Arrive (2 page)

With a sigh, I get a few things prepped for dinner, then go into the bedroom to change into stretch-pants and a more comfortable shirt. As I pull my sweater over my head, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. I’m wearing a sensible cotton support bra, which is pretty much what I wore pre-pregnancy, except this one is larger and my breasts swell over the top of the cups.

Everything else is larger too. I peel off my jeans and go to stand in front of the mirror in my underwear. The curve of my belly starts beneath my breasts, so it’s shaped more like a small watermelon standing on end rather than a beach ball. A few veins show through my skin.

I twist around to look at my behind. Wider and rounder too. Can’t say I’m thrilled about that, especially since my ass wasn’t exactly flat to begin with. My hips are wider too, not to mention my thighs…

I reach back to unhook my bra and toss it aside. A reddish line from the elastic mars the skin around my back. Soon I’ll need bigger maternity bras.

I stare at my naked breasts in the mirror. They’re big and pale, also with a few thin veins mapping my skin. Even my nipples are bigger. Darker too. I wonder why.

“You have no idea how sexy you are.”

I jump at the sound of Dean’s voice and turn. He’s standing there with his shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, and a decidedly heated expression.

“Sexy and fat,” I say with a hint of disgruntlement.

“Sexy and
round,
” he corrects.

“Round is not sexy.”

“Sure it is. Doughnuts are round. And what’s sexier than a doughnut?”

I scowl. “I am not a doughnut.”

“You’re sugary and sweet like a doughnut. Not to mention you have a delicious hole.”

“Dean!”

He grins. “Come here.”

“No.” I grab for my discarded bra but he gets to me before I can slip it back on.

Next thing I know he’s palming my breasts and tugging lightly at my nipples, and then any thoughts of resistance fade into pleasure.

“You are very…” Dean slides his hand over the swell of my belly to my cotton panties. “Very…” his fingers dip below the elastic and apparently he likes what he finds because he groans, “…sexy.”

“I think you have a pregnant woman fetish.”

“The only thing I have is an Olivia West fetish.” He smiles, his eyes darkening with both heat and tenderness.

I get all soft inside like I always do when he smiles at me. But even though his fingers are still doing lovely things between my legs, I wrap my hand around his wrist.

“You don’t want to?” He stops his exploration.

“It’s not that.” Hesitating, I shrug my bathrobe on and fasten the belt. I’ve always been able to tell him anything, but this is weird, not to mention somewhat unexplored territory.

“What then?” Dean asks.

“I just feel sort of… uh, large.”

“Yeah.” He takes my hand and presses it against his crotch, which is bulging with an already impressive erection. “Me too.”

“Dean, I’m serious. Have you seen the size of my ass lately?”

“Seen it, squeezed it, love it.”

I’m skeptical. “Really?”

“Uh huh.” He looks at me and pushes a lock of hair away from my shoulder. “What, you think you don’t turn me on just because you’re getting bigger?”

“I still have over three months to go. It could get… awkward.”

“So we’ll figure it out.” He pulls me to him and works the knot of my bathrobe, then pushes it off my shoulders. “And if you ever again doubt how sexy you are, all you have to do is get naked. The sight of you makes me hard in half a second.”

He slides his hand down into my panties again and teases my folds until my breathing starts to increase. Then he nods toward the mirror.

“Look.”

I blush. “Dean…”

“Come on, beauty. You’re with me.”

It’s a reassuring statement, one he’s said to me before. One that reminds me Dean is the only person I’ve ever not only been entirely comfortable with, but often downright uninhibited. Even
raw.

I glance at the mirror. My heart kicks up in pace. It is kind of sexy, the reflection of me wearing nothing but my panties standing next to Dean, who is still fully clothed. My hair is loose and messy around my shoulders, my breasts are heavy, my nipples big and peaked. Dean’s hand smooths over the curves of my belly and hips, the white cotton stretched across my bottom. His hard cock is visible through his trousers, his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.

