Never Giving Up (Never #3) (23 page)

For two weeks now we focused on Mattie and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We loved her and would do anything for her. But when I realized that, for the first time since we’d been home from the hospital with her, she was asleep in the middle of the day and I wasn’t completely exhausted, my mind immediately started thinking about how much I missed my husband.

I found him in the laundry room, moving clothes from the washer to the dryer—bless him. He was focused on his task and didn’t hear me approach. I felt him startle a little when I slid my hands around his waist from behind, pressing my front to his back, snuggling in. His hand slid over top of mine, caressing me, causing my breaths to come faster. It had been so long since we’d been together and I was now a little angry at the fact that we still had four more weeks to wait.

I breathed him in, cherishing the familiarity of his scent. He always smelled the same and I came to rely on it, expect it, love it.

“Hey, Babe,” he said softly, aware of the fact that Mattie was asleep, not wanting to wake her. “What’s up? Gonna go lie down?”

“Nope,” I said, popping the P, with my face still resting against his back.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, making me smile against him.

“Nope.” This time I popped the P loudly, making him chuckle.

“Ok.”

I loosened my grip and walked around him, placing myself between him and the washing machine, and looked up at him, my hands now on his chest.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Hey.” He looked at me with pure confusion, a smile playing on his face as he tried to figure out what it was I wanted from him, his eyebrows raised in question.

“I miss you.” My whisper was even softer, my insecurity coming over me, a little embarrassed to be putting myself out there so blatantly. His brow relaxed at my words, but a new look of concern had worry lines forming around his eyes. There was a very large part of me that I just now realized was hanging by a thread, scared to death that he would reject me. My hands slid around his neck, fingers running through the hair there, gently urging him down to me. He came willingly, but stopped short, his forehead resting against mine.

“I’m right here,” he said breathily, his hands coming to rest against my back, right at the swell of my backside.

“Are you? Because you feel pretty far away right now.” I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. He knew what I was asking for, yet he held it just out of arms reach.

“Ella, we can’t. Not yet. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Not sex, Porter, just . . . I don’t know . . . us.” I dropped my hands from his neck and pulled back, putting some distance between us. “You use to hold me every night. You would hold my hand at the dinner table, touch me as you passed by, find any reason you could just to touch me.” He tried to open his mouth to interject but I put my hand up. “Let me finish.” I took a deep breath, finding the courage to continue. “I know things are different now. I know that there’s a baby in our bed and I don’t look the same.” My words became a little strangled as I felt a lump forming in my throat. “I just don’t want to lose that part of
us
that I love so much, the part where we’re never close enough to each other.”

I continued to look down, not wanting to witness his rejection or his dismissal. But goose bumps raised up all over my skin when I felt a single fingertip bring my chin up. When our eyes met, I couldn’t ignore the concern still written across his face.

“Don’t ever question my need for you, Ella. Don’t insult our relationship that way. Don’t insult yourself either. I’m sorry if I’ve done a poor job of making you feel secure.” He said and his hands ran up my shoulders, coming to rest on either side of my neck, his thumbs smoothing over my jaw. “I’ve been so focused on making sure Mattie is taken care of and then making sure you’re taken care of, I just feel like I can’t do enough for either of you. But don’t doubt, ever, that I want you.” His face moved down and his lips rested just barely on my ear. “I crave you,” he sighed into me, the air from his mouth moved against my ear and I melted even further against him. “I refuse to be the husband,” he said, splaying kisses gently across my neck, “who pressures his wife,” more kisses, “who’s just given him the greatest gift,” wetter kisses now, “to have sex with him before she’s ready.” His hands roamed, one still on the back of my neck, the other moving down my side, grazing my ribcage.

“I don’t need sex, Porter. I just need you.” He stepped into me, pressing my back against the washing machine, his hands grabbing ahold of me firmly where they lay. His eyes suddenly peered into mine, both of us breathing hard, my heart beating rapidly. Then slowly his mouth lowered to mine.

