His Christmas Present (16 page)

He kissed her, his
hands wandering over her, exploring the changes to her body. He would have
liked to touch her breasts more, to lick and suck her nipples because that had
turned her on before, but in spite of her reassurance, he wasn’t sure how she’d
feel about it now she was feeding Harry.

How did women
reconcile the fact that breasts served two separate purposes? And how did
breasts know the difference between baby sucking and partner sucking?
Presumably they didn’t, and he realised what that could mean. He’d thought it
might turn him off, but in truth it fascinated him, turned him on even. But was
that wrong? And what if she didn’t feel the same way, if it embarrassed her?

So instead he
withdrew from her, smiling at her complaints, and stroked between her legs to arouse
her, intrigued by what she’d been through, amazed that she seemed so different
and yet so the same. Kissing her in between strokes, he spent time studying her
face, making sure she was enjoying his touch, amused and pleased when she
blushed under his hot gaze. And eventually he entered her again, sliding into
her warm folds with an ease that made them both groan, and beginning to move
inside her with a renewed, urgent passion.

She met him thrust
for thrust, and he held her tightly to him as their hips moved, capturing her
sighs with his mouth and trying to control his own desire to make sure she came
with him. But she was too beautiful, too warm and soft, and his traitorous body
wouldn’t wait. Heat rushed through him, and he stiffened and clutched hold of
her as he came inside her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as she kissed him, unable
to stop the words, even though he wasn’t sure what he was apologising for
anymore.

Only as the pulses
died down did she tighten around him, and he opened his eyes and watched as her
orgasm swept over her. And only then did he finally realise the truth.

He loved her.

And maybe, just
maybe, his father had been right.

 As Megan’s body
relaxed from the intensity of the orgasm, she became aware her skin was sticking
to Dion’s, both of them glowing in the humid warmth. He withdrew from her and
she winced, a little sore from the unusual exercise, but the pleasure he’d
given her more than made up for that.

They didn’t say
anything because there wasn’t anything left to say, but he continued to plant
soft butterfly kisses on her lips and cheeks as she began to doze, and even
though her thighs were damp and she should really pay a visit to the bathroom,
she couldn’t be bothered to get up, and soon faded into sleep.

She awoke when the
front door closed in the distance and tiny feet thundered on the floorboards,
and realised Sean and Gaby and the kids must be home.

Dion was asleep,
sprawled on his back on the bed, naked to the waist, his legs tangled in the
duvet. She admired him briefly, her eyes lingering on his young, strong body, overwhelmed
with love. She wasn’t sure yet what was going to happen. He hadn’t dealt with
his grief, and they had a lot to decide. But something had happened between
them, something sensual and magical, and she wrapped herself in the resulting
glow along with the bathrobe Sean had lent him as she quickly visited the
bathroom, then went out into the living room.

While the toddlers
sat on the sofa playing with their Christmas presents, Sean and Gaby were
getting themselves a drink in the kitchen, talking to Harry where Gaby had
placed him on the kitchen counter, but they looked over as she walked out.

“Hey, hey,” Sean
said, taking in her appearance. “I’m guessing you found the perfect way to console
him then?”

She gave him a wry
look, went over to her son, unclipped him and lifted him out of the seat.
“Hello, mummy’s boy.” She kissed his forehead. “Did you miss me?”

“Not at all,” Gaby
said, lifting his tiny hand with her finger. “He loves his aunt Gaby, don’t you
darling?”

Megan smiled.
“Thanks.”

“No worries.” Gaby
nodded toward the bedroom. “How is he?”

“Asleep. He’s
pretty broken up.”

“But you guys are
friends?”

Megan nodded and
hesitated. “I think…I think we’re good. Well, we’re on the path anyway. We’ll
have to see.” She remembered that Dion had yet to hold his son or even show any
interest in him. Maybe he’d see the baby as an intruder into their
relationship.

All of a sudden
tiredness overwhelmed her. Her breasts were aching and Harry was squirming, so
she knew he needed a feed. “I’m going back to bed. See you in the morning.”

“I’m glad you were
there for him,” Sean said.

“Me too.”

“I changed Harry
just before we left,” Gaby said. “Sleep well. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”
Megan wasn’t sure if it was the kindness of her sister-in-law or all the
emotion that brought a lump to her throat, but she gave Gaby a quick kiss on
the cheek and left before she started crying again.

She went back into
the bedroom and looked around. She’d thought there was a chair in there, but
Sean must have moved it out to give Dion more room.

“Everything okay?”
Dion sat up.

“Sorry, did I wake
you?” She walked forward into the late evening sunlight that slanted across the
bed.

“No, it’s okay.”
He looked at the baby. “Sean and Gaby are back?”

“Yes.” She nibbled
her lip. “Harry needs feeding. Shall I…um…go in the bathroom?”

He frowned. “Of
course not.” He pulled the cover back. “Come on.”

She went to the
bed and placed Harry down for a moment, slipped off the robe and climbed on
with him.

“Is it all right
if I lie down?” she said. “I’m tired.”

“Whatever’s best
for you,” he said. He rolled onto his side toward her and propped his head on a
hand.

She faced him,
also lying on her side, and pulled Harry toward her, guiding his mouth to her
breast. He suckled immediately, and she prepared herself for the sweet, sharp
pain of the let-down reflex as the milk came. “Ouch.”

Dion reached out a
hand and stroked her face. Then he dropped his hand to her other breast. She
looked down and saw a bead of milk forming, her body responding to the baby’s
hungry sucks.

Dion brushed her
nipple, removing the bead with his thumb, and her face grew warm.

“Sorry,” she said
automatically, even though she had no control over it. He hadn’t touched her
breasts much while they made love, but she wasn’t sure whether that was because
he was worried about hurting her, or whether the thought of touching them while
they were also serving another function repulsed him.