“See?” He turns me so I’m facing the mirror and palms my breasts in his big hands. “So fucking sexy.”

I shudder. He rubs my belly and tangles his fingers into the elastic of my underpants. His erection presses against me, the heat of his skin rolling off him in waves. Lust bolts through me, and I squirm.

“Dean…”

I turn in his arms, stretching upward a little to curve my hand around the back of his neck. I draw him to me for one of our warm, easy kisses that makes my heart race wildly. He moves his hands down to rub my ass, urging my lips apart with his tongue. I slide into the kiss, my blood warming as if I’m easing between cotton sheets hot from the dryer. I fumble with his belt, then let go so he can unbuckle it. The rasp of leather against fabric sends a shiver down my spine.

Within seconds, I have his cock in my hand and I’m pumping it in the way I know he likes. Arousal coils through me, fierce and tight, and Dean guides us both to the bed. Heat burns in his gaze as he slides his hands over my body, the curves of my breasts and swell of my stomach. He lowers his head to kiss my neck and shoulders, the feather-light touch of his lips causing my tight skin to prickle with sensation.

I want to do the same for him, want to feel his warm, taut skin beneath my lips, so I push him onto his back and move to straddle him. I unfasten the buttons of his shirt and spread my hands across his chest, tracing the gorgeous muscles with my fingertips. I wiggle a little to rub my bottom against his cock. My sex clenches with growing urgency.

“Turn around.” His voice is low and rough. “Hands and knees.”

Trembling, I climb off him and turn, catching sight of us in the mirror. Dean grabs a couple of pillows and positions them beneath my stomach, then kneels behind me. He rubs his hands over my ass and between my thighs, muttering something about my readiness before he pulls my panties over my hips to expose my bottom.

“Jesus, Liv.” He slides a finger through my folds. “I could fuck you for hours.”

A delicious shiver rocks me. I place my hands flat on the bed and widen my stance as best I can with my panties still twisted around my knees. Cool air brushes against my cleft.

I swallow hard. Dean’s name comes out on a desperate plea. He reaches around with one hand to toy with my nipples and the other to rub my clit. Sensations crash over me—the rasp of his hot breath on my neck, the brush of his hair-roughened thighs against mine, the adept touch of his fingers.

I can’t stop staring at our reflection. Me on my hands and knees, my breasts dangling like ripe fruits, and Dean kneeling behind me, his shirt half open and his big cock sticking straight out… I moan, squeezing my legs together, aching.

“Dean, please.”

He gives a muffled laugh and fists his cock, stroking it up and down with that smooth, rhythmic movement I love so much. I thrust backward, urgency coiling in me like an overwound clock. He grips my ass, sliding his cock slowly into my slit before pushing forward and filling me with one, delicious thrust.

I gasp. He tightens his hand on my bottom and starts to pump, the smack of flesh against flesh filling the air. Need spirals through my blood. Through a veil of hair that’s fallen over my face, I stare at our reflection in the mirror—the taut muscularity of Dean behind me, the sway of my breasts and jostle of my body as he thrusts harder and faster…

I close my eyes and sink into it, letting the arousal build by slow degrees. His thrusts are delicious, hard and measured, creating a sensual friction that has me clenching around him. I rub my breasts against the bedcover to ease the ache in my nipples. Because of the tangle of my panties around my knees, I can’t widen my stance, and the friction is even tighter, more intense. Our skin grows shiny with sweat and exertion. My heartbeat pounds inside my head.

“Dean, I can’t… oh, please… touch me…”

He slides a hand beneath me to find my clit. A few strokes, and I come with a shriek, convulsing around his shaft. He curses, his fingers still working until he’s sure my pleasure has ebbed, and then he grabs my ass again and thrusts deep in a drive toward his own release.

