“No, he did, but not as much as I did. When we tried month after month and nothing happened, I became depressed. I have friends who have struggled to get pregnant, but I never thought it would happen to me. I fixated on it so hard that it kind of took over our marriage. It also made working with babies at the daycare, something I have always loved, nearly unbearable. So I quit. I started doing photography, but I was still broken. And one day, Mitch came in and said he was done.”
“He gave up on you,” Zane says with a furrowed brow.
“My sadness consumed me so much that it was overtaking our marriage,” I say.
“Don’t defend him. He gave up on you,” he says, and I look up at him. “You are meant to be a mother.”
I smile, but I’m fighting tears hard as my heart clenches in my chest. “It’s not going to happen,” I tell him.
“You really believe that?” he asks. “You really have no hope?”
“Hope is kind of hard to have when you repeatedly get negative results on pregnancy tests,” I say.
But Zane just smiles sweetly and takes my wine glass from me, setting both of them on the coffee table. Then he scoots closer to me on the couch, leaning in and pulling me into a kiss. From there, he leans back, taking me with him, not just physically but in every way.
I don’t know what our labels are. I don’t know what any of this is anymore, but it isn’t fake. It’s not for face value or a brand or anything else. It’s unspoken.
The kiss goes deeper as our tongues meet, soft and warm and unrushed. His eyes are open, peering inside mine, and for thefirst time in a long time, maybe ever, I don’t feel violated by the idea of being this close to someone. Of the intimacy. Of letting someone all the way in.
Zane shifts his weight so that he is on top of me, and I inch out of my cotton pajama shorts. He pulls his underwear down, and I take him in my hand, stroking the length of his warm, smooth girth. He moans from my touch.
He slides himself inside me, hot and hard; soft and warm, all at the same time. I wrap around him, snug and perfect. It’s as if we are made for each other. He slowly starts a rhythm between us, a dance that I feel like I’ve known my whole life, but never had the chance to do.
“You feel so good,” he says. “So warm and tight and perfect.”
“So do you,” I say, and he presses his forehead to mine.
Then he takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together and kissing the back of my hand before pinning it above my head. The pace quickens as our bodies respond to the need, and I moan as every nerve ignites.
“Zane,” I whisper.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he says as his hips move against mine. “Fucking perfection.”
I squeeze his hand tighter as the heat rushes towards my pussy, mounting like a tidal wave, higher and higher until it crashes and we both cry out. Wave after wave, we roll through the orgasm, surrendering to it, drowning it, and letting it swallow us whole.
Afterwards, I am exhausted in the best way possible, and Zane lifts me in his arms and takes me to the bedroom. Bentley sleepsthrough the night, and so do we. For the first time in days, all three of us have everything we need.
Chapter 27
Zane
“You know,this isn’t that much different than mixing together a protein shake,” I say as I prepare a bottle for Bentley. We’ve been giving him a mix of donated breast milk and formula. I know Similac isn’t the same as a pre-workout mix; I tell myself it is for the sake of feeling like I know what I’m doing.
Bentley is sitting in a bouncer, waiting surprisingly patiently for his bottle as I talk to him like he’s one of the guys at the gym. Ashlyn and I were up most of the night, in a good way. In fact, after she figured out that all the little man needed was a relaxing bubble bath, it actually ended up being an amazing night, even if I am tired to my bones today.
“Alright, one milk bottle neat, straight no chaser for you,” I say, holding the bottle up to Bentley to feed him, all the while grabbing a bottle of beer for myself. “And one bottle of low calorie, low flavor beer for me. Cheers,” I say, tapping the two together.
I take a long pull from my bottle, and he guzzles from his. I watch him. His hands find mine, wrapping around my fingers with a firm grasp. I can’t help but smile.
“You’re growing on me, you know that?” I admit, brushing the top of his hand with my thumb. “So let’s talk. Just me and you. Man to man.” I sit down on the chair in front of him, feeding him as I nurse myself–beer that is. “Full disclosure? I have no idea what I’m doing. I never thought I was going to be a dad. Not that I didn’t want to be. I just figured if it hadn’t happened by now, it wasn’t going to happen at all.”
I pause to take a sip and readjust the bottle in my hand. Bentley stays quiet other than his milk-chugging. I chuckle. “Damn, Little Man. You really can throw it back,” I say. “I mean, darn. I guess I’m going to have to watch my language from now on. I guess I’m going to have to make a lot of changes.”
I set my beer down and watch Bentley for a minute. I take in features: blue eyes, curly strawberry-blond hair, and a pronounced nose. “You know something? You do look a little like me,” I say, and while I’m talking to him, I’m thinking out loud too. “You know, with a face like that there could be a future for you. You look like a lady-killer already.”
Bentley slurps down the rest of his bottle, and I pick him up to burp him. “Listen, speaking of good looks. We are going to have to come to an agreement, okay? All this up all night stuff isn’t working for me. Don’t tell anyone I said this, especially Cal, but when I don’t get enough sleep, I get wrinkles. Well, I could get wrinkles, and that’s kind of a big deal.”
Bentley burps in response, and I laugh, then hold him so I can look at his face.
