Arrive (7 page)

“I don’t feel all that great about not trying.”

She smiles. “Believe me, Dean, if I wanted to, I’d have climbed on top of you ten minutes ago. And I know this isn’t easy for you, but we’ve waited this long… I can wait a little while longer.” She runs a hand down my chest.

“Yeah, but if you’re going to do me like that, you’ve got to give me something to give back.”

“Massages. Foot rubs. Bubble baths. You do the laundry. Let’s go have a few nice dinners out. Oh, pick me up those blueberry muffins from Sugar Bakery during your morning runs. I can’t get enough of them. Make a playlist of my favorite songs for us to take to the hospital. Maybe arrange for a few restaurants to deliver meals after the baby is born.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s more.” She leans in to press her mouth against mine. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You always do, beauty.”

‡

O
LIVIA

I
n January, piles of icy snow line the downtown sidewalks, and the lake has become a skating rink surrounded by white-covered mountains. Hot-chocolate booths sit on the edges of the lake, which resembles a child’s spinning toy with all the skaters gliding in circles. Allie has banned me from the café—a dictate I didn’t protest with much fervor since I’m inclined to stick close to home these days.

I’m almost two weeks late. According to Dr. Nolan, I’m one centimeter dilated. She’s had me monitored for two non-stress tests, which have indicated the baby is responding fine and the heartbeat is normal. She told me to try some home induction techniques and, if still nothing has happened in a few days, then we’d talk about medical intervention.

I’m anxious. Not really nervous—at least, not as nervous as I was during childbirth classes—but I’m ready to have this pregnancy over and done with. Dean and I go for a walk around the indoor gym first thing in the morning. I’ve been exercising regularly throughout the pregnancy, but walking is also supposed to jumpstart labor. The other day Dean brought home two pineapples, claiming he read that there’s some enzyme in pineapple that’s supposed to “ripen” the cervix.

Dr. Nolan also told us sex can induce labor, as apparently semen helps the cervix ripen, and an orgasm can start contractions. Dean is game to give this a try, but at the moment even the idea of sex exhausts me. I do agree to let him try nipple stimulation—mostly because all I have to do is sit on the sofa with my shirt and bra off.

“The book says to roll the nipples between two fingers.” He reaches for his reading glasses, then pages through one of the many books on pregnancy and childbirth we’ve bought. “Though I read a few things on the internet about different techniques, like stimulating one nipple at a time at certain intervals.”

“Dean. I’m sure one technique is as good as another.”

“Okay, let’s try.” He puts the book aside and rubs his forefinger around my nipple. “The book says to pinch and roll them.”

“Well, you are a pro at that.”

He starts tweaking one of my nipples as if he’s turning a radio dial.

Needless to say, I do not find this particularly arousing.

He peers at the open book again, then reaches for my other breast and begins tweaking that nipple too. This continues for about three minutes. I watch him—a crease of concentration between his eyebrows, his dark hair brushing his forehead, his eyes focused behind his glasses.

“Are you getting turned on?” I ask.

“Not at the moment, no.”

“Good. Because that would be weird.”

“Yes, it would.”

Tweak, tweak, tweak.

“Do you feel anything?” Dean asks.

“Nothing labor related.”

Roll, rub, tweak.

“So, uh, this book says you can also try sucking them,” Dean says.

“I most certainly cannot try sucking them.”

“I mean, I can suck them.” He glances at me. “Or will that freak you out?”

“Not if it doesn’t freak you out.”

“Actually, it might turn me on.”

“Well, that’s okay, I guess.”

He moves closer to me. We shift around to get into an optimal position before he puts one hand over my left breast and lowers his head to my right. Then he hesitates.

“Dean, you’ve sucked them before,” I say, as if he needs reminding.

“Okay, so… you know, stop me if this gets uncomfortable.”

Turns out it’s not uncomfortable at all because his mouth is warm and wet, his tongue circling my areola, his teeth biting gently. I don’t become a quivering mass of urgency like I usually do when he licks my nipples, nor do I experience even the slightest hint of a contraction, but it’s very pleasant and his hair is thick and soft against my chest, his hand resting protectively on my belly.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head. “Anything?”

“No.” I glance at his crotch. “You?”

“Uh…”

I can’t help smiling. Nice to know I can still get the man aroused, even being over forty weeks pregnant and thirty pounds heavier. Oh, yeah, and almost two bra cup sizes bigger.

Ahem.

I put my hand over Dean’s fly, which is starting to swell. I’m still not up for anything acrobatic, but there are certain things I can do that don’t require much exertion at all.

His throat works with a swallow. “Liv, you don’t have to…”

“I know I don’t.” But I want to because he’s so freaking adorable with his reading glasses on and his hair disheveled and him all concerned about finding the right method of stimulating my nipples.

I squirm around trying to find a good position, but I can’t lean over him with my belly in the way. “You might have to…”

“You really want to do this?” he asks.

“Sure. As long as you don’t feel like you have to return the favor.”

“Well, the book does say that an orgasm will contract your uterus and remember when—”

I stop his words with a kiss. Even though I want to have this baby, I’m still not sure I can relax enough to have an orgasm.

And even though I don’t feel like having sex these days, I have never grown tired of kissing my husband. I love the way our lips part at the same time, the way his tongue explores my mouth and his teeth graze my lower lip. I squeeze his crotch, feeling his erection grow beneath the denim of his jeans.

