Beautiful Beloved (4 page)

“No, that will make it worse. See those little beads? They’ll get stuck. I’ve got some scissors. I can go grab them,” said another.

“Man, it is really
in
there,” said their supervisor. “How did you even do that?”

Four pairs of hands all tried to help me untangle myself, but I batted them away.

“No,” I said. “Please. This skirt is vintage.” There was a grimace in my voice as I pulled on a tiny thread, careful not to snag it further. Damn, it did not want to give and I was practically sweating. “A gift from my mom,” I added. “Just let me—”

“Oh,” they all said in unison, along with a “Fucking hell,” from Max.

I’d ripped it, like,
really
ripped it. And now, instead of a small, easily concealable snag, there was a slit that began at the bottom of my skirt and moved up, stopping at the top of my thigh.

“No way that just happened,” Max said.

“It happened,” I told him.

“I’m sorry, Petal. We can go back and you can change into something else?”

“This is nothing,” I said, and straightened, pushing up on the balls of my feet to press a kiss to his neck. “This is just karma’s way of proving a point because I said this was too easy.
Of course
something would go wrong after that.”

“I’d be lying if I said that I disliked this slight alteration,” he said, eyes moving up and down my thigh.

“It’s not too obscene?” I asked, a little thrill passing through my stomach at his wide eyes as he shook his head.

“Absolutely not.” He ran his hand down over my hip, and touched the bare skin of my thigh, right in front of everyone outside the restaurant.

Warmth slid into my veins. Was he going to play a little tonight? Would he touch me beneath the table?

“Listen,” he said, kissing my neck, “why don’t I check us in and you can run to the ladies, fix anything that needs fixing and maybe check in on George?”

I wilted immediately. “Sounds perfect,” I said, squeezing his hand.

I didn’t call George, opting to text instead of running the risk of waking Anna.

I know I don’t need to check in so just saying hi. Hi,
I typed.

His reply came less than a minute later.
If you two aren’t naked yet I’m going to be so disappointed.

I laughed dryly as I typed back,
Nope, definitely not naked. How’s my baby?

Perfect. Just waking up so I’m heating her bottle. Then tummy time and a movie.

You’re a lifesaver
, I typed.

Tell me something I don’t know.

I looked at the full-length mirror in the ladies’ room and Max was right, it didn’t look bad at all. Satisfied, I left to go find my husband, typing out a response on the way.
How will I ever repay you, George?

Bring me back something shiny.

I smiled.
Done.

By shiny, you know I mean chorus boys wrapped in sparkling swim trunks, right?

Obviously.

His response appeared only a second later.
This is why we’re friends.

We were led to our seats shortly after. With the way Max was looking at me from across the table—like nothing would please him more than to spread me out in front of all these people and have
me
for dinner—I hoped I’d be able to make it through the next two hours.

I opted for clam risotto with bacon and chives, and Max ordered a creamy fettuccine with asparagus. The waiter brought a bottle of pinot noir and held it out for Max’s inspection. Max smiled and then motioned for him to show it to me—which was ridiculous considering I barely drank—but my eyes widened in recognition. It was the same wine we’d had at the quiet dinner after our wedding at city hall. My husband was
so
getting laid tonight.

“Perfect,” I told him.

The waiter smiled and began to remove the cork. “It’s an amazing choice,” he said, wedging the bottle between his knees to get a better grip. He laughed nervously and jostled the opener, but it didn’t seem to want to budge. “Wow, it’s really stuck in there.”

“Maybe if I—” Max started to say, but the cork came out with a wet suction and both the waiter and Max eyed it dubiously. It was black with sludge.

“Oh,” both the waiter and I said in unison. Max looked like someone had just popped his balloon.

“This is a pretty bleak metaphor,” I joked, but Max’s expression told me he didn’t think it was remotely funny.

“I’m so sorry,” the waiter said, and looked around as if someone would be standing there to help him. “This bottle is clearly off. I’ll just go get you another.” He paused, and I knew right away that it wasn’t a good sign. “I just remembered, that was the last one.”

“No worries, mate,” Max said, glancing through the wine menu. “Happens to all of us. We’ll just have a bottle of the MacRostie instead.”

The wine had been poured, and I tore off a small piece of warm bread while we waited for our meal. “So how was Anna today?” I asked.

