I got into my music studio a few weeks ago and I’ve been banging out the tunes like crazy. It’s weird—maybe like the break I had from the time I left Southern Ophelia to now was what I really needed to make this transition from performer to composer a successful one. Or maybe I’m just happy with my life and it’s finding its way into my music.
I’ve conferenced with Charlie and the gang a few times and they’re really excited about the material I’m working on. Randy wants first pick and that totally works for me. I have no problem selling my songs minus the pain of marketing them.
Kim, my female lead replacement for Southern Ophelia, says she loves my lyrics because they speak to her. She’s like me in a lot of ways. She only sings songs that touch her so we’ve been working on a special single together. The guys don’t know about it—and she’s asked me to not tell them—and I think I know why. This song is her story and the way she feels about a man. I happen to believe the song is about Charlie. I guess it could be anyone, but the lyrics she’s contributed tell me she’s in deep.
I’m absorbed into the song in my head when Jack Henry comes into my studio. “L, you’re going to be late for your appointment.”
I look at the time and he’s right. I should’ve been gone ten minutes ago. “Shit.” I get up from my stool at the piano and go over to give him a kiss. “I gotta run.”
He grabs my arm to get my full attention before I’m able to get away. “No speeding to make it on time. I mean it. You can’t beat the clock so don’t try.”
That’s something I would have once attempted, but not now. “I’ll obey all the traffic laws.”
He kisses my cheek. “I’m really sorry I can’t go with you today.”
He feels bad he doesn’t make it to the doctor’s with me every time. “It’s okay. I see her every week so you can’t take off from work for every appointment, even if you are the boss.”
“Get a picture of her for me so I can see how much my girl’s grown this week.”
He has to stop doing that, always calling this baby a girl, but I don’t have time to scold him. I think that’s one reason he’s doing it—because I’m on my way out the door and I don’t have time. “I always do.”
My ultrasound goes well, as does my cervical exam. No change. I’m twenty-six weeks now and everything remains on track, so I decide it’s a good time to speak with Dr. Sommersby about my concerns. “My husband and I have a question. We understand that we can’t have penetrative sex, but is it okay for me to … orgasm other ways?”
“Oral sex and mutual masturbation are fine as long as nothing goes inside the vagina and you don’t experience contractions, leaking, or bleeding afterward. You’d need to come to the hospital immediately if any of those things occur.” She never misses a beat as she continues documenting in the computer, a sign this isn’t the first time she’s answered this question, so I feel minimally better about having asked. She finishes her documentation and closes the laptop. “Have any other questions or concerns?”
“I think that’s it.”
I use the drive home to think about what Jack Henry and I will do tonight. I want it to be great, not that it isn’t always, but I deserve something special seeing as I haven’t had an orgasm in eight weeks. Eight. Weeks. That’s crazy. He’ll probably touch me once and I’ll come. Yeah, it’s that bad.
I see Jack Henry on the vineyard as I’m coming up the drive so I stop. He abandons whatever he’s in the middle of doing and walks my way. I watch him coming toward me, in his rugged wear and Indiana Jones hat, and my heart still skips a beat. Oh my, he’s so damn good-looking. I still can’t believe he’s all mine.
He takes a couple of brisk steps before jumping the white fence surrounding the vineyard. “Everything go okay?”
“Yeah.” I reach into my purse to take out the ultrasound picture. “I even have proof.”
He takes it from me and a grin spreads. “My girl is growing.”
“Indeed I am. I gained another two pounds since I saw the doctor last week.”
He holds up the picture. “I meant this girl.”
I knew exactly who he meant. I just wanted to aggravate him the way he does me. “You’re going to feel really weird when this baby comes out a boy.”
“I don’t think so. I feel it deep down in my gut.”
I’m the mother and the baby is inside me. You’d think I’d be the one with the gut feeling. “Okay, clairvoyant one. I hope you can also see a name in your crystal ball since we don’t have one yet.”
“We have plenty of time to come up with the perfect name.”
I’m tired of she, her, he, him, and it. “I’d like to choose one for each gender so I don’t have to continue thinking of this child as nameless.” We look at one another and laugh. “I guess that would be fitting—the nameless companions to have a nameless child.”
“I’m ready for my daughter to have a name, so we’ll work on it this weekend.”
I roll my eyes. “You aren’t going to contribute a boy name, are you?”
He shrugs. “Probably not.”
Maybe I’ll make it a little more appealing for him to think about a boy name. “Then that means I get free rein on the boy name and you can’t veto anything I choose.”