“Stand up,” I say.

He does, moving in front of me so I can unbutton his jeans and push them over his hips. My heart speeds up at the sight of his shaft, all warm and rigid. I grasp the base in my hand and lick the tip.

“Ah, fuck, Liv…” Dean spears his hands into my hair and rocks his hips forward. “We were supposed to be stimulating you.”

“You, me, what’s the difference.” I run my tongue over the sinuous veins in the shaft and reach down to cup his heavy balls.

A pulse starts between my legs, but it’s mild and more in reaction to his arousal than a direct result of my own.

Maybe.

I curl my fingers into his hips when he starts to gently thrust. It’s pretty sexy after all, the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth, my breasts bare and my nipples decidedly simulated. The pulsing in my sex increases to a throb. A groan rumbles from his chest. I shift to try and rub myself against the sofa cushion.

Dean pauses in his thrusting and looks down at me. “You want more?”

I pull back with a gasp. “I don’t know.”

“Want me to try?”

I figure it can’t hurt. I nod and spread my hands over my breasts. My nipples poke against my palms.

“Should I…”

“Do this.” He lifts my breasts and presses them together.

He knows exactly how hot this makes me. My heart is starting to pound hard as I feel him slide into the valley between my breasts, the path slick already with a combination of sweat and arousal.

A luscious, warm coil winds through my lower body as he pushes his cock into my cleavage, his hand gripping my hair, his breath coming fast. I love the sight of his erection pushing through the pillowy cushions of my breasts, love the way his fingers dig in tighter when his desire spikes.

He stops and slips away from me. I wiggle backward on the sofa so he can settle beside me, smoothing his hand over my belly down between my legs. I tense a little as he delves his fingers in the pleats of my sex, but his touch is so light and gentle that my anxiety melts away.

“All right?” he whispers.

I nod. He lowers his head to capture my mouth in a deep kiss that makes my blood spark. His tongue sweeps into my mouth. His chest rises and falls against mine, my nipples tingling from the brush of his taut skin. I can feel it, the spiral of arousal beginning to unwind slow and rich, but the shadow of pain lingers.

I put my hand on the side of Dean’s neck. His pulse beats hard against my palm. He lifts his head.

“I don’t think I—” I start.

“It’s okay.” He runs his thumb down my cleft, lowers his head to my breasts.

I let my eyes drift closed, even as I know that this desire is going to spin around inside me with nowhere to go, like an endless whirlpool. Even as my body surges, as shivers rain down my spine, I sense the blunt edge of unfulfilled lust.

“Oh, Dean, I’m sorry.”

His laugh is hoarse and hot against my breasts. “Ah, sweetie, you have no reason to be sorry.”

He pushes his hips against me, and his very stiff erection nudges my thigh. I get the message and grasp his shaft, sliding my hand up and down, rubbing my thumb across the crown. I squeeze my legs together, longing for the break in tension, the cascade into bliss.

When Dean mutters low against my throat and pumps his cock into my fist, I feel a responding surge deep in the pit of my stomach. One more pull on his shaft, and he comes between us with hard pulses, his semen spurting over my belly. I love the shuddering of his muscular body, the way he grips my waist, the rough groan vibrating against my skin.

He eases away to catch his breath, his mouth seeking mine as he slips his hand down my abdomen and into my cleft again. Again, his touch is so gentle that my body begins to relax.

“Come on, beauty,” he whispers, threading his other hand through my hair, his breath warm against my lips. “Let me see you come.”

His deep voice settles in my core. With a muffled moan, I spread my legs wider. He slips his forefinger into my slit, his thumb stimulating my clit in slow, delicious circles. Fresh tension begins to lace through me, that pull toward release that I crave and yet haven’t experienced in far too long.

“Oh, Dean.” I arch upward, pressing my breasts against him. “I feel it…”

“So fucking beautiful.” He lifts his head, his smoldering gaze on mine, his face flushed with heat. “Give it to me, nice and hard.”

He increases the pressure, lowering his head to take my tight nipple between his teeth. One teasing tug, and a thousand sparks shoot to my core. Before I can stop it, I’m straining toward the crest of bliss.

“Dean, I’m going to come.” I grip his shoulders, bucking my hips up into his hand. “Oh, God… harder, I’m… oh!”

The tension breaks. With a shriek, I come, rapture flooding me in wave after wave of exquisite sensation. Dean’s murmurs of pleasure are a steady stream against my breasts as I quake and shudder beneath him. He continues working his fingers between my legs until the wave begins to recede, leaving me panting and sated.

“Oh.” I inhale a breath, wiping a trickle of sweat from my temple. “Oh my.”

Dean straightens and slides his hand over my damp belly. His hot gaze drifts over my naked body.

“Well,” he remarks, “we might not need the pineapple after all.”

*

January 25—3:28 a.m.

“Dean? Dean.” I reach across the bed to jostle his shoulder. “Dean!”

“Hmm?” He shifts and rolls toward me, locking his arm around my chest. “Are you having a sex dream? Because I’d be happy to—”

“I’m having a contraction.”

“What?” His eyes fly open.

I put a hand on my belly. “It’s not strong, but it’s definitely a contraction. The orgasm must have worked.”

“Really? I know I get you going, but—”

“Dean! It’s a
contraction.
”

He pushes up to one elbow and reaches out to put his hand on my stomach. Then he blinks. “Wait, what the hell am I doing? Where’s the stopwatch?”