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Our gazes drift to one another, calmness flowing through us as we recognize the life we created. I will never stop loving Rose and the future we’ve built together.
“Say something real,” she whispers.
“Je t’aime.” I love you.
I cup her ass and bring her firmer against me. Rose clutches the quilt with two tight hands, and I place a couple pillows beneath her lower back, hoisting her body towards mine.
Be gentle, I remind myself. Even if she dislikes those two words, even if they’re not my favorite either—I can’t fuck her roughly, not when she’s this pregnant.
I squeeze her ass and place hot kisses along her abdomen. She sucks in another breath, but she lets me do whatever I’d like to her body—and I’d like to play with my wife.
Fragile, more vulnerable, and she’s still giving me permission to dominate her. This fact, combined with the changes in her body and the way her eyes burn holes right through me, stirs and grips me.
I’m entrapped.
My mind never wanders. Never diverges.
I’m fixated.
I can’t think about anything but Rose.
I lower my head and kiss between her legs. She trembles, her hormones intensifying every sensation. I squeeze her ass again. Rose shudders and shuts her eyes tight. Her sex drive, in the past, has been higher during her first and second trimester and absent during the third.
I study her reaction for a moment, kissing the inside of her thigh. “Tu es à l'aise, là?” Are you comfortable right now? I sit up to adjust the pillows beneath Rose. She has frequent backaches, mostly due to high heels, but she’d endure nearly everything to wear a pair.
It’s a paradox.
She’s more comfortable in heels. And yet, they’re the cause of what adds to her discomfort.
Rose blows out a hot breath from her nose. “I have to talk to you.”
I have to talk to you isn’t a placeholder for don’t have sex with me. On the contrary, we talk during sex more often than we have sex in silence.
“I’m listening.” I rub her thigh, and I watch her gaze flit to the outline of my cock and then back to my blue eyes. I free my cock, and her lips tic upwards before she settles back into a glare.
“You’re not going to like the topic,” she explains, “but it needs to be discussed.”
“If it has anything to do with Twitter, I’m already dealing with it—”
“It’s not that.” She waves her hand like she’s volleying that topic aside.
I press the tip of my erection against her pussy. “I could guess, but you haven’t given me enough details to make an educated one.”
She props herself on her elbows, as though hoping to near my face and claw it off. “You’re so—” I push into her and she falls onto her back with the new fullness and pleasure. Her warmth wraps around my cock, the sensation pricking my nerves.
“What was that, darling?” I tease.
Rose raises her hand like shut up and then she sets her palm to her forehead. “It’s about Sadie.”
I rock slowly in and out, friction building sweat. “We could be talking about game theory, Nietzsche, Foucault, or evolution and you’d like to discuss my misogynistic cat who’s living with my therapist?”
“Yes,” she says stubbornly.
I spank the side of her ass.
She fights a smile. “I hate yo—”
I cover her mouth with my hand, her rage heating my whole body. “You love me, and this just might be the thousandth time I’ve reminded you.” Knelt between her legs, I thrust excruciatingly slow, even for me. My muscles burn. “And I don’t speak in hyperboles.”
I drop my hand from her mouth, trailing the base of her neck, between her breasts, and I rest my palm flat on her round abdomen. I could feel small movements from our son or daughter this morning.
Rose is lost in pleasure for a moment, her breath shortening, but the fire never extinguishes from her voice. “Your ego is going to contaminate our unborn child.” She presses her hand to her mouth, stifling a moan.
I grab her wrist, lifting her palm off so I can hear.
“Fuck,” Rose cries out. Her shoulders dig into the mattress as she nears a peak, and she pulses around my cock.
A groan escapes my lips.
“Harder,” she begs.
I squeeze her ass. “No.”
“Connor…” She places her hands over her face, which she only does when she’s disoriented from an orgasm—and when she’s not handcuffed.