His kiss started slow and gentle, as if her were afraid he would break me if he pushed me too far. We’d done little more than peck on the mouth since Mattie was born. She was our focus, but right now, I wanted to feel something besides his concern, besides his need to care for us. I wanted him to remember the passion we shared between us, needed him to bring me that point where he was my everything and I was his.

When his tongue teased the seam of my lips I opened for him, moaning into his mouth as his tongue sought out mine, pressing against it firmly, guiding our kiss. His hands came to my cheeks, angling my face just right so that he could devour me. What started out gentle was now heated, and he kissed me like I was the last little bit of air left in the world and he was drowning. He breathed me in, using me, taking me, and I loved it.

His hands were suddenly on my waist, hoisting me onto the washing machine and he stepped in between my knees, his stomach pressing firmly in between my legs.

“You tell me what you want, tell me when to stop if I go too far.” His mouth returned to mine, one hand brushing the hair back from my face as he kissed me, the other making its way below the hem of my shirt, gliding up the skin of my back. I pulled back and yanked his shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor, then pulling him back to me, my hands finding his hard muscles.

“I love your body, Porter,” I said against his mouth and I meant it. He’d always had a nice body, but I hadn’t found a lot of time lately to admire it. But now, with my hands running smoothly and bravely over the contours of his perfectly sculpted torso, I was free to admire how wonderfully built he was. “You’re perfect.”

He groaned, wrapping one strong arm around my middle and sweeping me off the washing machine, his other arm holding me behind my knees, he carried me from the laundry room. My arms wrapped themselves around the back of his neck and I continued kissing him, remembering that last time he carried me like this when we had come home from our honeymoon. Him always the traditionalist, carrying me over the threshold. I smiled against him, the memory having a serene effect on me.

He sat on the couch and we both landed with a thud, but it mattered not because his mouth was back on mine and he pulled me closer to him still. I sat on his lap but couldn’t get as close as I wanted, so I moved to straddle him, one knee on either side of his hips. It was only when I had pressed my center against him that I thought it might not have been a good idea. He must have sense my unease because he pulled back and his eyes found mine.

“Are you ok?” His voice was gravelly and raspy in a way that made every hair on my body stand at attention. “Ella?”

“Mmm hmm,” I mumbled, moving my lips to his neck. Hearing him gasp as my lips met the skin there, tasting him, thrilled me. Perhaps, even though I wasn’t as skinny as I used to be or as put together, maybe I could still get to him, still turn him on and affect him the way he affected me.

I tentatively and very slowly used my hips to grind into him. I could feel him beneath me, feel his arousal, and I desperately needed to feel him against me.

“Ella, no, stop.” My heart stopped, not accustomed to hearing him put things to a halt between us. He brought his lips back to mine and continued to kiss me, but my confusion was keeping me from enjoying his mouth at the moment. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said by way of explanation. He was worried about me.

I was acutely aware of my body, obsessively so, in fact. I had been ever since I’d given birth. At first, everything had hurt, with good reason; a baby will seriously mess everything up. It hurt to sit, it hurt to stand, it hurt—period. But as the days went by and things began to heal, I took note of what was still painful and what seemed to be comfortable again. It had been two weeks since the birth of Mattie and I felt almost normal again. I didn’t feel like running a marathon and I didn’t want anything coming even remotely close to the inside of my vagina, but being with him, like this, felt wonderful. Well, it had until he’d told me to stop.

“Porter, please, I need this. I miss you.”

“If I hurt you, Ella, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” I whispered as I slowly rocked myself against him, watching his eyes roll to the back of his head, groaning. “It feels incredible.” I took his lower lip in between my teeth and pulled gently, trying to convince him to let me play, to trust me enough to give me this. “This is all I want. Nothing more.” My lips went back to blazing a trail along his throat, over his neck, behind his ear, and I felt the moment he gave in. He wrapped his hands around my hips, not stopping me but aiding me.

