Beauty From Love (23 page)

“Baby, you are soaking wet so I can feel how turned on you are, but are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s fine for me to orgasm. Dr. Sommersby told me so today.” I’m shaking and panting between sentences, so horny my face feels like it’s gone numb. “Please. Please. Please.” I’m desperate and I’ll beg if he wants.

“We can do better than this.” He gets up from the chair, me clinging to him for dear life. He moves to his padded weight bench and lowers me. He grabs the waist of my cowgirl bottom, dragging it down my legs, and I’m sprawled completely naked before him, wearing only my boots. He goes down on his knees and pushes my legs back and apart. I arch, staring at the ceiling above me in anticipation of his touch. And then I feel it, the first upward swipe of his soft, wet tongue up my center. I grab the top of his weight bench overhead and hold on, afraid I might buck hard enough to fall onto the floor. “Easy, L.”

Easier said than done. It’s been two months since I had an orgasm.

He allows me to relax again and then I feel the second flick of his tongue, sending another jolt of pleasure straight to my groin. “Ohh …”

“Mmm,” he groans. “I’ve missed tasting you.” He places his tongue flat against me and licks straight up. “You are so fucking sweet.”

I’m pretty sure my eyes must be rolling back in my head because I can’t see a thing. I’m lost to all my senses but one, the feel of Jack Henry’s mouth on me.

After he licks me several more times, he sucks my clit into his mouth and uses the suction to pull on it. Sometimes soft tugs, alternating it with a firmer pull. As much as I’d like this to go on forever, it can’t because I’m unable to last any longer. That once very familiar feeling begins to build and it’s coming closer until my inner walls and uterus contract—but this time it feels different. My womb is much fuller. It’s occupied by our growing baby so the tightening has a whole new sensation—and it’s magnificent. “Ahh … Ahh.” I can’t form a coherent sentence.

A moment later, it’s over and I’m incredibly relaxed, very much like my body is made of jelly. I’m not sure I could stand if I tried. “I really enjoyed that.”

“Good because I really enjoyed doing it.”

I feel the baby doing what can only be described as acrobatics. “Good grief, that stirred her up. Feel.”

He moves up my body and places his large hands around my bump, completely encasing it in his hold. “Wow. That woke her up for sure.” He smiles as he feels our child performing beneath his hands. “You said her.”

Yeah, I did, but I’m not ready to admit it. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

He won’t convince me to confess. “If I did, it’s only because that’s all I hear out of you. Her. She. Girl.”

“Because she is a girl.”

“Jack Henry, you don’t know that. It’s a fifty-fifty chance it’s a boy.”

He shakes his head. “I know what I know.”

“Okay. I’m giving in and rolling with you on this. You want to call this baby a girl, we will, but just between us. Don’t do it in front of other people. It’ll confuse them.”

He’s grinning and I’m sure it’s because he thinks he’s convinced me. “Whatever you say, love.”

What a relief. Laurelyn is finally at a point where I can make her come again. Receiving without giving is a problem for me. I feel beneath inadequate when she doesn’t come—that’s why I typically get her off first—making her one orgasm ahead of me. That’s just how we function, so deterring from our ritual has been unsettling.

My workday is almost complete and I’m ready to go home to my wife. I can’t wait to make her come again. Who knows? I might not even wait until we go to bed. I could find her in the kitchen and lift her to the counter and go down on her. I hope she’s wearing a dress. That always makes things so much easier.

I look at the time and see that Mrs. Porcelli has left for the day. Good thing. The little fantasy in my head has made me rock hard. I think I’ll go home and turn it into a reality.

I come into the kitchen but Laurelyn isn’t there. I call out for her.

“In here.”

Her voice sounds like it’s coming from the living room so my fantasy immediately changes course. I’ll pull her up from the couch and bend her over the arm and go down on her from behind. I’ve never done it like that before.

I walk into the living room, primed and ready to give L a surprise orgasm, and see the look on her face. Something is wrong. “What is it, babe?”