Gasping, I watch in the mirror as our bodies work together one final time before he pulls out and takes his cock in his hand. With a groan, he comes over my bottom and lower back, his chest heaving. I collapse, my body limp and my breathing raspy.

“Damn.” Dean lowers himself beside me and reaches out to fondle one of my breasts. “Never again doubt your own sex appeal.”

“Fuck me like that regularly and I won’t.”

“Such language from the pregnant lady?” Amusement flashes behind the satisfaction in his eyes. “Haven’t I been fucking you good for the past six years?”

“Yeah, you do all right.” I shift to smile at him, then reach out to stroke a hand over his damp, muscled chest. Astonishingly, a new spark of arousal courses through me. “Glad you can still keep up with me, professor.”

“I can’t keep my hands off you.” He drags his gaze down my body. “I’ve never been able to.”

I roll over to curl against him as we catch our breath, but I don’t stay long because these days more than ever I have to attend to certain bodily functions. Especially after sex. I kiss Dean’s shoulder and ease away to head into the guest bathroom.

The second I close the door, a tight pain spreads across my stomach.

What the—?

I clutch the doorknob. Dean’s name stops in my throat.

I close my eyes for a second and breathe. My heart is still beating hard, and a trickle of sweat runs down my temple. The pain lasts for about a minute and begins to subside. I suck in a lungful of air and splay a hand across my belly.

Latent terror crackles through me—the horror of my miscarriage earlier this year, the knife-sharp pain of loss. I don’t move until the cramping has stopped completely. I take a few breaths, then use the bathroom and splash water on my face.

When I come out of the bathroom, Dean has gone into his office. I turn on my laptop and do a quick internet search about pain during sex while pregnant. Several websites say muscle cramping after an orgasm isn’t all that unusual, but I’m supposed to contact my doctor if the pain is particularly bad or doesn’t ease. I’m somewhat reassured after learning this, especially since the pain is gone, but the shadow remains.

To banish the lingering fear, I go to the closet and pull out a small box of baby clothes I’ve already bought—identical onesies and hats in shades of both blue and pink. I sink my hands into the cotton layers, soft as clouds. My tension eases, as if thoughts of the baby are like waves washing gently against the sand, smoothing out all the rough patches.

If it’s a girl…

If it’s a boy…

…we are so blessed.

‡

O
LIVIA

O
ctober eases into November with a flurry of work at the café and continued preparations for the baby. Fat, colorful turkeys, smiling pilgrims, and shiny pumpkins decorate the windows of the downtown shops.

As the weeks pass, I take note of any aches and pains I experience. There’s some discomfort, but nothing alarming—not even when Dean and I indulge in hot interludes, which continue to be fun and innovative even as I get bigger.

Though my libido is still running on high, the missionary position and a few others are no longer comfortable for me. Our new favorite positions are me straddling and riding Dean facing away from him—which he says he
really
loves because he gets to watch my “magnificent, biteable ass” bounce up and down—or me lying on my side with him entering me from behind, or me kneeling on the sofa, again with him pumping into me from behind, my knees spread wide, Dean’s hands gripping my hips and maybe occasionally pausing to give me a little, stinging spank as he pulls back and plunges in again and again… oh, God,
again
…

“Come on, Liv.”

His deep voice breaks into my little fantasy. I take a breath, trying to quell the surge of arousal as I pull a brush through my hair. No time for a sexy escapade at the moment, unfortunately.

I hadn’t been expecting Allie’s call—relayed through Dean an hour ago—that she needs me to take over her shift at the café this morning. Now my plans for a relaxing day spent soaking my feet, eating bon-bons, and seducing my husband have gone by the wayside.

“Liv.” Dean sounds irritated.

“Sorry.” I leave the bathroom and open the drawer of the dressing table to look for a crimson ribbon. “I can’t help moving a little slower these days.”

“A little slower?” He looks at the clock from his position by the bedroom door. “Molasses in January is like Niagara Falls compared to you.”