“Fine. Have at it since it doesn’t matter. We won’t be using a boy name so it’s a waste of time—at least this go-round—but maybe the next one will be a boy. I’d like to have one.”
He’s killing me. “I hope this baby comes out with a big ol’ doodle just so I can wipe that smug look off your face.”
“Any son of mine would have a big doodle.”
I can’t believe he’d say that about a baby. “You’re awful.”
He shrugs. “You brought it up.”
I reach for the ultrasound picture. “Give me that. I’m going to the house.” I take it from him and put it in the passenger seat. “What time will you be in?”
He takes his hat off and leans inside my window. The weather is mild today so he’s not hot and sweaty, but he still smells like a working man. It’s sexy as hell. “What time do you want me in?”
He radiates sex and pheromones, almost like he can sense that I got the all-clear from Dr. Sommersby about having an orgasm, and my insides flip. Umm … I’d really like right now, please and thank you, but I remain disciplined. “I don’t have anything special planned so whenever you finish here is fine.” Lie. I have something very special planned. I schemed on it all the way home from my doctor’s appointment.
“Then text me when dinner is almost ready.”
“Will do.”
We clear the table from dinner and Jack Henry tells me he needs to go to his office and make a couple of business calls—couldn’t be more perfect. That’ll give me time to take care of the things I need to do for my special surprise. “No problem. I was planning on reading anyway.” Another lie, but one he won’t mind.
I go into our bedroom and look through my pole-dancing outfits. I’ve accumulated quite a few since we’ve been together but I haven’t worn one in months. I’m not really sure I’ll find one to fit anymore.
None of my one-piece rompers will work—they won’t fit over my belly—so I choose a two-piece skirted cowgirl outfit. I can wear my boots with it so it’s the obvious choice. I don’t intend on attempting the f*ck-me pumps. My balance has been so off the last month, I’d fall for sure.
I get ready in the bathroom and listen for Jack Henry before sneaking down the hall toward the gym. I feel safe once I’m there because it’s the last place he’ll come looking for me.
I set up the music, “Anemone” by The Brian Jonestown Massacre, and then the lights before I place his chair front and center. I put a pillow under it within my reach—I’m sure he’ll wonder what that’s for—but a pregnant woman doesn’t tolerate being on her knees for long without some cushioning.
When everything is in its place, I text him to see if he’s finished making his calls. He confirms he is so I tell him to come to the gym. I’m sure he’ll be wondering what I’m up to, but he won’t have time to hash it out. That’s just the way I want it.
When he enters the gym, the deep, dark bass thumps in the darkened room. The sole illumination is the stage light, directed on me. I give him the come-hither and he crosses the room, passing his chair. He’s shaking his head and looks like he wants to drag my ass off the stage and spank it for real. “No, L.”
“I’m not going to do any high climbs, drops, or inverts—absolutely nothing that’ll hurt me or the baby. I just want to dance for you. My feet won’t lift more than two feet off this stage so park your sweet ass in that chair and enjoy the show, caveman.” Then it dawns on me. Maybe this isn’t at all sexy to him. “Unless seeing me dance with this pregnant belly is a turnoff for you.”
“Baby, nothing you do is a turnoff. You breathe and I’m turned on.” He backs up and sits in his chair. “This better be good. I only have big bills in my wallet.”
His humor has returned, so I know he’s okay with this—as long as I keep it tame.
I begin by backing up against the pole so it’s in the center of my back. I reach overhead, holding it as I bend at my knees, sliding down slowly. When I’m halfway down, I push my knees apart and glide one of my hands down my thigh and then back up again. I straighten to stand and turn to face the pole. My hand grasps it tightly and I step out, taking a whirl around—it’s nothing special and my feet don’t leave the ground, so it’s more than safe.
I’m wearing boots so I couldn’t use my feet to climb if I wanted, but I’m good at using the insides of my thighs for ascending. I squeeze them around the pole and use my upper body strength to lift myself—no more than a couple feet, as promised—and do a two-handed corkscrew. It’s probably one of the easiest moves ever in my book, definitely a beginner level, but it probably looks like I’m doing more than I actually am so I return my feet to the floor before he scolds me.
I decide to not do any more climbs, just basic whirling and erotic dance moves so he doesn’t freak out. That wouldn’t be sexy.
I snake my body around the pole one last time as the song ends and decide I’m done with this. I’ve waited long enough. He’s turned on, I’m turned on, so let’s do this thing. I slink toward him to the beat of the next song, “I’ve Got to See You Again” by Norah Jones. Slow and seductive, just the way I want it.