“I spoke with Grayson Drake this morning.” Oh shit. “He says Blake was scheduled to go to trial last month but charges were dropped because you told him we weren’t coming to testify.”

I could be in trouble here. “He called you a couple of months ago while you were in the hospital. You’d just gone back for surgery.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You were in a fragile state. Our baby’s life was hanging in limbo and I was afraid telling you might tip the scale in the wrong direction. I wasn’t keeping it from you—only postponing until our baby was out of danger—but then the right time never presented itself. It was easier to not address it than it was to mess everything up once our lives were back to some semblance of order.” She’s staring at me, unmoving. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Well, I’m beyond upset about it now.” She’s looking at me in what I think is disbelief, like maybe she feels I’ve betrayed her. “He knocked me around and then shoved his fingers inside me before he ripped my panties off.” I didn’t know the fucker got his hand inside her. She’s never told me that before. “He had every intention of raping me and he’d have been successful if you hadn’t come in when you did.”

It’s a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I didn’t give in without trying. “I questioned him about postponing the trial until your condition permitted you to come and he told me that Blake had the right to a speedy trial and it couldn’t be postponed longer than a couple of weeks. I suggested closed-circuit video for our testimony and he basically dismissed the idea, saying the judge wouldn’t allow it.”

“How is it possible for him to get away with doing that to me?”

She needs to know I’m not letting this go. “He’s not. I have someone on it.”

“What does that mean?”

I knew she’d want details and that’s why I haven’t told her what I’m doing. “I won’t go into particulars because I don’t want you involved. I won’t allow you to be tainted by anything that might happen.”

“Should I be scared about what you’re doing?”

“I have to ask something of you. I hope it’s a one-time request.” I see the confusion on her face. “Sometimes knowing the truth isn’t what’s best for you—and this is one of those times—so I need a
no questions asked
from you.”

“A what?”

“A
no questions asked
. It’s an understanding between two people when one agrees to go along with the other and not ask for explanations or details.”

She’s pissed. “This isn’t the equivalent of you calling for a change of underwear because you were plastered and pissed yourself at a frat party.” She covers her mouth and then removes it. “You’re doing this so I can’t be implicated in something.”

She’s reading too much into this. “We’re done talking about it.”

“What are you planning?”

I laugh because I can see she’s going to continue to ask questions. “You clearly don’t understand the gist behind
no questions asked.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“You’re absolutely right. There’s not one damn thing that’s funny about Blake getting away with what he did to my wife, and that’s why I’m going to rectify the situation.” I’ve said more than I meant to so I change the subject because I’m not discussing it further. “What’s for dinner?”

She looks at me, as if in disbelief, before finally answering, “Chicken parmigiana over linguine.”

“Perfect. I haven’t had a good chicken parma in ages.”

I go into the cellar to choose a wine for dinner and linger because I need a minute away from her to get my head straight. She probably thinks I’m going to do something terrible. Truth is, I don’t have a plan yet. Jim has uncovered some terrible things about Blake and I’m not sure what I plan to do with the information.

I want to kill him. My innate response as L’s husband is to protect her and avenge any wrong against her, but the law doesn’t see it that way. The American justice system makes it very easy for people like Blake to get away with terrible things so they may go on to do it again, which seems to be a pattern for him. L isn’t the first woman he’s attacked; she’s just the first to come forward.

L has plated our dinner and is sitting at the table, her hands resting in her lap, waiting for me to join her. I open the wine and pour a generous glassful before I sit in my usual place. I take a big drink as she pushes her pasta around on her plate.

She’s upset with me, maybe even fearful about what I’m going to do, but I don’t want this ruining our evening. I make an attempt at normal conversation—something that might bring a smile to her face. “Will you tell me the names you’re thinking about for the baby?”

“Really? You’re going to bring up baby names after the conversation we just had?”

We’re not discussing Blake Phillips any further. “I like James.”

She sighs and doesn’t answer but after a moment she takes the bait. I knew she couldn’t resist the baby-name talk. “I thought you were convinced it was a girl.”

