Twenty-Six Weeks Pregnant. Baby is the size of an eggplant.
“Y
ou’re being ridiculous!” I shout, storming down the hall after Bo. “April fool’s day was two weeks ago, so if this is some sort of
prank, it is not funny or well-timed!”
Bo turns sharply into his room. Sorry, our room. I keep having to remind myself of that.
I follow in after him, watching as he backs away from me. He’s audacious enough to be laughing.
“If you want to fight with me, that’s fine, but can it wait until after the installation guys leave? That way we can at least have make-up sex when you’re done being angry.” He stops when he hits the wall. I corner him, my finger prodding his chest on impact.
“You. Said. No. More. Gifts,” I say, announcing every word with a poke of my finger against his muscle.
He swipes my hand away, keeping it tightly in his grasp, and kisses my palm, smiling into it. “I never said that. You said that.”
“Robert!” I snap my hand back, momentarily falling into his soft, lulling trap of tender kisses.
“Winnifred!” he laughs out, his eyes creasing on either side.
The nerve of this man. “Don’t,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
He admonishes me with a gentle exhale, his face falling into something a touch more serious, but still not as sincere as I’d like him to be. He runs a hand through his hair, letting it flop back onto his face.
He hasn’t gotten it cut since I’ve known him, and I have to admit I really love it longer. More to grip on to in bed or play with when he lies across my lap on the couch, watching another movie I’ll inevitably fall asleep during.
“Honey, it’s a bathtub. We need one eventually. Were we seriously going to bathe August in the sink for the next four years? A bucket? You want it, I want it. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you didn’t tell me beforehand so I could have had the option to say no. Every time you do something like this, I feel one step closer to becoming some spoiled princess with no job who—”
“You have a job,” he interjects, placing a hand on my stomach. He knows when I get riled like this, August kicks,and dammit, it’s so much harder to continue being mad when he’s smiling at my belly, listening to me absently as he awaits the baby’s movement.
“With no income,” I correct myself, moving his hand lower to the spot where the baby was already kicking. “Who is waited on hand and foot and contributes nothing. You keep doing all these extravagant things for me, and I’m uncomfortable with it. I’ve told you that. First, it was the camp loan—” “Not a loan. An investment,” Bo argues, spreading his fingers wider on
my bump.
“Then it was the shed.” I use air-quotes aggressively around the word
shed, comically attempting to do them with my small fingers as well.
When Bo announced he was getting a shed for the backyard for gardening and storage, I didn’t think much of it. Though I did have a sneaking suspicion it was related to all my questions about what the garden would bloom into in spring. I made plans to start a small vegetable garden, and suddenly, I was the proud owner of a greenhouse. Not a shed. A beautiful glass greenhouse with running water and electricity.
Because this man is ridiculous.
“In my defence, that had selfish motivations. Some of the living room plants did move outside, which—”
“Now a friggin’ bathtub!” I shriek, then take a deep, centring breath as he annoyingly tries not to laugh at my outburst. “Bo, you had a nice shower. A walk-in shower. One that was designed to suit your needs. This is absurd. It’s unsafe,” I say, my eyes falling to my belly, where Bo’s hands rest comfortably.
“Fred…” Bo says, bringing a hand to cup my jaw and tilting my face up toward him. Him and his stupidly cute, albeit condescending, grin. “It’s a walk-in tub with a door. Emphasis on the walk-in part. Best of both worlds. You need your baths, honey. Sarah and I—”
“And that’s another fucking thing!” I say, poking his chin. He looks down at my finger with knotted brows and releases one sharp, shocked laugh. “Stop talking with Sarah about all these things before you talk to me. She likes being spoiled. That’s her and Caleb’s dynamic—not ours.”
“It. Is. Not. A. Gift,” Bo says, bending to kiss my forehead like a woodpecker between each word. “A gift would be something you want, not
something you need,” he says, moving toward the corner of the room where I’ve put a palm plant. “Is this new?”
I growl, turning away from him as I flop onto our bed like a dramatic starfish.
Bo silently moves to shut the door. Then he walks over and sits next to my hip on the edge of the bed. He says nothing, no doubt waiting for me to look at him. But I refuse. “If you really need me to, I’ll send them home. But there’s a chance by now it’s too late. I’m pretty sure I saw our old shower door being carried outside.”
