I’ve had such an easy pregnancy. No morning sickness, cramping, or lack of energy. In fact, I’m still working full-time, much to Finn’s chagrin. He’s wanted me to take the next two weeks off, but I refused to give in. Resting is not part of my vocabulary. I’m a lot like my mother, who right up to giving birth to me, was shooting a documentary in Australia. One day, I’ll share the story with my child—Dad was driving a Jeep in the Murramarang Nature Reserve with my very pregnant mom next to him in the front seat. The open-air vehicle flew over a sizable pothole and my mother instantly went into labor. Thirty minutes later I was born in the backseat while she was shouting out to their production team not to miss one shot of the kangaroos hopping by.
“Good mornin’, baby.” A familiar rasp brings an end to my musings. I look over my shoulder.
Finn. Dressed in casual sweats that sit low on his hips and bare-chested. Unshaven, his mop of bedhead hair falling into his sapphire eyes. No matter how many times I’ve seen him this way, it’s a total turn-on. My skins prickles as hot tingles dance from head to toe. He shoo
ts me his dazzling, dimpled smile.
“Mmm. The coffee smells good. What’s for breakfast?”
Before I can answer, the kettle whistles. I hurry to the stove to turn it off.
Then suddenly, I feel it. A rush of warm liquid pouring down my inner thighs. Panic rises up inside me. It’s not supposed to happen this way. What happened to the contractions?
“Oh my God!” I cry out.
“Baby, what’s the matter? Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?” Finn’s voice is even more panicked than mine.
“Finn, my water just broke!”
He glances down at the puddle of liquid around my bare feet. “Holy shit!”
“I’ve got to get to the hospital.”
Five minutes later, with the overnight bag I’ve had packed for over a month, we’re on our way. A Springsteen song playing—“Countin’ on a Miracle.” Praying that we won’t be pulled over for speeding. Or get into an accident. The gut-wrenching contractions start coming. Praying that all will go well.
Cedars-Sinai Medical Center is about twenty minutes away, but without traffic, we make it there in ten. Finn, the maniac, drops off the car at the Emergency Room entrance and lifts me into his arms, leaving my overnight bag behind. Carrying me, he darts through the automatic doors and dashes up to the reception area.
“My wife is about to have our baby!” he spits out in a panic.
The attendant on duty rolls her eyes at him. “Relax. It happens all the time.”
Ten minutes later I’m in the delivery room, Finn by my side. Assisted by several nurses, a young Asian doctor examines me. I don’t recognize her.
“Who are you?” I mumble.
“Dr. Woo.”
Dr. Who?
“I work with Dr. Harris, your regular doctor. She’s on vacation.”
What!? On Labor Day? The day of all days I’m in labor!
I manage one word: “Oh.” Which morphs into “ooh” when another agonizing contraction stabs my gut. Groaning, I contort my face as Finn’s alarmed voice fills my ears.
“Do something, doctor! My wife’s in pain!”
I glance up at my dressed-in-scrubs husband. His face is more pinched than mine. And he’s sweating.
Dr. Woo gently presses down on my swollen belly. “Chill, everyone. I’ve got this. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“What’s going on?” I mutter.
“Mrs. Hooker, because your water broke before your contractions, we’re going to give you an epidural.”
“An epidural?” That was so not part of the plan. Dr. Harris, Finn, and I all agreed I’d have the baby naturally.
“Yes. It’ll minimize any potential infections.”
The next half-hour is a total blur—between the epidural and excruciating contractions. Finn never leaves my side. He’s my husband, lover, partner, coach, and the father of our child . . . that’s if the baby ever comes out.
“Push, baby, push!” he urges.
My legs bent and spread, I give it all I have. I push. I grunt, I cry. I shriek. Sweat beads cluster on my chest. Oh, the pain! Please, my baby, come.
Finn repeats his three desperate words.
I push and I push and I push. Why, oh God, won’t she come out? Every horror story I’ve read fills my head. That she’s breach . . . tangled in the umbilical cord . . . and the most horrifying of all . . . she’s stillborn. Tears spill from my eyes as I do everything I can to bring my baby into this world.
Then, suddenly, on my next push, I feel something different. Something pushing out of me like an alien. It hurts so much! I shriek in agony and in fear. Finn squeezes my hand.
“Skye, the baby’s head is coming out!” He gasps. “Now the shoulders.”
“Push again!” orders the doctor with an excited smile.
Why the hell is she smiling? This is no picnic! With a thundering grunt, I push again, looking up at Finn. Tears leak from his eyes. Why is he crying? It’s freaking me out.
“One more big push!” I hear the doctor say as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Uggggh!!!” Then suddenly, my tummy feels empty, and I hear a hungry, little cry. Then, the voice of a nurse.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Hooker. You have a healthy baby . . . ”
“Girl. It’s a girl.” The soft, bewildered voice of my husband.
What? I open my eyes. And watch as they clean her off. My tiny, mottled, peach-haired life form. My little beauty. Her sweet cries music to my ears as they swaddle her and lay her gently on my breast. Misty-eyed, I gaze down at her and feel the deepest of love, a powerful connection that can’t be put into words. One that transcends all others.