He grasps my hips and squeezes before gliding his hands down my legs and then up the back of my thighs under the fabric covering my bottom. “That was hot, babe.” He leans forward and kisses my exposed belly.
I run my fingers through the back of his hair and notice it’s time for him to have a haircut. I put my nose against it and breathe deeply. Sweat and leather—it sounds like a turnoff but it’s the complete opposite. It’s evidence my man has worked hard today for our family.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
He leans back and I climb onto his lap, straddling him. I grasp his face and kiss him with more passion than I have in weeks. I’ve been too frightened the past couple of months, afraid I’d become carried away, but not now. I get to have fun tonight, not as much as I’d like, but I’ll take what I can get.
He smiles when I release him. “Someone’s frisky tonight.”
He has no idea.
I pull my top over my head and toss it to the floor. “I want your mouth on me.” He’s surprised—I can see it on his face but he doesn’t question me—as he leans forward to take my breast into his mouth. Omigod, the sensitivity there is at an all-time high. I’m not sure if it’s the pregnancy or how long it’s been since I’ve let him touch me, but I don’t remember ever feeling this much response in my nipples.
He rakes his teeth over my already hardened nipple and then sucks it into his mouth, swirling the tip of his tongue in a circular motion around my areola. I swear it feels like there’s a direct connection to my groin, making me instantly wanting and wet.
I’m panting and trembling as I slide my groin back and forth over his erection. I’m sure I’ll come like this if given enough time, but dry humping isn’t what I want. “Touch me.”
He moves both of his hands to my breasts and begins lightly squeezing and releasing them as he rolls my nipples between his fingers. It feels fantastic but he’s misunderstood my meaning so I grasp his wrist and push his hand to my crotch. “Here.” He slides it inside the waist of my bottoms and he cups me. I hold his wrist and rub my slick center against his fingers, riding them. “I want you to make me come.”
“Baby, you are soaking wet so I can feel how turned on you are, but are you sure?”
“Positive. It’s fine for me to orgasm. Dr. Sommersby told me so today.” I’m shaking and panting between sentences, so horny my face feels like it’s gone numb. “Please. Please. Please.” I’m desperate and I’ll beg if he wants.
“We can do better than this.” He gets up from the chair, me clinging to him for dear life. He moves to his padded weight bench and lowers me. He grabs the waist of my cowgirl bottom, dragging it down my legs, and I’m sprawled completely naked before him, wearing only my boots. He goes down on his knees and pushes my legs back and apart. I arch, staring at the ceiling above me in anticipation of his touch. And then I feel it, the first upward swipe of his soft, wet tongue up my center. I grab the top of his weight bench overhead and hold on, afraid I might buck hard enough to fall onto the floor. “Easy, L.”
Easier said than done. It’s been two months since I had an orgasm.
He allows me to relax again and then I feel the second flick of his tongue, sending another jolt of pleasure straight to my groin. “Ohh …”
“Mmm,” he groans. “I’ve missed tasting you.” He places his tongue flat against me and licks straight up. “You are so f*cking sweet.”
I’m pretty sure my eyes must be rolling back in my head because I can’t see a thing. I’m lost to all my senses but one, the feel of Jack Henry’s mouth on me.
After he licks me several more times, he sucks my * into his mouth and uses the suction to pull on it. Sometimes soft tugs, alternating it with a firmer pull. As much as I’d like this to go on forever, it can’t because I’m unable to last any longer. That once very familiar feeling begins to build and it’s coming closer until my inner walls and uterus contract—but this time it feels different. My womb is much fuller. It’s occupied by our growing baby so the tightening has a whole new sensation—and it’s magnificent. “Ahh … Ahh.” I can’t form a coherent sentence.
A moment later, it’s over and I’m incredibly relaxed, very much like my body is made of jelly. I’m not sure I could stand if I tried. “I really enjoyed that.”
“Good because I really enjoyed doing it.”
I feel the baby doing what can only be described as acrobatics. “Good grief, that stirred her up. Feel.”
He moves up my body and places his large hands around my bump, completely encasing it in his hold. “Wow. That woke her up for sure.” He smiles as he feels our child performing beneath his hands. “You said her.”
Yeah, I did, but I’m not ready to admit it. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
He won’t convince me to confess. “If I did, it’s only because that’s all I hear out of you. Her. She. Girl.”
“Because she is a girl.”
“Jack Henry, you don’t know that. It’s a fifty-fifty chance it’s a boy.”
He shakes his head. “I know what I know.”
“Okay. I’m giving in and rolling with you on this. You want to call this baby a girl, we will, but just between us. Don’t do it in front of other people. It’ll confuse them.”