I moved my mouth to his, thanking him, cherishing him, and we kissed like teenagers under the bleachers. We kissed like we were afraid of getting caught. We kissed like two people desperately in love who hadn’t kissed in ages. We kissed like it was the only thing keeping us alive anymore.

His hands pulled my shirt up over my head and I had one tiny moment of fear that his seeing my bare stomach might end this, but then his mouth moved down my neck, his hands pulling down gently on my hips, and I forgot I was supposed to feel self-conscious. I forgot everything except the way he was making me feel—which was incredible. Loved. Wanted.

I was only wearing a pair of thin yoga pants—my new mommy wardrobe—and the elasticity of the fabric made it possible for me to feel every ridge of the bulge in Porter’s jeans. His hand slid around my waist then under the material of my pants as he grazed my ass. I felt a gentle yet firm grasp against my backside as he pulled me on to him further still. I gasped against his mouth, suddenly a little afraid of what might happen between us. I had not had an orgasm since before giving birth and I wasn’t sure what it would feel like now. Should I be expecting pain? Should I stop this before it went too far?

Porter pulled against me again and I felt nothing but unadulterated pleasure, which I showed with a guttural moan. His hands moved from my backside and roamed over my stomach, gliding up my torso and cupped my breasts. I nearly melted at the care and gentleness with which he treated me. He didn’t grab or squeeze; I felt the slightest feather of touches as his thumbs floated over my nipples, causing a whole new wave of arousal to flood through me.

“Porter,” I gasped, so close to the edge.

“Just let go, Baby. I’m here.”

I felt his hands grasp my cheeks, my forehead being pulled down to meet with his, and his ragged breath upon my face. I whimpered loudly as he braced his arms against my back, putting more pressure against me, and my orgasm burst through me. Mouth gaping open, foreheads still touching, fingers curling against his biceps, I found my release and floated like a feather back to reality.

My eyes were still closed and his hands were trailing down my back, waiting for me to return to him. When I finally blinked and pulled back to look at him, he wore a concerned look on his ruggedly beautiful face.

“Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

My hands came up to cradle his face. “That was anything but painful.” I tried to reassure him by kissing him gently, but when I pulled back he was still wearing the same face. “I promise. It was wonderful. Thank you.” I moved just a little, trying to climb off of him, and felt his hardness still beneath me. “Do you, um, need me to . . .”

“No.” He said curtly.

“No?” My insecurities came racing back. He’d never denied me before. What man turns down a blow job? Was it because he wasn’t attracted to me anymore?

“Hey,” he said, a little softer this time with less edge to his voice. “This was for you. I’m not expecting anything in return.” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, then pulled back to stare at me some more. I tried to take his words for their value, tried not to read into them too much, but my insecure mind was racing around with thoughts of stretch marks and pregnant bellies. Obviously, my mind concluded, he wasn’t attracted to me sexually anymore.

“Hey,” he said again, only this time he sounded angry. My eyes darted back to his at the new emotion I heard in his voice. “Don’t do that, Ella. Don’t let your mind wander off with your thoughts. I can see it all over your face and you’re wrong.” His thumb came up and traced a line down the edge of my jaw, starting at my chin and working back towards my ear.

“Watching your body change to carry my baby was the sexiest thing I have ever seen, and the way you look now,” his hand that was just gentle at my jaw had moved back into my hair and gripped me firmly. “I could never stop loving this body, Ella. This body gave me the most beautiful creature in the world, and I want to worship you, I do.” He pulled my face towards him, so close that his mouth was right next to my ear. He breathed his words against my skin, making me shiver against him as new waves of pleasure rolled over me. “But the next time I come, I want to be buried deep inside of you. I want to enjoy your new body to its fullest.” His teeth nipped at my earlobe and my breath caught in my throat.

“Ok, then,” I managed to mumble, even with his mouth on my neck.

“And Ella?” He said, again, his mouth still sending goose bumps along my neck.

“Yes?”

“I can’t wait to be buried inside you again.”

“Ok.”