Max looked at me over the rim of his glass, mouth turned up in a teasing smirk. “I believe there was to be no baby discussion tonight, Mrs. Stella,” he said. “But since I relish the chance to talk about our daughter, I’ll tell you that she was perfect, as usual. Mum quite enjoys having her there. Not to mention Will, even if he does nothing more than sit and make ridiculous faces at her from across the table.”

As if on cue, my phone vibrated next to my plate and I glanced over as the screen lit up.

Your daughter is not impressed with Ryan Gosling. This is clearly your husband’s DNA.
Attached was a photo of the two of them on the couch, Anna making a hilariously frowny face at the camera.

I showed Max and typed out a quick reply, before placing my phone—facedown—on the table.

Max reached for my hand and took it in his, rubbing his thumb over my wedding band. “It’s okay to look at your phone, you know. This is our first night out without her. It’s all right to feel a little anxious.
I’m
a little anxious.”

“You don’t look it,” I told him. “You never do. I swear you have a poker face like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know about that. Seems I couldn’t keep anything from you, now could I? Quite certain you knew I was ass over tits for you within a few days of meeting.”

“You played the rogue part pretty well, though. Even I—” My phone vibrated again and I bit back a groan.

It was more movie commentary from George, and honestly, if the accompanying pics weren’t so adorable and I didn’t love him so much for doing this for me, I’d probably offer to buy him a car to lose my number for the next forty-five minutes.

Has Anna been fussier than usual? Or doing this thing where she pulls her body up into a little bit before kicking out and crying?

“Was Anna fussy today?” I asked Max, suddenly worried that I’d missed something being away.

“Maybe a tad more toward the end of the day, but nothing big. Was just ready to go home, that’s all.”

Not that we’ve noticed,
I typed.
Why? Is she ok?

I’m sure it’s nothing,
came George’s reply.
Her tummy feels a bit noisy to me, so I’m going to do a little baby massage on her. See if we can get all those gas bubbles gone.

“She’s not feeling well,” I told Max. “I mean, he thinks it’s just gas but, I don’t know.”

“Would you feel better if we left, Petal?” he said, concern growing in his features.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t, I wasn’t sure if this was one of those moments where I needed to tell the overprotective side of myself to calm down, or give in to the worry pressing on my chest. A baby cried from somewhere near the back of the restaurant and I squeezed my eyes closed. Of course this would happen now. I could already feel the way my breasts felt heavier, tender. My milk was beginning to let down and I had no baby, no pump anywhere in sight. The night was going downhill, and fast.

Movement caught my eye, and I felt my shoulders sag with relief as I saw the waiter coming toward us with our dinners.

“Thank fuck,” Max said. “Shall I get them to go?”

The phone buzzed on the table again, so close to my cutlery that it caused a shrill clanking as they vibrated against each other. As he set my plate down, the waiter gave me a look.

So baby girl feels better now
, the text said.
Unfortunately, she feels better because she threw up all over me. And your couch. It fought the good fight though.

“She threw up, all over George’s fancy Italian shirt. Maybe send chocolates
and
flowers,” I said. “And let’s definitely get it all to go.”

There are moments when you definitely know life has a sense of humor, when you swear that someone is up there screwing with you. My phone went off again, sending my silverware clanging across the table. I reached for it as the waiter picked Max’s plate back up, at the
exact same moment
the person next to us stood, pushing out their chair. I grabbed for my phone, the chair collided with the waiter, and Max’s plate of white cream sauce went tumbling . . . into his lap.

Water was everywhere, across the tablecloth, inside my phone, and all over Max’s pants, where a wet, creamy mixture now lay steaming. I scrambled back from the chaos, my eyes wide with horror. A child next to us burst into tears, and I looked over at Max and the enormous mess in his lap.

“It’s fine,” he assured me, grabbing a napkin and wiping his pants.

My phone buzzed on the table with another picture from George.

“It’s okay, Petal. Just leave it.”

I sat down, shaking. “This is a disaster. I just want to get home to my baby.” I paused as Max dabbed at his pants again and looked down at my chest, my neck and cheeks flushing with humiliation, “Oh,
shit
.”

When Max looked up and realized my milk had let down and soaked through my red dress, creating two big, wet circles, I could tell he was
done
.

