Us, Again

by Elle Maxwell

  I thrust a little harder and the motion pushes us closer to the stream of one of the Jacuzzi jets. We’re suddenly perfectly aligned so the rushing water hits right where we’re connected. I can feel the water running along my shaft as I pull out and massaging my balls when I’m buried inside her. It’s fucking magical.

  Mackenzie moans again and adjusts her ass a bit. I can tell when her clit finds the jet’s path because she spasms around me.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  Yes, indeed. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

  I enter her again and pause when I’m as deep as possible. I look down at her beautiful green-blue eyes that are currently hazy with lust and love. Love swells inside my own chest until it’s on the edge of bursting. This is everything. She’s my everything.

  “Marry me, Mackenzie.”

  Her body freezes, suddenly going stiff as her mouth drops open in shock.

  “Be my wife?” I ask again.

  Her shock seems to wear off, and her expression morphs to an entirely new emotion.

  “GRAHAM!” she shrieks. “You can’t propose during sex!”

  … I think I just did.

  “Because …?”

  “Seriously?” She sounds exasperated. Not exactly the response I’d hoped for. “What am I supposed to tell my parents? Our friends? Our children?!”

  Well, shit. Did I fuck this up? I never had any doubt about her answer, but now some uncertainty creeps in.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to fix it. “I have the ring, and I was going to take you to dinner or something tomorrow and ask, but then we were having this moment and it felt so good and I just couldn’t wait. Do you want me to take it back?”

  There’s a little bit of panic in my voice, and down south I’m starting to soften. I suddenly become aware that I’m still inside her with her ankles on my shoulders. Maybe she’s right and this was bad timing.

  “Are you saying no?” I have to swallow down the fear.

  Her face softens and the tension leaves her body.

  “No. Of course, I’ll marry you, you gorgeous, wonderful idiot.”

  She said yes.

  That sure takes care of any hard-on shrinkage—the adrenaline of the moment has me harder than I’ve ever been in my life. I kiss her, tongue plunging inside her mouth at the same time I resume the motion of my hips and bury myself deeper within her body.

  “I love you,” I tell her. “I’m sorry.”

  “I love you too,” she replies a little breathlessly, hips pushing back toward mine. I can tell I’m hitting that spot on her inner wall and that this isn’t going to last much longer. Good, because the thought of her as my wife has me ready to blow.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” I promise, my own voice less than steady as my balls start to draw tight.

  “I know you will,” she gasps.

  We climax together.

  We’re getting married!

  * * *

  Mackenzie

  The elevator climbs up, up, up, and I take a deep breath trying to steady myself. In a minute that door is going to open and I need to act surprised to see Graham with our family and friends. Supposedly, I think Marisa and I are simply grabbing drinks at the Top of the Hub, one of the nicest restaurants in Boston situated at one of the tallest points in the city, the top floor of the Prudential building. It’s fancy and coveted for its amazing view; there are windows on every wall that allow you to look down on Boston. It’s a place Marisa and I would never go for no reason. Of course, if this was actually a random BFF night out, I also wouldn’t have gone shopping for the perfect dress or spent hours prepping my hair and makeup.

  You’ve got to love having a heads-up about your own “surprise” engagement.

  Marisa’s eyes meet mine, and we burst out in giggles. I have to turn the other way to avoid eye contact. I try to compose myself, but I can still hear her laughing and that makes me start all over again. We don’t need to say anything. It’s clear we’re both thinking about my actual engagement. She and Shaina are the only ones I’ve told the story, which we’ve dubbed “The Balls Deep Proposal” or “BDP.”

  I mean, I’ve been waiting a long time for Graham to propose. I never actually expected him to wait this long, and for the last year I’ve been secretly hoping he’d pop the question earlier than the perfunctory two years I mentioned that one time. I figured he had some big plan in the works or was waiting for something special. So, when he finally asked me to marry him in the midst of sex (incidentally, sex that was arguably among the best of my life), I was incredulous.

  In retrospect, it was such a Graham thing to do that I shouldn’t have even been surprised. I’m well aware that he isn’t romantic in the traditional sense of red roses and candlelight. I’d take the way he loves me any day because it comes straight from his heart. Graham’s style of romance looks like surprising me with tacos when I’ve had a long day, turning off my phone alarm on a Saturday so I can sleep in while he goes to the grocery store for me, giving me three orgasms before he lets himself come. Every day he looks at me like I’m the most miraculous thing he’s ever seen, and he never stops showing how much he loves me.

  So, he asked me to marry him while we were basically having a threesome with a Jacuzzi jet. In the big scheme of things, it’s something I can live with. I would have been fine coming up with a solid cover story or a low-key do-over at my parents’ house. He’s the one who got ambitious with this thing, renting out the Top of the Hub and inviting so many people. Truthfully, I suspect it’s Marisa’s dream proposal I’m about to enter.