But he said,
“Don’t be,” and to her surprise, lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked off
the moisture before returning his hand to the bed in front of him.

She swallowed,
half-embarrassed, half-turned on by what he’d done. Was it wrong to be aroused
by that? Breastfeeding was such an odd thing. Sensual rather than sexual. But
it sometimes felt odd that she fed the baby with the part of her body that aroused
her in bed. She’d wanted Dion to kiss her breasts more while they had sex but
was too shy to ask. She had no idea what he thought about the changes in her
body, and she’d worried what would happen if her nipples got confused.

But now he met her
eyes, and she caught her breath at the warmth in his. It hadn’t turned him off.
The thought made her glow.

They lay quietly,
Harry feeding and making the odd sucking sound, his eyes drooping contentedly.
His chubby little legs kicked occasionally, and at one point he waved his arms,
his hand bumping Dion’s chin.

Megan stifled a
giggle as Dion gave her a wry smile. Harry looked up at him, his big blue eyes
fixed on the serious, slightly wary visage of the man above him.

And then, for the
first time, Dion reached out a hand and gave Harry a finger to hold.

She looked down,
not wanting him to observe the jubilation that swept through her.
Play it cool,
Megan.
So she smoothed out the creases on Harry’s vest, pretending not to
see Dion’s thumb stroking across Harry’s knuckles, and the way he straightened
the baby’s fingers to inspect the tiny nails.

Still, she knew
she had to act on the moment. Plus, she really needed to pee again.

She disengaged
herself, wiped Harry’s chin and sat up. “I’m really sorry, I need the bathroom.
I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Dion’s eyebrows
rose, but he just nodded.

She gave him the
square of muslin she’d brought with her. “In case of spillage.” And then, heart
racing, she left the room and closed the bathroom door behind her, abandoning
the males in her life to their fate.

Dion stared at the
baby.

The baby stared
back.

Dion looked up
hastily at the bathroom door, hoping Megan wouldn’t be long. Babies made him
uneasy, and being left alone with one made him extremely nervous. What if the
boy wanted something?

He sometimes
thought he could almost imagine having an older child, eleven or twelve maybe,
that he could throw a rugby ball around with or take fishing. But babies and
toddlers left him cold, and he’d never understood what all the fuss was about.

Harry curled up
his legs and for the first time screwed his face up and mewled.

“Crap.” Panic rose
inside Dion. He raised his voice. “Megan?”

“I won’t be a minute.”
Her voice filtered through the closed door.

Harry scrunched
his nose and began to cry.

“He’s crying,”
Dion called.

“I can hear him.”
Megan sounded amused. “Seriously Dion, I just need a minute. He’s probably got
wind. Put him over your shoulder.”

Dion sat up,
exasperated, and glared down at the baby. Harry’s big blue eyes focussed on
him, real tears forming and leaking out of the corners.

Dion gave in.
“Okay, okay.” Grumbling under his breath, he got off the bed, pulled on his
boxers and walked around to the other side. Harry was crying properly now.

As he’d seen Megan
do, Dion put the square of muslin over his shoulder. Then he leaned forward, slipped
his hands under the baby’s armpits and lifted him awkwardly to his shoulder to
rest there.

Now what? He walked
up and down and bounced a little, but the baby continued to cry. Frustration
welled inside him. He was useless at this sort of thing. Being a dad didn’t
naturally make you good at the job—he’d found that out from his own father.

He patted the baby
on the back, trying to clamp down on his irritation at the grating cry.
Babies
do this
, he reminded himself.
It’s nothing to do with you.

Harry let out a
gigantic burp.

“Jeez.” Dion
looked at him in astonishment. “That came from your boots.”

Harry rested his
cheek on Dion’s shoulder and began to suck his fist, and the room fell quiet.

Dion puffed out a
sigh of relief. Could he put the boy down now? Would he start crying again?

He walked over to
the open sliding doors. The sun had nearly set and luckily they didn’t have a
lamp on because mosquitoes would be rising at this hour, but for the moment the
deck was mozzy free, bathed in the light of the almost-full moon that hung low
in the sky, white as a snowball.

The baby was warm
on his chest. With one arm tucked beneath his rump and the other hand flat on
his back to steady him, Dion felt comfortable for the first time since he’d
picked him up.

“This isn’t so
difficult,” he murmured, pleased he’d managed to stop Harry crying. “I don’t
know what all the fuss is about.”

Harry squirmed
briefly, then closed his eyes, still sucking on his fist.

Dion studied his
tiny features, from the small, snub nose to the long dark eyelashes that lay on
his cheeks. The nose was Megan’s, no doubt about it. But the dark hair, the
wide top lip and the dimple in his chin came from him.

A lump rose in his
throat. This was his son. He and Megan had made a whole person together. How
amazing was that?

He rested his nose
on Harry’s silky hair. He’d thought babies would smell of stale milk and sick
and other bodily fluids, but Harry smelled sweet, of baby shampoo and talc, and
the faintest whiff of Megan’s flowery perfume.

“Hey, bud.” He
nuzzled Harry’s forehead. “I’m your daddy.”

Harry murmured
back and gave a tiny burp.

Dion smiled,
seeing he was almost asleep. Maybe he’d hold him for a bit longer, though, just
in case.

He looked across
the bay, at the sailboats on the horizon, and the way the moon cast a silvery
path along the sea to the house.

He raised his gaze
to the sky. Where was his father now? Sitting on a cloud somewhere playing a
harp?

“Can you see him?”
he whispered to the stars. “This is your grandson.” Not his first, and maybe
not his last. But his grandson nevertheless, of his flesh and blood, carrying
within him the genes of his father and his father before him. “This is what you
wanted, wasn’t it? Are you happy now?”