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I glance down at my flat stomach before quickly looking away again. Still, I can’t help my hand from creeping to touch low on my abdomen.
What if I am?
What does the cramping mean?
Oh God, what if I lose the baby before I even realized I had it?
I lose my breath at the thought.
Baby.
My baby. Our baby.
Can’t breathe, can’t breathe—
I stagger to my feet.
Sudden images flash before me: Me, my stomach heavy and round. Xavier holding a tiny baby, the grin that so rarely appears cracking his face as he looks down in wonder at the bundle in his arms. Tiny fingers grasping mine.
Oh God, what if— what if— I stumble to the bathroom.
When I try the doorknob, I almost weep with relief to find it unlocked.
Xavier’s in the shower. I only kick off my boots before stepping inside and collapsing into him. He catches me in his arms and holds me as the tears start up again.
The spray hits my back as I cling to him. “What if something’s wrong with the baby?” I cry into his chest. “I can’t— The baby—” I claw at his back, desperate for something solid. “What if I— I’ve been doing all this hard work all week and what if—”
He pulls me against him tighter, pressing my cheek to his chest. “Shhhh. It’s going to be all right. Dr. Winthrop is the finest obstetrician in Cheyenne. She’ll be here soon and she’ll have answers. I won’t let anything happen to you, Precious. I swear.” He kisses the top of my head and then repeats in a rough, low voice, “I swear it.”
I nod against his chest, the terror that briefly cinched my lungs slowly releasing. Still, I can’t let go of him.
This is the Xavier I know and I need him right now more than ever. In command and control. When he says everything’s going to be okay in that tone of voice, it’s impossible not to believe him.
“Let’s get you out of these soaking clothes,” he murmurs.
I stand mutely while he peels off my shirt and tugs down my jeans. Soon the clothes are a soggy pile in the corner and we’re flesh to flesh. His cock is rock hard but he ignores it, twisting his hips to the side so that part of him doesn’t make contact as he briefly pulls me close again.
It feels like maybe he needs to hold me after going so long without contact. Or maybe I’m reading into it, because God knows that’s how I feel. I need to feel him real underneath my arms. Real and solid. I can’t handle him disappearing on me again. Especially now. But he doesn’t seem inclined to.
He pulls away briefly to pour shampoo into his hands but he tugs me close again as his fingers delve into my short hair. I close my eyes against the familiar sensation.
“I want the baby,” I whisper, trying the words out loud for the first time as he massages my scalp. “I actually want the baby.”
“Of course you do,” he murmurs. “And you’ll be the perfect mother.”
I melt against him. He really thinks that? Even though every time the topic of babies has ever been brought up all I can talk about is how much I don’t like them and how terrible I think they are?
He detaches the shower sprayer to get the shampoo out and then he’s on to the body wash. I can’t imagine ever being separated from him and going without this. The past four days have been terrible. Right now, his hands on me feel as necessary as breathing.
He washes my pussy with special care, his face reverent. He doesn’t tease or try to arouse me. His big fingers just separate my lips gently and then he turns the showerhead to a gentle mist as he cleanses me down there.
Then he reattaches the showerhead to the wall, fills his hand with his own body wash and starts to wash himself. His movements are rough, almost punishing.
“Let me.” I try to take the bottle he just put down but he stays me with a hand on my wrist. I want to give him some of the comfort he’s just given me. But with a gentle shake of his head and an expression I can’t read, he pulls my hand back.
“Just stand under the spray,” he says.
He goes back to his quick, rough strokes. He usually washes himself briskly, but this seems more curt than usual.