“She’s beautiful.” Finn’s voice is hardly above a whisper. “Our Maddie.”
We decided on names early on, for both a boy and a girl. We’re calling her Madeline Soleil. After my favorite storybook character and my late mother whose name meant sunshine. Maddie for short.
I nod, glancing back down at her. “Yes, my love, she is.”
He kisses her scalp. Then, he kisses my forehead.
“You won the bet.”
I flash him a smile. “It’s going to hurt to sit tomorrow.”
Twenty-four hours later, my husband is sporting a tattoo identical to mine.
CHAPTER 18
The memory of that flower tattoo on Finn’s gorgeous rock-hard ass is cut short. Maddie’s sweet voice brings me back to the moment.
“Daddy, my new teacher is so pretty!” She can’t take her sparkling eyes off me nor can I take mine off her. Her gaze darts to her father. “Don’t you think so?”
Finn’s eyes soak me in. A slow, dimpled smile spreads on his lips. “Yes, she is, sunshine.”
I feel myself blush, flush all over. “Thank you.”
“Daddy, can Kangy and I show Ms. Callahan my room?”
Kangy must be the stuffed animal she’s holding. I cast my eyes down. For sure, it’s the toy kangaroo I cherished as a child. The one my father bought after my mother gave birth to me in Australia. Now lovingly worn and minus the joey that used to be in her pouch. Another melancholic smile forms on my lips.
“If you’d like, you can call me Scarlet.” Or Mommy. My heart clenches at that thought.
“That’s such a nice name! S-C-A-R-L-E-T.”
“Wow! You know how to spell it?”
She nods proudly. “Yup! My daddy has a tube of paint called scarlet red.”
Finn smiles proudly. “I told your teacher you’re super smart.”
An ear-to-ear grin lights up her face. “I am!”
God, she reminds me so much of myself at her age. Bold, confident, and precocious.
Her eyes stay on Finn. “So, Daddy, is it okay if I show Scarlet my room?”
“Sunshine, I think she might want to get settled in first. Unpack her bags and relax a bit.”
I quickly correct him. “Actually, Finn, I’d love to see your daughter’s room.” In truth, I desperately want to spend time with her and I need to get away from him. The devastating effect he’s having on me is almost unbearable. My heart is pitter-pattering, my stomach flittering. The urge to tell him who I really am makes me want to jump out of my skin. And fall into his arms.
Finn agrees and an elated Maddie jumps up and down, shouting “Yay!” On my next anxious breath, she takes my hand, coaxing me to stand up. The warmth of her little hand in mine melts my heart like chocolate, the sensation so overwhelming I stagger to my feet like a drunk.
“C’mon, Scarlet. It’s upstairs. I’ll show you.”
Finn’s amused eyes stay on us as she eagerly leads me out of the room to the winding stairs, her plush kangaroo still dangling from her other hand. We march up the steep steps side by side. When we get to the landing, she bolts down a long hallway. I quicken my gait to keep up with her, amazed how energetic my asthma-stricken little girl is. Her room is almost at the very end.
“Here it is!” she says brightly.
I stand at the doorway as still as a statue, her hand still i
n mine. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I can let go of it. It belongs to me. Now and forever. The connection is so strong it’s as if they’re melded. A whirling dervish of emotions swirls through me.
Joy.
Excitement.
Love.
Shock.
Fear.
Frustration.
Sadness.
When it all comes to an end, the only one that lingers is shock. I still can’t believe I’ve been reunited with my husband and child. While I yearn to shout out who I am, I need to collect myself and remember why I’m in the Witness Protection Program. Someone tried to kill me and that someone is likely still out there. I could be a threat to their safety.
“Scarlet, isn’t it pretty!?” chirps Maddie, her enthralled voice erasing my unsettling thoughts and brightening my spirits. Bubbling with pride, she leads me inside.
It’s a far cry from her closet-sized pink and white nursery. A pang of melancholy jabs me. My baby girl has grown up. Whimsically decorated in lavender, white, and moss green, the roomy, sunlit space reflects the personality of a sophisticated but fun-loving little girl. Optimally placed on the whitewashed plank floors are various pieces of sturdy but stylish bleached wood furniture, including a large armoire, a dresser with a mirror, and a queen-size sleigh bed. The bed can easily fit the two of us.
“Scarlet, do you like my room?” She lets go of my hand and prances over to the bed. Hopping on to it, she begins to jump up and down as if it’s a trampoline. “Daddy and I picked out everything together from Pottery Barn. He let me have this big girl bed!”
“I love it, sweetie,” I say, my eyes roaming. They land on an antique white rocker in the corner. Even with the newly upholstered green gingham cushions, I recognize it instantly. Tears brim in the back of my eyes. It’s the chair I sat in while nursing Maddie. Night after night.
She catches my gaze on it and breaks into a smile. “That’s my special chair! Daddy says my mommy used to like to rock me in it.”
My heartbeat speeds up; my stomach knots. “Your mommy?”
Remember Me Page 9
