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In roughly three minutes and four seconds. Three Mississippi. Two Mississippi. One Mississippi…
“Lily,” Tate choked out, getting my attention back to see him silently laughing at me.
“Sorry, I was just Mississippi-ing.”
This made him laugh harder. “What the fuck?”
“Until I pee again,” I told him bluntly.
Seriously, if he was going to be around me during the pregnancy, he needed to get used to this shit. God knows what the birth would be like. I was just glad I’d be unconscious for it – scratch that, I’d better be unconscious for it.
Getting up, he walked around the bed and climbed in beside me, leaning his back against the headrest. This brought back memories that made me wince seeing as how it was much the same position he’d been in this morning.
I’d apologized for it a billion times, but I still owed him another one. “I’m sorry I molested you in your sleep and then broke your dick.”
“Told you it was cool, baby,” he murmured, not sounding amused by the incident. Not that I could blame him. If someone fell off the bed holding my vagina flaps, it would take a while for me to be ok with that.
“Can you pee?” At the current moment with my bladder reaching code red proportions, it was an important question. What if I’d done something to it and he couldn’t?
Had he even been to the bathroom today while we’d been together?
I was trying to remember the answer to that when he replied. “Yeah, no issues. It’s not great, but it’s not impossible. It’s just bruised, babe, so forget about it.”
I wouldn’t be forgetting about it if someone bruised the vacheen flaps, so I doubted I’d forget about snapping his cock just like that. I also doubted he would be ‘forgetting about it’ either. The sound of his scream…
When I didn’t answer as I stared at his crotch to see if I could see an L shape in it, he reached over and moved some hair off my cheek. Looking up at him, I had to blink a couple of times at the soft expression on his face.
I loved it, but I still had to question his mental status. Had he forgotten what had happened in the last twenty-four hours?
“Not that I’m complaining,” I began, stopping to lick my lips, “but why are you still here?” When his head jerked, and he frowned, I realized how harsh that sounded and did my best to explain what I meant. “In the last day, I’ve gotten you arrested, told you you were going to be a dad, molested you in your sleep, snapped your dick in half…”
“It’s all still in a straight line with no snapping involved,” he interrupted.
Refusing to be rational about it, I forged on. “Snapped your dick in twain, probably caused you to get frostbite on it too from the amount of icepacks you’ve had on it, my squirrel’s thrown its poop at you, adopted an unknown puppy and a Labrador who doesn’t have an off switch, and left you to look after them while I pussied out in my bedroom.” I stopped thinking that was the end of the list and then remembered one last bit. “Oh, and I’m pretty certain I’ve set you up to get your ass kicked by your brother when I told him you’d shove his phone up his ass and call it until he answered.”
I had done that, but seriously hormones made you irrational.
“Why would I do that?” he asked curiously.
“You agreed,” I reminded him. “In fact, you said absolutely.”
“But why am I doing this to him?” he pressed now sounding amused.
“Because he was going to Google how common it was to name dogs Fergus and Dougal, along with there being a gender equality on pet’s names.”
“He’s probably right, but at the same time they’re yours so you should be the one naming them. Then again, you choose terrible names for your pets, so I’m undecided on this one now.” He groaned as he stretched his legs out in front of him, and that’s when I noticed he’d taken his shoes off before he got on the bed. I also noticed the size of his feet – they were like surfboards. Surfboard feet, surfboard dick, except in his case a surfboard snapped in the middle.
Turning on my side to face him, distractedly I told him, “I’m naming the puppy Foxy Cleopatra because it has wiry hair and was found with a fox. And the Labrador’s named Nike.” The first one I’d chosen earlier in the day, but the last one had been an accident and based purely on the Nike symbol on his sock.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Again, I’m choosing our son’s name.”
That was the second time he’d said it was a boy. “So if it’s a girl, I can choose it?”