Tossing a few twenties onto the table, he stood and helped me up, wrapping me in his coat. “Let’s go home.”

I tucked into his side and strode beside him quickly, wordlessly, until we got outside, where I couldn’t help but start laughing madly. “We could have had cereal for dinner in our pajamas!”

“Fucking too right,” he growled, handing the valet the ticket for our car. Protectiveness and frustration rolled off him in waves. “Giant bowl of Froot Loops and—”

“Sir,” the valet interrupted, glancing at the number. His face was ashen. “Our deepest apologies, but I need to let you know there’s been a slight accident . . .”

Chapter Three

Max

I could hear Anna crying from the elevator and immediately knew George hadn’t been able to get her to take a bottle.

Sara took off, running to the door and fumbling with her keys before I was able to take them from her and let her in. Just inside, George handed her the baby and—correctly reading Sara’s expression—insisted, “She’s okay, she’s okay, she just woke up and wouldn’t take the bottle. She had one earlier.”

It wouldn’t matter to know that she’d eaten not long before. Sara thanked George in a panicked whisper and took the baby into the nursery to feed her.

“Did you have an accident?” George nodded to my pants.

I looked away from where Sara had disappeared down the hall. “A waiter did, just before Sara had one, just before the valet introduced my car to a concrete pillar.”

“So dinner was awesome, then?”

“A brilliant night, really.” Only when I looked up at him again did I register what he was wearing. “Is that my shirt?”

George ran his hands to his hips. “It’s more of a dress on me.” He pulled the extra material into his fists. “I almost used one of Sara’s scarves as a belt.”

“So . . . a touch of vomit then?”

He nodded, releasing the shirt. “Exorcist baby.”

“Sorry about that,” I mumbled, suddenly hit with a debilitating wave of exhaustion. “I swear there are times she throws up more than I think she’s eaten.”

“Not a thing, I swear. It was so much better than that time my date threw up on me, because at least Anna cuddles afterward.”

“Thanks, mate. Taking care of the baby tonight was bloody generous of you.”

George patted my shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it. Tell Sara I’ll see her next week?”

“Will do.”

After I closed the door behind him, I threw my trousers in the washing machine and went down the hall to the nursery, sitting in my usual spot on the soft carpet near the rocking chair. “How’s my girl?”

Sara smiled down at Anna. “She’s fine.”

I licked my lips, studying her face. She’d relaxed almost as soon as she had our baby in her arms. “I meant my wife.”

Her enormous brown eyes met mine and narrowed as she laughed. “I’m fine, too.”

She looked back down at the baby and sang quietly, stroking Anna’s cheek with her thumb. I watched Anna’s small hand reach up blindly, finding and squeezing Sara’s index finger. Reaching forward, I curled my hand around my wife’s ankle and closed my eyes.

I couldn’t hear anything but Sara’s quiet humming and our daughter’s little baby noises. Our world was infinitely better and we had to come to terms with the fact that, at least for the time being, it was so much smaller.

A hand on my shoulder startled me awake. The floor of the nursery, I’d fallen asleep on the floor of the nursery . . .

Looking up, I was greeted by the sight of Sara in a tiny lace bra that pushed her tits up and together until they nearly spilled from the cups. My gaze traveled south and snagged on her minuscule matching thong.

“New pajamas?” I asked, pushing up onto an elbow.

“A gift from Chloe.”

“For me or you?”

“Both.” She curled her finger to me as she backed out of the room, and I stood, trailing after her until she stopped halfway to the bedroom on a slim, soft hallway rug.

“Here?” I asked, stepping close and bending to kiss her neck. She’d put the smallest touch of perfume on—the familiar light scent that seemed half fruit, half floral, and which she knew made me wild. Seeing her like this, in lingerie, her hair grown long and thick, reaching halfway down her back and brushed smooth, reminded me that it had been forever since we’d put in this sort of effort. It used to be either frantic fucking or a luxurious game.

Now we’d only known exhausted or frantic, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should take her to our room, be slow and gentle with her.

“Yeah, here,” she whispered, standing on her toes to scrape her teeth over my jaw. “Remember that time we ate dinner in front of the TV, and I surprised you when the movie I put in was a video of us?” She dragged her teeth along my earlobe. “You got so turned on you fucked me against this wall. Bent at the waist, hands on the plaster and legs spread? Remember?”