“I am but I really think I like James for my girl. Thoughts?”

“I don’t know. I gotta think about that one since it wasn’t on my radar at all.”

I’m not sure she likes it. “What is on your radar?”

“I’ve been kicking around Maggie, short for Margaret.”

I’m surprised. “You’d want to name our daughter after my mum?”

“Yeah. I love Margaret and it would be an honor for our daughter to be named after such a strong, loving woman.”

“What about Maggie James?” Hmm … it sounds like a southern Yank name. I love it.

She looks at me and smiles, a sign she may be forgetting our earlier strife. “Maggie James McLachlan.” She says it aloud, testing it on her own tongue. “I think I love it, but I want to use it as a double name. Not just Maggie or just James.”

Just like that? We go with the first name we discuss? I thought there would be more debate to it than that. “I’m fine with that.”

“You’ll call her MJ, won’t you?”

“My girls, L and MJ … yeah, I probably will. What about the boy name you’ve been wasting your time thinking about?”

“I want Henry in it—for obvious reasons—but now you have me thinking James Henry. What do you think?”

“That it doesn’t matter because we’re having a little girl and her name is Maggie James.”

L is tossing and turning in the bed, almost constantly. I don’t know if it’s because of discomfort or if she’s thinking of our
no questions asked
discussion. If it’s the latter, I don’t want her affected like this because it’s not good for her or the baby.

Her back is to me so I scoot close behind her and put my arms around her stomach. “You’re restless, love. What’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong.”

I was afraid she would say that. “What can I do to put you at ease?”

“Tell me you aren’t going to do something crazy.”

“I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

She rolls over so we’re facing one another. “Are you saying that because it’s what I want to hear?”

“No.” Maybe. I’m not sure yet.

“We have a baby on the way and I can’t afford to lose you because you’re looking to settle a score with Blake. Yes, he attacked me and deserves to be punished for that, but not at the expense of me losing my husband because you took matters into your own hands.”

I don’t think it’s possible to make her understand the way I feel. “I’m your husband. Your safety falls on my shoulders and I didn’t protect you from him, so I have this intense need inside me to make him sorry for what he did to you.”

“I want him to be punished too, but I’m the one who will suffer if you break the law and get caught.”

That isn’t going to happen. “I’m not going to get into any kind of trouble.”

“Swear to me.”

“I swear.” I want to get her mind off this. “Please try to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for you. What time do you have to be at the rehearsal?”

“Six.”

I should bring up tomorrow night. “You aren’t taking Addison out on the town for her last night as an unattached woman?”

“I think that kid bouncing around in her belly is considered an attachment, but what would two pregnant women do in Wagga? We can’t drink, smoke, or have random sex, so what’s the point?”

Damn right she can’t do any of those things—with one exception. “I can provide you with one of those three things—some form of random sex, here, tomorrow night. The kitchen table, the bathroom counter, maybe the arm of the couch. What do you think?”

“Eh, if nothing else comes up, you can pencil me in.” That’s my girl.

I can hear a voice but can’t make out who it is or what it’s saying as I struggle to abandon the dream. I feel someone shaking my shoulder and I become more alert to my surroundings. “Wake up.”

“Hmm?” I groan.

“I’ve got to go to the hospital.”

My heart takes off like a helicopter as I shoot up in bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me. Addison’s in labor.”

I roll over and look at the clock and see it’s two in the morning. “They just got married—like eight hours ago.”

“The baby doesn’t care how long they’ve been married because he’s coming.”

“Ugh!” I groan as I sit up and turn to put my feet on the floor. “I’ll get up and drive you.”

“I can drive myself. Besides, this could take a while.”

No way I’m letting my pregnant wife go out by her herself at two in the morning. “Sorry. Not happening.”

She scoots over to put her arms around me and places a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Thank you, my sweet, darling husband.”

“You can properly thank me later.”

She squeezes me. “Horn dog.”

“You’ve got that right, babe.”