I seize both of her wrists and hold them in one hand. I don’t climax with her, so when she comes down, I’m still rocking inside.
“Sadie,” she pants.
I let her see my irritation and then spank her again. “My name isn’t Sadie.”
“I’m serious, Richard.” She catches her breath. “I want to bring her home.” She cuts me off before I can add we’ve been through this. “The last time I saw her at Frederick’s, she lazily and pathetically collapsed at my feet. She’s old.” I open my mouth but she says passionately, “I’ll clip her nails every single morning, and I’ll teach Jane not to provoke the cat or pull on her tail.”
“If it was just about Jane’s wrongdoing, we would’ve never sent the cat away. It’s more than that, Rose.” It’s about Sadie being unpredictable and hostile.
“She’s old, Connor.” She used my middle name, which means that this subject means more to her. “It’s not about Jane. It’s about keeping our family together, and Sadie is a part of our family.” Rose is loyal to a fault, but if she sees a change in Sadie, then it might be safer to bring her home.
I can convince myself that Sadie is fine without me, so I have no emotions towards leaving her behind, but Rose can’t.
Jane can’t.
I nod but then I shake my head. “I don’t like giving Jane something after we repeatedly told her no.” Our children are privileged, but I need them to understand their privilege. Spoiling them like this won’t help.
“We’ll remind her that Sadie isn’t hers. She’s her own being and not a toy or a reward.”
It’ll be difficult for Jane to understand the difference.
Rose glowers, her passion practically smoking off her skin. “Richard Connor Cobalt is afraid of a challenge.”
I push deeper, and her collarbones jut out with a staggered inhale. My jaw is tight in arousal. “And Rose Calloway Cobalt is trying to incite me.”
Rose jerks her hands in my hold, on the brink of another orgasm. I clutch her wrists tighter, my own climax on the horizon. Sweat beads across my chest, my abs glistening.
Her fervor stimulates me.
I come as soon as she climaxes. I carefully lean forward to kiss her lips, and I whisper, “Two weeks. We’ll bring Sadie home then.”
“One week,” she argues.
I sense a battle in our future. One with tiles and letters and points. “Scrabble. Best out of three wins,” I challenge.
Her shoulders rise with confidence. “I accept with the option of one addendum.”
She could remove certain vowels or set a category like “pastoral words”—anything is possible with an open-ended addition to the game. What will she do?
I’m entrapped.
I’m fixated.
“One addendum,” I agree to her terms.
And our love turns to rivalry.
* * *
I won the first round. She won the next two. Her addition to the game: only use words that specify historical sites or anatomy. The categories have zero relation to each other. On the board, we had hypothalamus connecting to Everest and then ventricle to Inukshuk.
It was as nonsensical as it was entertaining.
And I blame luck for my loss. I kept blindly grabbing tiles worth one point.
Now nearly 7:00 a.m., Rose has fallen back to sleep after we both showered. Not tired, I descend the cabin’s narrow staircase. Halfway down, the step creaks behind me.
I check over my shoulder.
Not surprised in the least.
Whenever we’re in the same house, Ryke and I tend to cross paths in the morning. Aspen or Philadelphia, this wouldn’t change.
Shirtless like me, hair astray (not like me) and jaw set hard, Ryke skips two steps at a time, barely making eye contact. Then he reaches my stair. No room to pass, he has to wait since I don’t hurdle the steps.
“Can you let me fucking by?” Ryke asks.
“The places you have to be can’t be more important than mine.” I’m not descending the stairs slowly or quickly. I’m somewhere in between.
“You could’ve just fucking said no.” His agitated voice is right next to my ear, and as soon as we reach the last stair, he tries to pass me.
We wedge together, stuck between the wall and the banister.
I push out in front, and he curses beneath his breath about me always needing to go fucking first. I’d respond, but it’s mostly true. The first floor is just one spacious room containing the living room, kitchen, pool table and windows to the snowy outdoors.