I definitely remembered. We’d made love in the hall before—the frantic kind of pre-baby sex when we’d been unable to wait until we could reach the bed. Those times were fast and messy, a flurry of wild thrusts until we both collapsed sweaty and half dressed on the floor. On that particular occasion I’d just watched a video of me spanking her, and was so fucking turned on we re-created it, right here.

But tonight, when Annabel was fast asleep, why were we—

“I like this rug,” she explained, sliding down my body to her knees and my brain stuttered when she looked up at me with wicked eyes. “It’s soft and thick under my knees.” She guided my boxers down past my hips and freed my cock, watching it grow long as her fist curled around the base. She drew a slow circle with her tongue around the tip. “I also like the way you taste,” she continued, smiling knowingly up at me. “Is that weird?”

I opened my mouth, searching for sound, and finally grunted out a “No.”

She bit her lip, watching her fist work me for a few strokes before sucking at the crown again. I groaned, tensing from the pleasure of her swirling tongue. “I like this sweetness,” she whispered and stared up at me. “Relax. Tonight was a disaster, but a
funny
disaster. Give me more.”

Sara squeezed me, coaxing liquid from the tip and sucking at it. “What’s it like to watch me do that?”

My mouth opened and I tried to speak but only a garbled sound came out. Her tongue rubbed across the spot just beneath the head of my cock and my hand tightened on the back of her neck, breath tight and high in my throat.

Popping off with a wet kiss she asked, “When was the last time you came in my mouth?”

I knew the answer without having to think too long. It was two weeks after the baby was born and we couldn’t have sex yet. We were delirious with sleep deprivation and on some sort of high over the perfection of our lives anyway. I came on her lips not because she played with me for so long, but because we hadn’t touched intimately in several weeks and I’d felt spring-loaded.

“A while ago,” I admitted.

She nodded, lips pouting before she smiled and bent to kiss a wet, sucking line up my cock.

I wanted her hands around me, gripping and pulling, frenzied in that way that we seemed to never have energy for anymore. Wanted that slick slide of tongue over my skin and the vibrating sounds of pleasure, the urgency. She bent, licking another wet line from the head to my balls, smiling with her eyes up at me as she pointed her tongue and ran it around and around and around in a wet circle at the very tip of my cock.

Fuck.

My fingers found their way into her hair, massaging, guiding her down and I was speaking nonsense; encouraging her and begging her and praising her fucking perfect, sweet little mouth.

“Love that mouth. Fucking
love
it.” I ran a finger down from her temple to her lips, feeling her slide back and forth over me. “I bet you could take me all the way down, couldn’t you?” I said, giving in to what I wanted so
so
much.

She took me farther and farther until her eyes watered and she pulled back, sucking in air and staring up at me. I was harder than I’d been in ages, practically shaking with the need for her.

I needed Sara’s deep brown eyes and quiet, scratchy voice and hands that were both soft and strong. I wanted only the arch of Sara’s spine and the taste of the wet between her legs and the clench of her when she came around me with a shocked cry. I’d been with her a hundred times and every one of those times she’d been a different woman—a new discovery—revealing something new of herself.

With my cock between her lips, she reached back and unfastened her bra, letting it slide down her arms and land silently on the floor.

Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at me and when she reached forward and played with her nipple, I was fucking done.

Perfect suction, her hot little ass in perfect view . . .
holy fuck
. I closed my eyes and gave in to the clawing ache that built in my thighs and stretched upward, tightening . . .

A tiny thump sounded in the other room: Anna rolling into the side of the crib. She coughed a few times.

I started to step away but Sara planted her hands on my hips with quiet urgency. “She’s fine. You’re so close, baby,
stay
.”

And then the baby started to cry.

Sara slid her mouth down again, sucking hard and fast, begging with her eyes for me to relax, to come, to keep this moment alive somehow, but how the bloody hell was I supposed to fuck her mouth with our infant daughter crying in the other room?

The hungry cry,
Sara once told me.
“Do you hear it?”
she’d asked. “How different it sounds?”

I knew without having to even ask that her breasts were growing heavy and uncomfortable.

This time, when I stepped back, she let me.

