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Even a gentle bite causes me to gasp. God, I forgot how pregnancy makes everything much more sensitive. His teeth release and as he sucks, I lift, place him at my core, and lower down to take him all in.
For a while, we relish the intense pleasure, but soon nature takes over. My man bucks up, I press down, and we race to our high. Suddenly, he hits my perfect spot, groans, and swallows my scream as he pistons inside me.
Holy shit, I have no idea what button he pushed, but I can’t stop shuddering. Sebs sensesit too and takes his time emptying into me as I collapse on his body.
After a bit, he reaches for his monitor, closes his eyes, and mutters, “You sure you ain’t pregnant?”
Safe and warm, his heartbeat at the same tempo as mine, I inhale and exhale. “It’s too soon to tell for certain, but I’ll buy a test next week.”
“An EMT once told me, them things work faster now.” The pillow absorbs his voice making his mumbling barely discernable.
“Are you worried? Do you not want another baby? …Suds?”
Dammit.He’s sound asleep. Disappointment and relief keep me awake, but eventually exhaustion overwhelms me. At some point in the night, his monitor goes off, but when I question him, he doesn’t remember the dream.
Too soon, my phone alarm bleeps.Fuck, it’s morning.With my pillow squished around my ears, I groan. “God, I can’t believe I told Aunt Marion I’d wash hair today. Maybe I oughta call in sick.”
At the mention of the word, sick, Godzilla-sized bile rises out of my sea of stomach acids. “Oops, Gotta pee.”
Racing to the bathroom, I run every faucet, and attempt the impossible task of silent puking. Afterthe monster retreats, I open my secret stash of saltines under the sink and nibble until the queasiness subsides.
A quick shower later, I hop in my clothes, ready to take on the world. As I’m trying to convince myself, my hubby lifts his jeans-clad mini-me from the kitchen table.
“I can drop Mikey off today, if you like.” After our boy runs off to find his coat, my sexy SEAL pulls me to his body, and presses his morning wood to my lower half. “Mmm. You feel good. How about we take a break later, for the-kid-takes-a-nap-sex?”
“We can always try. Miracles do happen.” My head in the clouds, thinking of last night’s bed play, I check the time and moan. “Shit-tak-e mushrooms. I need to go. See you guys later.”
Not wanting to deal with the first-floor troll, I race down the back steps and knock over the garbage. Creating more steam than the L-train midwinter, I dash down the sidewalk. Thankfully, at Aunt Marion’s, my conscientious cousin has unlocked, so I don’t need to wait at the door.
After helping me off with my coat, Rose hands me a cup of hot chocolate. “Global warming...”
“... is causing us to freeze to death?” Usually, I’m all about the science, but it’s difficult with my fingers about to fall off.
“The ocean currents are all fucked up because there’s too much fresh water from the melting poles.” She opens the dryer and starts folding the small cotton cloths.
While I dole them out to each station, I walk past the cash register. Beside it sits a wide-mouthjar marked ‘donations to St. Thomas’ with a few one-dollar bills stuffed inside. At this rate, Mikey will have his doctorate before we reach our goal.
While I’m considering moving to Canada, Mia arrives with two huge boxes of pastries. Seeing my shock, she answers my unasked question.
“Mom told everyoneyou were coming in today. You better have some juicy stories to amuse the blue-haired crowd. Otherwise, they may become vicious.”
Great.During the morning break, I call the plumber, cross my fingers, and pray to the patron saint of lost causes. “Hey Sal, how’s my plumbing?”Shit, that didn’t come out right.
“Sammy, I got good news and bad news. So, I foundthe parts, but they won’t be here until after New Year’s. Sorry.” Salvatore doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic.
At my wit’s end and not willing to give up, I leave a message with Uncle Vinny. As I’m returning my phone to my purse, I spya small, unrecognized silver tag.
Huh. What’s this?
Ah, now I remember. It was in front of my nose at the warehouse. Research, however, must wait. I’m up to my elbows in shampoo.
Mrs. Gallo closes her eyes as I rinse her thin, short hair. “Why not have a dance-a-thon? The couples will dance until they pass out. It’s a lot of fun.”
“The school hasn’t allowed those since the late forties.” Chuckling and yet horrified, I stop the water, lift her seat, and wrap her head in a towel.
Her eyes grow soft and kind of far off. “Too bad, I planned on asking Mr. Hilliard to be my date.”
“Isn’t he in a wheelchair?” One side of my mouth quirks up as she nods enthusiastically.
