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After handshakes and goodbyes, Devlyn and I leave the office. And it isn’t until we are in the car and driving down the road that I feel it. A newfound level of relief. A comfort that had been missing. I didn’t know it was something I needed, but now that I have it, I am grateful.
TWENTY-FOUR
DEVLYN
Isit weird for me to be turned on right now?
Having Shelly at my appointment was beyond therapeutic. A buzz coursed through my veins. Perspiration dampened my skin. And the pain of the past was slowly released from my bones. For the first time in years, it feels as if I can draw in a full, deep breath.
And damn, it feels spectacular.
I don’t keep secrets from Shelly—well, unless you count surprise parties—but I haven’t unpacked all of my past with her. Not yet. Not because I don’t want to, not because I don’t trust her, but more because it is a lot to take on and I have no idea where to begin.
Insert Dr. Prince.
This man has been a godsend. He doesn’t look at me like I have two heads. He doesn’t call me crazy or judge how I feel about my mother. No, he listens, digests, then helps me look at each point in time from a different angle. One memory at a time, he guides me down the road to resolution. Shows me how to let go of the bad and find ways to forgive the guilt I feel. Teaches me how to move forward and love myself first without fear of repercussion.
When the holidays roll around this year, I plan to get Dr. Prince something to show my appreciation. He will decline and tell me gifts are unnecessary, but I beg to differ. Without his counsel, my life would still be a mess.
I park in the driveway and dash to the passenger door to help Shelly out. Early in the pregnancy, she’d wave me off. Tell me she was capable of getting out on her own. But as her belly rounds more, she waits for my hand. Allows me to take on more of the load. Smiles or kisses my cheek when I suggest she rest.
With Shelly less than ten weeks from delivering, Elizabeth insists on her working less hours. Instead of forty to forty-five, she now works closer to twenty. In a few weeks, depending on how she feels, Shelly plans to start maternity leave. Originally, she wanted to work until her water broke. With her belly rounding faster, her ankles and fingers swelling more, plus the general discomfort of being on her feet all day, she conceded on the idea. Confessing she will likely start leave a week or two before the baby arrives. Which is right around the corner.
To say I am relieved would be an understatement.
“Should we start on our homework assignment now?” she asks, humor lacing her voice as we toe off our shoes near the door.
I remember the first homework assignment from Dr. Prince. How ridiculous it felt to havehomework. But I followed through. Completed each task without argument. And now, I have grown to like the assignments. Grown more comfortable with the familiar activities that aid my peace.
“Yes and no.”
“Yes and no?”
I nod. “Mm-hmm.” I lace my fingers with hers, spin to face her, and walk us down the hall. She starts to pull us toward the nursery, but I tug us in the opposite direction. Toward the bedroom. Our bedroom.
“Want to change?” she asks as her brows knit together.
I shake my head as my legs bump the foot of the bed. I lift my free hand to her cheek and stroke her soft skin with my thumb. Leaning forward, I press my lips to hers. Brush her lips with mine slowly. Paint the seam of her lips with my tongue until they part and let me in.
In two rapid heartbeats, the kiss evolves from sweet to hungry.
Her fingers curl into fists and cling to the cotton of my shirt. She tugs me closer. Drags her hands up my torso and along my shoulders before wrapping them around my neck. The kiss turns frantic as our tongues tangle and hands grope.
I break the kiss, reach back for the collar of my shirt and yank the cotton over my head before tossing it to the floor. Shelly fumbles to tug her shirt free. “Let me,” I say as I reach for the hem and slowly pull it up and off her body.
Not a breath passes before I drop to my knees. Inches from my face, her belly button pokes out. Pink and brown marks highlight her belly. Marks she isn’t fond of, but I find sexy as hell. Those marks are evidence my baby—our baby—grows in her womb. Can’t think of anything more beautiful.
“Gorgeous,” I whisper as I lean in and press my lips to her belly. I lift one hand and rest it on her belly, then the other. Tipping my head back, my eyes trail up her midline until I reach her starry blues. “The most beautiful, remarkable, astonishing woman I know.”
Pink floods her cheeks as she combs her fingers through my hair. “Make love to me,” she says with fierce boldness.
The further into pregnancy Shelly is, the more challenging sex becomes. It took several nights to find the most comfortable position for her, but neither of us complained.
Her shorts and mine land in the same pile as our shirts, followed by her bra and panties. I help her onto the bed, add a second pillow beneath her head, then crawl up beside her. Plant my hands on either side of her. Feather kisses over her skin. Along her jaw and neck. The curve of her shoulder and length of her collarbone. Over one breast, sucking her nipple between my lips before trailing over to the other. Inch by inch, I kiss my way down her belly, whispering words of love—for her and our baby. Then I dip lower. Drop between her thighs and lick up her seam.
She gasps and reaches for me, clutching my hair in her fist. “So good.”
Her moans fill the room while I feast on her body. Her fingers in my hair tug harder. Nails digging into my scalp as her thighs tremble and tighten around my head. On the brink of her orgasm, I insert two fingers and pump at the slow rhythm she begs for every time. With one last flick and pump, her body constricts around my fingers as a guttural moan spills from her lips.