I cover my face, groaning into my palms.
I love baths. I miss baths. Admittedly, I can’t wait to take a bath here, in my home. I want Bo to sit in there with me and do his sudoku puzzle while I soak and prune, listening to music and telling each other about our days. I want him to look over at me and pray the bubbles will turn to white, silky film so he can see more of my body through the water. I want him to pull me out of there just to dry me off with his tongue. I want to soak in warm water when I go into labour, waiting out the early contractions in the place where I feel the most at peace.
I just don’t want this tilted scale.
This uneven score. This tally I’m still unconvinced isn’t being counted. Bo’s gifts, kind acts, and generosity weighed against mine. The competition it feels like I’m losing.
“I don’t want you to send them home,” I say, my voice muffled by the hands across my face.
“So what do you want? A snack, maybe?”
“I’m not being cranky because I’m hungry,” I say, removing my hands to glare at him.
He purses his lips and nods sarcastically. “No, you? Never.”
“Tell me how to spoil you back,” I say, pouting. “And do not say blowjobs—”
Bo shuts his mouth as quickly as he opened it, smiling coyly as he scratches above his eyebrow.
“I just want this to feel fair, Bo. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He places his palm back on my belly and sighs out a long, heavy breath. He swipes his thumb back and forth, bunching and stretching my T-shirt in its path. Well, actually, his T-shirt. Most of my clothes don’t fit comfortably ever since my bump popped. I refuse to buy anything new. I like wearing Bo’s clothes because he gets all worked up over it. I think it’s because it’s almost like announcing to the world that I’m his. His woman carrying his baby in his clothing.
And I like that they smell like him.
“I know, Win. But, to me, it will never be fair. No matter how much I do, you’re the one carrying—”
“The camp is going to take years, Bo. Years. If it even does happen— because who knows? Things could go wrong. Maybe we can’t find a property. Maybe we open it, and no one comes. Maybe it will fail. Then what?”
“I believe in you and this idea,” Bo says, shifting closer to me. “But if it didn’t happen, I would never hold that against you. I want this for us. And I bet, someday soon, you’ll be earning more than me doing what you’ve always wanted to do.”
“But that doesn’t mean you need to spoil me.”
“I want you to love it here just as much as I love having you here.”
“And I appreciate that, but these things all feel like not-so-subtle reminders of how little I have to give.”
“Honey.” Bo laughs without humour, his eyes pleading. “You’re giving me everything.”
“Just… talk to me first before you decide to do anything else this grand, okay? Not Sarah, not your dad, not Caleb or the other guys, but me. I don’t find surprises fun.”
“This one was”—Bo says, dropping his chin onto my belly and looking up at me with soft, puppy dog eyes as he tilts his cheek against me
—“wasn’t it?”
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “Yes,” I agree stubbornly.
“And… the other night… that was a surprise,” Bo says, wetting his lips as he lifts himself overtop of me, kissing his way up my body through my clothes.
He’s talking, of course, about the new toy he got me. Well, us. After Bo told me he heard me from down the hall, I was never able to look at my vibrator the same. Eventually, I just tossed it. But, as it turns out, Bo wanted to play out that fantasy and got me a brand-new one he could watch me use. He wanted to see if his imagination lived up to the real thing.
Based on the crazed way in which he behaved afterward, I think it did. Then it was my turn to live out the fantasy I’d been denying myself,
using the silky black rope Bo had stored away in his closet. Turns out, he’d bought it for a cosplay of some kind, but that’s beside the point. It did the job well.
“A compromise,” I say, playing with his hair as he kisses across my belly. “Surprises under fifty dollars are allowed.”
“How about five hundred?”
“What did you do?” I sit up, forcing him so far back he nearly falls off the bed.
“Nothing!” he says defensively. I raise a brow. “Nothing that I can return…”
“New rule. Starting today,” I say, flopping back down to the mattress. “Fifty.”
He smiles mischievously as he crawls his way up my body, then he lowers his mouth onto mine. “Agreed,” he whispers against my lips. “I do love seeing how long it takes you to break your own rules,” he says, dropping his sweet kisses down my neck and onto my chest.
Immediately, my nipples harden and beg for his attention through the thin layers of my cotton bra and T-shirt. Damn these hormones. I’m constantly fluctuating between agitated and horny these days, with not much else in between.