  The elevator dings as we reach the top floor, and even though it’s not a real surprise, my insides flutter with excitement. It’s been sort of fun being secretly engaged for the last couple of weeks, but I’m ready to share the news with my parents and start wearing Graham’s mother’s diamond ring outside the walls of our house.

  The doors open and my eyes immediately lock onto Graham. He’s dressed up in a perfectly cut suit, sans tie, with his hair pulled back and beard trimmed short enough to emphasize his perfect jawline. My parents are right beside him, Mom already crying. There’s a group behind them of our friends and more of my family, all eyes focused on me as I step out of the elevator. Toward the back of the crowd I spot Griff towering a head taller than everyone else, and though I can’t see them I know Shaina and the kids must be nearby. I also catch sight of Derek, whose eyes are locked on Marisa as always. We’ve all come a long way since he first introduced himself as “Officer Schwartz,” and while he’s more than earned his first name status by now I doubt Marisa and I will ever stop calling him Officer Guapo.

  Graham walks toward me, stealing my attention again. He takes my hand and leads me to the center of the room before getting down on one knee.

  “Mackenzie Elaine Thatcher,” he begins. “I’m already the happiest man alive, and the luckiest, because I have you in my life. But I’ve been wanting to marry you since we were sixteen, so I hope you’ll agree to take me as your husband.”

  Even though it’s technically just for show, I cry anyway.

  Honestly, when it comes to spending the rest of our lives together, saying yes to this man twice is no hardship.

  45. FERTILITY FUCKFEST

  Another year later...

  Mackenzie

  My IUD is going to expire right before my twenty-seventh birthday. I’ve been aware for a while now that its “effective until” date was approaching, but I’ve managed to sidestep those thoughts—similar to the way I’ve sidestepped my husband’s attempts to talk about baby making.

  Let’s be honest. Graham has been wanting to get me pregnant since … well, I can’t remember a time he hasn’t wanted to, and his enthusiasm has only grown since we got married six months ago. I secretly suspect at least a small part of his eagerness comes from the caveman part of his brain…you know: “Me man, put seed in my woman and watch her grow big.”

  All joking aside, I know he’s genuinely excited to
be a dad, to start a family of our own. He loves being Layla and Harry’s “Uncle Graham,” and he’s simply itching for some kids that we don’t have to give back to their parents at the end of the weekend.

  Don’t get me wrong, I want to have babies with that man too. I want to be a mother. Every now and then, when Graham isn’t home, I’ll sit in one of our currently under-utilized extra bedrooms and imagine it redecorated for a little boy or girl. I’ve already decided that the bedroom closest to ours on the second floor will be best for a nursery. Until now, I’ve always been okay letting those be “someday” dreams.

  We’ve already been through a lot in our lives, both separately and as a couple, and sometimes it’s easy to forget that we’re still very young. But we are. Maybe a little selfishly, I’ve slowed things down because I wanted to have these years to ourselves. Not getting married and having babies right away also allowed us to put all of our focus on the Wyatt Center. For all intents and purposes, the Wyatt Center has been our baby for the last three years. I’m so proud of what we’ve built, and beyond proud of Graham for not only rising above his struggles but using his own experiences to help others. As the charity and the community programs thrive, I’ve noticed something settle inside him, the proof of his success soothing his lingering self-doubt. With every passing year, I see him reclaiming more pieces of the happy, confident boy I once knew.

  It’s been a wonderful time in our lives that we’ll look back on fondly.

  Now, the expiration of my IUD seems to be a cosmic sign. My little contraceptive friend and I have officially run the course of our seven-year relationship. It’s the end of an era, and thus seems a natural time to begin the next one. I make a doctor’s appointment to get it removed, and I don’t plan to replace it with anything.

  I should tell Graham, but I decide to surprise him. I just know he’ll make a huge deal of it, and I’d rather avoid having him count down the days like a kid looking forward to Christmas. (In this scenario, I suppose my body would be the chimney, and the baby would be Santa? … Oh my God, I’ve been spending too much time with Graham!)

  The day of my appointment, I come home and tell him the news. To say my husband is ecstatic would be a gigantic understatement.

  You’d think I came home wearing edible underwear or sporting nipple rings from the way he jumps me. I’m not exactly complaining, but I do briefly consider calling Shady for a little personal consult. I mean, it can’t be normal for a man to get insta-hard at the very mention of impregnating his wife. Right?

  Without asking me first, Graham pulls rank at work and schedules us both for a three-day vacation that just so happens to be the exact timeframe during which I’m ovulating. (He’s the one who told me this, by the way, because apparently the man looked it up and has been tracking my cycle more closely than I have.)

  At first, I’m kind of pissed off at him for this crazy alpha man move, but it’s not possible to stay mad at him for long. Because he’s Graham … and because we spend those three days naked.