I ran the pad of my thumb from her temple down across her cheek to rest on her full, wet bottom lip. “Petal. Go on.”

With an apologetic grimace she took my hand and stood. She looked so fucking beautiful in front of me: topless, wearing her tiny lace pants, legs toned and smooth. She stretched and kissed me once, soft and slow, trapping my cock between us.

“We’ll finish this later?”

“Sure,” I murmured, kissing her forehead.

Her ass, when she turned and stepped into the nursery, was sublime. And then she bent, picked up our baby, and walked to the rocking chair.

Instead of sitting at her feet like usual, I went down the hall into the bedroom to let my body come down.

Twenty minutes later I felt Sara crawl into bed behind me. Her hand was warm when it slid around my chest. Her mouth was soft and wet on the bare skin of my shoulder.

“You awake?” she whispered, letting her hand run down my stomach to where I was naked under the covers. My body began to respond when she gripped me, but I was so fucking close to sleep, so exhausted. I took her hand in mine and pulled it up to my chest, wordlessly telling her we’d find another time.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Will was sitting in my chair, his feet perched on my desk.

I glanced at him and then shut my office door behind me. “Comfortable?”

“My office is better,” he said in response. “How was the epic shagfest?”

“Mildly disappointing.”

His playful expression dimmed at my probably-too-honest answer and he sat up, planting his elbows on his knees. “What happened?”

I dropped my laptop bag near my office closet and sat across from him. “George was good, it was just a lot of updates, a lot of mishaps at the restaurant, and then the sex that never quite happened after.”

“What kind of mishaps?”

“Alfredo on the trousers, water dumped on the mix, Sara’s breasts leaking through her dress, the valet scraped my car. You know, the usual date night.”

Will held up a hand. “Her breasts and the dress and the
what
now?”

I sighed. “William. Sometimes you disappoint me with your predictability.”

But he was already shaking his head. “I’m honestly curious. They . . .
leak
?”

I felt my brows pull together. “Well . . . yeah. ’Course they do. You do realize where milk comes from, right? What they’re actually for? That they weren’t created simply for you to enjoy.”

“Do
not
blaspheme, Max,” he said, holding out a single finger in warning. He looked a little dazed. “And they leak like,
constantly
?”

“Not constantly, you bleeding idiot. Just when she hasn’t fed Anna in a few hours or if she hears her cry . . .” I winced, meeting his eyes. “Or another baby cry, apparently. I didn’t really anticipate that one, to be honest.”

I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that I felt like I was betraying Sara’s privacy in talking about this; it was more that I felt I had access to a secret room in the man tavern and I really shouldn’t hand over the password to Will until it was his time. Let him suffer a bit.

I gave him my most condescending smile. “Lots of things happen with the female body that even you haven’t seen.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Why?” I clucked my tongue sympathetically. “It brings me such joy.”

Will tilted his head, and seemed to consider whether or not to tell me something. His blue eyes narrowed and a little smile took over one half of his mouth.

I waited it out until I knew he couldn’t stand it anymore. The staring contest continued for at least ten seconds longer.

“Fine,” he said on a bursting exhale. “I’ve been with a pregnant woman before.”

I regarded him with mild disgust. “Okay, given that I know you’ve never impregnated anyone yourself, I’m just going to say it: that’s slightly fucking weird.”

“Yeah . . . I did a lot of shit then that I wouldn’t do now. But I’ve never been with a woman who . . .” He glanced down to his chest and looked back up at me, brows raised.

“Right,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. Will was such a notorious breast man, it occurred to me that it was strange that he hadn’t seemed to think about this perk of motherhood before now.

“What does it taste like?” he said, like a crack in the air.

I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “William.”

“
Maximillian
. Don’t even try to pretend like you haven’t tasted it.”

I remembered the conversation Sara and I had about it the first week we were home. We were in the newborn haze, with dishes piled in the sink and in the same clothes we’d worn the day before. Sara was in pain, and I did what I could to help relieve it: with my hands, my mouth. She’d watched, eyes wide and grateful, her nails gently scratching my scalp and asked me how it tasted.

I blinked back over to Will. “It’s . . . sweet,” I admitted.

He whimpered, closing his eyes. “I feel like I need to meet Hanna at the apartment for a lunchtime—”