Meanwhile, my body feels achy and swollen all over. Still, Bo makes it obvious he couldn’t be more attracted to me. I think the guy might actually prefer me knocked up.
“They’ll hear us…” I say, panting as Bo brings one hand up to palm my breast and licks his way around my nipple on the other, wetting the material with his tongue. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to subdue the overwhelming urge to have him right now.
“Well, then, make sure you say my name clearly, honey. I want them to know who makes all those pretty noises come out of your mouth.” He stands up, pulling my leggings off in one swoop. He then throws my legs over his shoulders as he drops to his knees at the end of the bed.
“No, get up here,” I beg. “I need you. Hard and fast.”
“Got somewhere to be?” Bo says, his mouth hovering above my clit, his proximity teasing me. His eyes flick up to me, darkened and full of lust. I subconsciously twist my hips, rising to meet him. But then I remember I actually do have somewhere to be.
“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly. “The appointment you made…” “Oh, the stroller testing?” he asks, kissing the inside of my thigh.
“Yeah,” I say, giggling as he tickles my leg with his beard. “Stop,” I whine.
“You could be a little late,” he argues before swiping his tongue up my slit. He hums as he presses his mouth against me, sending a shudder up my spine.
I sit up and watch as his eyes roll back into his skull before they close tight.
“And you’re supposed to be working right now,” I say, running my hand through his hair.
He flicks me with his tongue, flashing his teeth as he smiles up at me. “I am trying to do some of my best work.”
I move myself farther up the bed, away from him. “Please,” I ask nicely. “I want you inside me. I want to feel you. I want… I want it rough.” I move onto my knees in the centre of the bed, removing my T-shirt.
Bo stands, unfastening the buttons of his jeans before pulling them off and tossing them aside. “Fine, have it your way.” He takes a step toward me, his smirk crooked and his eyes deadly as he holds out his arms. “C’mere, honey,” he says, his voice arrogant as he crooks his fingers for me to follow.
“Can—Can we?” I ask, biting my bottom lip. I know that Bo’s a lot more comfortable on his feet since he got his new prosthesis, but we haven’t tried
to have sex standing up yet. Plus, I’m not exactly as light as I once was now that I’m in my third trimester.
“Let’s find out,” he says, shrugging a shoulder as he leans over the bed, attempting to pull me to him.
“Don’t drop me,” I say, crawling toward him enthusiastically. Bo picks me up effortlessly, and I curl myself around him, my legs hooked over his hips and my arms around his neck. He then takes a few steps backward as we kiss, turning us as we go so my back hits the wall with a perfect amount of force.
Once balanced, he grinds into me, and I gasp, overcome with a heady need for him. I reach between us, tugging my panties aside, then cup him through his boxers. I work him over with my hand, feeling him harden and twitch underneath me. All the while, his kisses are on my face, neck, and shoulder. I’m growing impatient and damn near furious at the thin layer of cotton separating me from what I want.
I throw my arm back around Bo’s shoulder and tighten my grip to hold myself up. “Take it off now.”
Bo nods, removing his face from my neck for half a second before his boxers hit the floor and his hands are back on my thighs, lifting me back up his body and into position.
“Are you ready for me, honey?” he asks, holding my pussy so close above him that I literally begin shuddering with anticipation.
He tilts his hips, notching himself against my entrance. I whimper pathetically, begging for him.
“I said, are you ready for me? Because I don’t plan on being gentle with you.”
“Yes, yes, I’m ready. Please,” I reply, my eyes screwed tight, waiting for him.
“Look at me,” he commands. “Eyes open.”
I open my eyes, but they’re heavy, just like my breathing. “Please,” I whisper, licking my lips. “Stop it,” I whine when he teases me again.
“Tell me you want the bathtub,” he says, his face hardened. “Tell me you
love it.”
I open my mouth to speak, but only a gasp escapes as he lowers me, angled so I press up against his hardness. Blissful in and of itself, but not what I want. Not him inside me.
“Bo…” I whisper, rubbing myself against him.
“I know you’re not used to it, but so long as I’m around, I’ll be looking after you,” he says, voice low and gruff. “I consider it my job and my privilege from now on. You want things to be fair? So do I. Trust me that I know what’s fair. Trust me to look after you, Win. Trust me to take care of you the way I need to.”
He lifts me up, then tilts into me, filling me so completely it takes my breath away.