He’s grinning and I’m sure it’s because he thinks he’s convinced me. “Whatever you say, love.”
What a relief. Laurelyn is finally at a point where I can make her come again. Receiving without giving is a problem for me. I feel beneath inadequate when she doesn’t come—that’s why I typically get her off first—making her one orgasm ahead of me. That’s just how we function, so deterring from our ritual has been unsettling.
My workday is almost complete and I’m ready to go home to my wife. I can’t wait to make her come again. Who knows? I might not even wait until we go to bed. I could find her in the kitchen and lift her to the counter and go down on her. I hope she’s wearing a dress. That always makes things so much easier.
I look at the time and see that Mrs. Porcelli has left for the day. Good thing. The little fantasy in my head has made me rock hard. I think I’ll go home and turn it into a reality.
I come into the kitchen but Laurelyn isn’t there. I call out for her.
“In here.”
Her voice sounds like it’s coming from the living room so my fantasy immediately changes course. I’ll pull her up from the couch and bend her over the arm and go down on her from behind. I’ve never done it like that before.
I walk into the living room, primed and ready to give L a surprise orgasm, and see the look on her face. Something is wrong. “What is it, babe?”
“I spoke with Grayson Drake this morning.” Oh shit. “He says Blake was scheduled to go to trial last month but charges were dropped because you told him we weren’t coming to testify.”
I could be in trouble here. “He called you a couple of months ago while you were in the hospital. You’d just gone back for surgery.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You were in a fragile state. Our baby’s life was hanging in limbo and I was afraid telling you might tip the scale in the wrong direction. I wasn’t keeping it from you—only postponing until our baby was out of danger—but then the right time never presented itself. It was easier to not address it than it was to mess everything up once our lives were back to some semblance of order.” She’s staring at me, unmoving. “I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Well, I’m beyond upset about it now.” She’s looking at me in what I think is disbelief, like maybe she feels I’ve betrayed her. “He knocked me around and then shoved his fingers inside me before he ripped my panties off.” I didn’t know the f*cker got his hand inside her. She’s never told me that before. “He had every intention of raping me and he’d have been successful if you hadn’t come in when you did.”
It’s a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I didn’t give in without trying. “I questioned him about postponing the trial until your condition permitted you to come and he told me that Blake had the right to a speedy trial and it couldn’t be postponed longer than a couple of weeks. I suggested closed-circuit video for our testimony and he basically dismissed the idea, saying the judge wouldn’t allow it.”
“How is it possible for him to get away with doing that to me?”
She needs to know I’m not letting this go. “He’s not. I have someone on it.”
“What does that mean?”
I knew she’d want details and that’s why I haven’t told her what I’m doing. “I won’t go into particulars because I don’t want you involved. I won’t allow you to be tainted by anything that might happen.”
“Should I be scared about what you’re doing?”
“I have to ask something of you. I hope it’s a one-time request.” I see the confusion on her face. “Sometimes knowing the truth isn’t what’s best for you—and this is one of those times—so I need a no questions asked from you.”
“A what?”
“A no questions asked. It’s an understanding between two people when one agrees to go along with the other and not ask for explanations or details.”
She’s pissed. “This isn’t the equivalent of you calling for a change of underwear because you were plastered and pissed yourself at a frat party.” She covers her mouth and then removes it. “You’re doing this so I can’t be implicated in something.”
She’s reading too much into this. “We’re done talking about it.”
“What are you planning?”
I laugh because I can see she’s going to continue to ask questions. “You clearly don’t understand the gist behind no questions asked.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“You’re absolutely right. There’s not one damn thing that’s funny about Blake getting away with what he did to my wife, and that’s why I’m going to rectify the situation.” I’ve said more than I meant to so I change the subject because I’m not discussing it further. “What’s for dinner?”
She looks at me, as if in disbelief, before finally answering, “Chicken parmigiana over linguine.”
“Perfect. I haven’t had a good chicken parma in ages.”
I go into the cellar to choose a wine for dinner and linger because I need a minute away from her to get my head straight. She probably thinks I’m going to do something terrible. Truth is, I don’t have a plan yet. Jim has uncovered some terrible things about Blake and I’m not sure what I plan to do with the information.
I want to kill him. My innate response as L’s husband is to protect her and avenge any wrong against her, but the law doesn’t see it that way. The American justice system makes it very easy for people like Blake to get away with terrible things so they may go on to do it again, which seems to be a pattern for him. L isn’t the first woman he’s attacked; she’s just the first to come forward.
