Present
“I used to love being alone,” I muse, gazing out the window into the vast branches of the maple outside, “even when I was a kid, I never suffered from boredom. Maybe it’s because I always wanted to be a writer, so I constantly had ideas and stories running through my head. There was no time to get bored.”
“But it sounds like now that’s not the case?” Judy leisurely bounces her magenta Chaco sandal.
She looks tanner today, which means she was probably out hiking or boating all weekend. I’m relieved I’ve finally started going out and doing those kinds of things again, especially biking. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I couldn’t.
“Don’t worry,” I remember Barrett saying when I finally spoke to her again, “I kept your bike at my house.”
“No,” I shake my head, “after I got to Jo’s, I didn’t like it at all. The first few days, I was so exhausted that I didn’t care. But, after that, it was like hell, especially after dark. It’s like every single sound was amplified to where the refrigerator kicking on sounded like someone busting down the door.”
“That’s terrifying,” Judy says, “were you afraid that he would find you?”
“Yes…” my eyes wander across the floor as I recall the horror, “but it wasn’t just that. The last time I saw him was when he left me alone in that room. I couldn’t get out and I was just waiting. Every little sound was him following through with his threat. All…night…long…”
“But you did get out,” Judy’s soft voice reminds me.
“I did get out,” I murmur, slowly nodding.
“And after that, when you finally got to a safe place, what were you worried would happen if you found yourself alone again?”
“I worried that I’d turn around and see him standing in the doorway, behind me in the mirror, in the reflection of the TV or the microwave. And, every time, it was the same face, full of pure hate. But I was more afraid of hearing his voice.”
“And what does he say?”
I lower my pitch in a vain attempt to match his, “I have a surprise tonight, just for you…”
●●●
“You don’t want me to go, do you?” he murmurs into my ear, his palms eclipsing mine as he presses them into the deck railing.
He brings one hand up to my throat, tipping my head back against his shoulder so I’m looking at the inky black sky filled with stars, “No,” I breathe, throwing my ass back and driving his cock deeper, “I never like when you leave.”
By now, I know the sound of his smile.
“Fuck,” he groans, squeezing my throat as he rocks back and forth, “maybe I won’t go…”
Kneeling behind me on the deck sofa, he runs his other hand down my belly, slightly rounder and firmer than the week before. He lets it linger there, running his palm back and forth, then further down to the crease of my hips, making me sink back into him as I exhale.
He does this more often, like it’s his favorite place now. Maybe because it’s the epitome of what he’s wanted for so long—for our pulses to collide and the cells to split like a tear in the universe to create another life.
Soon, one hand snakes up my t-shirt to palm my breast while he grabs my hip with the other and starts thrusting harder and faster. As soon as my breaths turn into short, airy moans, he drops his hand and slides his fingers between my legs, making me grab the wood with white knuckles. I’m so wet that I can barely feel the friction on my clit, but it doesn’t matter because as soon as he touches me, I go rigid, arching my back and crying out as I press my ass into his hips.
A deep groan rumbles through his chest as he slams into me so deep that it jars my entire body. I reach down, digging my fingers into his forearm, grinding against his hand as I ride out the orgasm. But I don’t stop even after he finally does.
“Still going?” he breathes into my neck.
“Yesss…” I moan, pushing myself away from the railing.
He rises and gives his jeans a tug before grabbing my legs out from under me and pulling me down onto the seat. Now, there’s only a sea of stars above me, brighter than anything I’d ever seen before I came here. He kneels on the deck planks and throws my legs open, burying his face in my pussy while pushing my t-shirt up past my breasts. The night air hits them and instantly turns my nipples to hard beads as he palms them, pulling my body closer to his mouth. He runs tight circles around my clit with his tongue, quickly bringing me back to the edge until, suddenly, he cocks his wrist and gives me a sharp smack across my breast.
The second orgasm rips through me with the same intensity as the first. My back arches and my thighs clench around his head as I oscillate between long, airy gasps and desperate moans as he pumps three fingers in and out of my pussy, dragging my fucking soul out of my body.
Once my breathing slows again, he lifts his head, “God, baby,” he groans, “I just love hearing you come.”
Fortunately, he gets to hear it twice as much these days. Pregnancy hormones are a funny thing—no one mentions the unintended consequences of increased blood flow that result in multiple orgasms.
“You’re welcome,” I drawl, my eyes heavy as he crawls over me, hovering above my face.
“Do you think it’s permanent?” he smirks down at me, my thighs glistening and shirt still pushed up to my neck.
“If not, it’s one really sick joke,” I chuckle as he grabs my hand and hoists me upright.
“I’ll start looking for a nanny now,” he says while buttoning his jeans, “if I have to keep you pregnant just so you can get off every 15 seconds, we’re going to need help. And a bigger house.”
Among other things, this is one of the reasons I don’t want him to leave…
I also just hate sleeping without him. Tonight, as if my body is trying to savor his presence, I fall into a deep sleep with my head resting on his bicep and my body curled beneath his arm, wrapped in his warmth. We’ve always slept this way, since the first night I spent with him.
Morning comes too soon, and I have to pull myself together and quickly come to terms with the fact that I won’t see him again for a few days. But I have things to do, like write another book. It doesn’t stop here, and there are so many more stories itching to get out of my head and onto my laptop. Maybe that will also temper my responses to any more private details about my life that get leaked on the Internet.
Digging through the dryer, I finally find one of his black polos with the gold logo on the chest and head back to the bedroom. He’s sitting at the end of the bed tying the laces of his boots and looks up as I sweep my hand over the dresser. I tuck his Glock and its black holster under my arm and step in front of him, holding his black shirt open at the neck.
He glances at the shirt and then looks up at me with a glimmer in his eye.
Once I realize what he’s looking at, I shoot him a warning look, “Don’t say anything.”
He smiles and takes the shirt from me, “I didn’t say a thing.” After he pulls it over his head, he stands up and cups my face to gently kiss me, “Never say never,” he murmurs.