  The whole thing is reminiscent of the first few months when we got back together, a heady blur of sex and insatiable need and constantly feeling drunk on orgasms. We make love in every possible way on every possible surface in our house, barely taking breaks to eat or sleep. In truth, we cover all those bases more than once, because in addition to the lovemaking, there’s a lot of what can only be called fucking—hard, sweaty, raw.

  It’s the best vacation I’ve ever had.

  “Oh crap.” We’re sprawled out on the bed in a state of exhaustion toward the end of the third day. “I hope I’m not pregnant at Griff and Shaina’s wedding!”

  Yep, our best friends are finally making the thing official. I choose to think our wedding inspired them, but Graham says that Griff (who is secretly a huge sweetheart) wanted to wait until he could give Shaina the wedding of her dreams. They’re finally at that place financially, now that they’ve moved their family into a nice house only a few minutes from ours—a house that conveniently became available at a surprisingly low rate right as they started looking … I told Graham I don’t even want to know what kinds of strings he had to pull to make that one happen.

  “I hope you are. We did good work here!” Graham protests.

  “But what if I’m all bloated or have morning sickness?”

  “I’m sure it will be fine, babe.”

  He’s probably right. I mean, I’ve met people who tried to get pregnant for months or even years before conceiving. I’m sure I have some more time.

  * * *

  Maybe I jinxed myself. Personally, I choose to blame the fact that no part of Graham (even his sperm) can ever resist a challenge. Graham says it was a simple matter of mathematical probability after our “fertility fuckfest.” Regardless, a week later we are the proud owners of a urine-covered white stick whose digital display reads “pregnant.”

  That’s right … insta-pregnant.

  Which is how I find myself knocked up at Shaina’s wedding a month later, running off every few minutes to puke into some bushes while the poor photographer tries to take pictures of the bridal party. The photos were planned for noon, which is apparently the time my body has deemed the “morning” part of this whole “morning sickness” situation.

  Shaina is really sweet about the whole thing, asking the guy to take some other photos while she comes to the bathroom with me. I puke some more then rinse out my mouth while she attempts to reassure me.

  “I was so sick during my first pregnancy too, and then with Harry it was barely anything.”

  I start muttering how I’m ‘never doing this again’ while trying to use a paper towel to remove some vomit from my bridesmaid’s dress.

  “Fuck,” Shaina says, drawing my attention to her. I’ve been so caught up in my own little crisis that I didn’t immediately notice she’s gone silent. I look up to see her standing there staring off into space, wearing a very strange expression.

  “What’s wrong?” I’m up on my feet, suddenly feeling better and ready for bridesmaid duty. Honestly, right now I’ll gladly deal with any emergency as long as it has nothing to do with my gag reflexes.

  “I think I’m pregnant,” Shaina says, shocking the hell out of me. She looks pretty shocked herself.

  “What?” I gasp, but I don’t think she hears me.

  Moving toward the door, she growls, “I’m going to kill Griff!” Then she runs off toward the room where the guys are getting ready.

  I don’t even try to stop her or worry about the whole “can’t see the bride” superstition. Griff and Shaina are as solid as it gets. That is, as long as Shaina doesn’t kill him since, apparently, he’s knocked her up for the third time.

  46. #DADDYSGIRL

  1 (more) year later …

  Mackenzie

  I’m in love.

  It’s still new, but the first time our eyes met, I knew this feeling was on a different level from anything I’d experienced before, even for Graham.

  Her name is Violet, and she’s ten weeks old. The crown of her head is covered in the finest layer of strawberry blonde hair, and she has her daddy’s hazel eyes. I can’t get enough of her—of those chubby cheeks and the little rolls on her arms and legs. This baby has me one hundred percent brainwashed with love chemicals, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Fortunately, Graham isn’t upset that he’s no longer the sole love of my life, because he is just as smitten with our daughter.

  Currently, I’m gazing down at Violet adoringly while trying to pay attention to Marisa, who is pacing back and forth in our living room. She’s been doing this for a while now—I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so worked up.

  “I mean … his last name is Schwartz. Schwartz! Schwartz. Oh my God. Every time I say it, it gets worse. It’s like someone decided to make a name by shoving all the most awkward consonants together!”

  Violet reaches for a strand of my hair and smiles. I can’t help but coo at her and tickle her tummy, which is covered by a pink ones
ie with the words “Sorry ladies, he’s mine. #DaddysGirl” on the front (one guess who got it for her).

  “Are you even listening to me? Ugh! I should have gone to Shaina!”

  “She wouldn’t be any less distracted,” I remind her. If anything, she’d be much worse. She has three kids to wrangle now, one of them only four months old.

  As it turned out, Shaina was in fact around three months pregnant at her wedding. It seems that with everything she had going on—raising two kids, planning the wedding, and her apprenticeship with a local tattoo parlor—she simply hadn’t noticed.