L has plated our dinner and is sitting at the table, her hands resting in her lap, waiting for me to join her. I open the wine and pour a generous glassful before I sit in my usual place. I take a big drink as she pushes her pasta around on her plate.
She’s upset with me, maybe even fearful about what I’m going to do, but I don’t want this ruining our evening. I make an attempt at normal conversation—something that might bring a smile to her face. “Will you tell me the names you’re thinking about for the baby?”
“Really? You’re going to bring up baby names after the conversation we just had?”
We’re not discussing Blake Phillips any further. “I like James.”
She sighs and doesn’t answer but after a moment she takes the bait. I knew she couldn’t resist the baby-name talk. “I thought you were convinced it was a girl.”
“I am but I really think I like James for my girl. Thoughts?”
“I don’t know. I gotta think about that one since it wasn’t on my radar at all.”
I’m not sure she likes it. “What is on your radar?”
“I’ve been kicking around Maggie, short for Margaret.”
I’m surprised. “You’d want to name our daughter after my mum?”
“Yeah. I love Margaret and it would be an honor for our daughter to be named after such a strong, loving woman.”
“What about Maggie James?” Hmm … it sounds like a southern Yank name. I love it.
She looks at me and smiles, a sign she may be forgetting our earlier strife. “Maggie James McLachlan.” She says it aloud, testing it on her own tongue. “I think I love it, but I want to use it as a double name. Not just Maggie or just James.”
Just like that? We go with the first name we discuss? I thought there would be more debate to it than that. “I’m fine with that.”
“You’ll call her MJ, won’t you?”
“My girls, L and MJ … yeah, I probably will. What about the boy name you’ve been wasting your time thinking about?”
“I want Henry in it—for obvious reasons—but now you have me thinking James Henry. What do you think?”
“That it doesn’t matter because we’re having a little girl and her name is Maggie James.”
L is tossing and turning in the bed, almost constantly. I don’t know if it’s because of discomfort or if she’s thinking of our no questions asked discussion. If it’s the latter, I don’t want her affected like this because it’s not good for her or the baby.
Her back is to me so I scoot close behind her and put my arms around her stomach. “You’re restless, love. What’s wrong?”
“You know what’s wrong.”
I was afraid she would say that. “What can I do to put you at ease?”
“Tell me you aren’t going to do something crazy.”
“I’m not going to do anything crazy.”
She rolls over so we’re facing one another. “Are you saying that because it’s what I want to hear?”
“No.” Maybe. I’m not sure yet.
“We have a baby on the way and I can’t afford to lose you because you’re looking to settle a score with Blake. Yes, he attacked me and deserves to be punished for that, but not at the expense of me losing my husband because you took matters into your own hands.”
I don’t think it’s possible to make her understand the way I feel. “I’m your husband. Your safety falls on my shoulders and I didn’t protect you from him, so I have this intense need inside me to make him sorry for what he did to you.”
“I want him to be punished too, but I’m the one who will suffer if you break the law and get caught.”
That isn’t going to happen. “I’m not going to get into any kind of trouble.”
“Swear to me.”
“I swear.” I want to get her mind off this. “Please try to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for you. What time do you have to be at the rehearsal?”
“Six.”
I should bring up tomorrow night. “You aren’t taking Addison out on the town for her last night as an unattached woman?”
“I think that kid bouncing around in her belly is considered an attachment, but what would two pregnant women do in Wagga? We can’t drink, smoke, or have random sex, so what’s the point?”
Damn right she can’t do any of those things—with one exception. “I can provide you with one of those three things—some form of random sex, here, tomorrow night. The kitchen table, the bathroom counter, maybe the arm of the couch. What do you think?”
“Eh, if nothing else comes up, you can pencil me in.” That’s my girl.
I can hear a voice but can’t make out who it is or what it’s saying as I struggle to abandon the dream. I feel someone shaking my shoulder and I become more alert to my surroundings. “Wake up.”
“Hmm?” I groan.
“I’ve got to go to the hospital.”
My heart takes off like a helicopter as I shoot up in bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Addison’s in labor.”
I roll over and look at the clock and see it’s two in the morning. “They just got married—like eight hours ago.”
“The baby doesn’t care how long they’ve been married because he’s coming.”
“Ugh!” I groan as I sit up and turn to put my feet on the floor. “I’ll get up and drive you.”
“I can drive myself. Besides, this could take a while.”
No way I’m letting my pregnant wife go out by her herself at two in the morning. “Sorry. Not happening.”
She scoots over to put her arms around me and places a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Thank you, my sweet, darling husband.”
“You can properly thank me later.”
She squeezes me. “Horn dog.”
“You’ve got that right, babe.”