“Tell me.” He groans into my neck as my head falls back against the wall. “Tell me who’s going to take care of you,” he says, his mouth pressed to the side of my cheek.
“You,” I say through heavy breaths. “You are.” I move my hand to his face, turning his cheek to kiss me. Bo pulls out of me, hoists me up, then hooks his arms under the backs of my knees, spreading my thighs wider for his hips to slot between.
“Hold on to me, honey,” he says, pushing himself into me slowly.
“Fuck…” I groan, my teeth finding my bottom lip. “Yes,” I whimper with every delicious inch of him sliding in.
“Remember,” Bo says between grunts of effort, or maybe restraint, “if they’re going to hear us, let them hear my name. Tell them”—he groans, his teeth at my jaw—“who’s taking care of you.”
I bite my lip to the point where I’m sure I could draw blood as Bo begins relentlessly pounding into me, hitting the spot deep inside that feels almost too good.
“Fuck,” I cry out, the sound muffled by his neck. My skin is heating and blushing all over. I’m embarrassed but equally exhilarated to know we might just be heard. I bite into his shoulder, using him to mute the sounds of pleasure threatening to pour out.
Bo grunts, holding me to him and stepping to the right. With one hand wrapped around my thigh, he uses the other arm to swipe off the dresser. A dozen items clatter to the floor, but neither of us cares.
Bo drops me onto the hard surface, my back falling against the wall on impact. He tilts his hips up and away, agonisingly slow, his eyes darkened and held on where we’re joined, with one hand under my knee, holding me open for him.
Then he surprises me.
Bo covers my mouth with his free hand forcefully, pushing the back of my head into the wall. His hooded eyes find my shocked ones, and he waits for my signal.
I nod. Saying, silently: yes, sir.
“You don’t want them to hear?” he asks, leaning in so close my eyes have to widen to see him. I shake my head no. “Okay,” he says, his hand flexing
over my face. “I’ve got you,” he says, removing himself fully. “Hold on,
princess.”
Bo starts fucking me so hard that even more items clatter to the floor, the dresser hitting the wall in time with each thrust. His voice is strained next to my ear as he praises me. A soliloquy filled with the filthiest phrases. Good girl. You take me so well. Your pussy is perfect. You’re so fucking perfect. I love you.
From Bo’s lips, I consider it all to be poetry. Praises so beautiful and genuine and earnest that I collect each of them and lock them away inside my chest.
My toes curl as my pleasure builds like a windstorm inside my belly. The look of intensity on Bo’s face as he uses my body fills me with deep, aching lust. Without warning, he removes his hand from my mouth and moves it to my hip, gripping my flesh as he pistons into me.
“Please,” he begs. I know what he wants. Perhaps he’s fucked all the shame out of me, but I don’t care anymore. I nod for him, and he smiles as he tugs me to the edge of the dresser, angling me just right.
I whimper, throwing my head back as I feel an orgasm wash over me like a warm breeze—subtle but so damn perfect. The kind of release you feel in your bones all the way to the ends of your hair, possessing your body and mind.
“Bo,” I cry out, gasping at the immediate feel of his release as he trembles and stills between my legs before removing himself.
I watch, my head hanging between us, as Bo pushes his cum back in with two fingers.
I’m not sure why I find it so hot, but I do. There’s something so primal about it. Him wanting to fill me, even though I’m already pregnant. Like
he’s saying, not-so-subtly, he’d do it again if he could. That he’s glad for it all.
He removes his fingers, and I open my mouth, smiling wickedly as he pushes them between my lips, and I suck them clean.
He laughs in a bittersweet way. In an I cannot believe my life kind of way that has my shoulders lifting with pride.
“So…” I say through panted breaths, smiling at the ceiling as my chest heaves. “We can do it standing, then.”
Bo’s own chest is working overtime with each quickened breath, but he still breaks into a beaming smile, his face pointed up to the ceiling. “Seems like it…” he whispers, more from exhaustion than a need to be quiet. That is long gone.
When he tilts his face down toward mine, looking all too pleased with a boyish grin and an arrogant satisfaction behind his eyes, I kiss him.
I kiss him because I’m grateful, even though I’m often terrible at showing it.
I kiss him because he truly does want to take care of me. I kiss him because I think I’m going to let him.
I kiss him because I love him. More and more each day.
