Never Giving Up (Never #3) (6 page)

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I said, loving the way his throat moved as he swallowed, feeling the slow burn of his eyes as they traveled from the very top of my head all the way down to my bare feet. He ran his hand through his hair and I watched his biceps flex as his hand slid through his silky locks, making my stomach flip. I was here for a reason. I had a mission, but my body was very quickly hijacking my big reveal, opting, instead, for the sex I was trying to lure him in with.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you,” he said quietly, stalking towards me. He wasted no time pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the very hard and chiseled chest I was so in love with. He climbed over me in the bed, forcing my back flat against the mattress with his weight. His jeans felt rough against me, but I welcomed the friction. His hands slid up and down my sides. “This is very sexy. Is it new?” His hands bunched up the black fabric over my ribs and his mouth found my neck.

“I bought it just for you. I know you have a thing for lingerie.” Perhaps it was because we were still in the honeymoon phase of our relationship and marriage, but Porter always responded to lingerie, so I was constantly buying new pieces to keep him interested and satisfied. I knew he would take me wearing anything and I would still feel like the sexiest woman alive. He had that keen ability to worship me and turn my body into his temple. I chose this particular piece, however, because it served my purpose.

It was all black silk; a strappy tank top that flared out a little at the hem and tiny black shorts that barely covered anything. It was soft and solid, covering my skin without giving anything away.

“You’re wearing too many clothes still, Babe,” I whispered into his ear as his mouth worked my neck.

“Hmm . . .” He grumbled against my skin. I felt him pull away from me and I missed his weight. He stood at the foot of the bed, giving me a grin that dared me to come and help him remove the clothing I was opposed to. I scooted down to him, never breaking eye contact, and kept looking straight at him as I reached for the button on his jeans. Once unfastened, my hands glided just into the waistband and I smoothed them around his hips until I felt the swell of his ass. He smirked as I gave his ass a firm squeeze on both cheeks, then slid my hands down over the perfect globes, pushing his pants and boxers down as I went. He kicked them off the rest of the way along with his shoes and socks. Again, he climbed over me. His face hovered over mine for just a moment, our breaths mingling with each other’s. Slowly, his nose flipped the end of mine and just that touch could have sent me over the edge. It wasn’t overtly sexual, but it was Porter. And it was me.

His mouth found its place on mine, where it belonged, and I felt him gently lick the seam of my lips. I opened for him and met him and sighed as our tongues slowly danced with each other. This was all very good, everything was going according to plan, but I couldn’t afford to lose sight of the main objective. I gasped when his hand found my breast. The roughness of his calloused hands coupled with the cool crispness of the silk sliding over my nipple nearly derailed the entire plan. My breasts felt overly sensitive and this new sensation was a little overwhelming. But even through the haze of arousal I saw my opportunity.

I twisted my mouth away from him, moving kisses down his throat, scruffed up by a day’s worth of stubble. “That feels so good. I want your mouth on me,” I rasped. He moved lower and pulled down on my top, exposing the breast he was currently focused on, his mouth finding the taut peak, sucking it in and tonguing it. I felt the urge to roll my eyes, cursing him for taking the easy route instead of pulling my top off, but I was lost in the sensation—drowning in the feeling of the chord strung from my nipple to my core being strummed by his tongue. He wound me up, slowly and steadily building the pressure that would eventually explode around me.

“Porter,” I said, again, trying to redirect his attention.

“Hmm . . .” he hummed against the tender flesh of my breast, slowly moving over to capture my other nipple in his mouth.

“Now, oh God . . .” I breathed in and out, trying to maintain composure. “Now I’m wearing too many clothes.” His head lifted and I saw the smile that I loved grace his face.

“Well, let’s get rid of them then.” He sat up a little farther, lifting himself off of me, his eyes raking over my body. He pulled down on my shorts and I lifted my hips so he could get them off. And then, to my delight, his mouth landed right above my mound. I smiled, my heart fluttering, knowing that in just moments his life would change.

His hands slowly pushed up the hem of my tank, and his mouth followed, trailing kisses up my belly. I closed my eyes, partly because it felt too good, but also because I couldn’t take the anticipation any longer. When I felt his mouth stop, when I felt the cool air hit the warm wetness his mouth left behind, I knew he saw it.

“Babe,” he said, softly. “What is this?”

I grinned and opened my eyes to find him staring at my belly, just as I’d imagined it. His hands, splayed over my hips, my top pushed up around my breasts, and his eyes, glued to the words written across my skin:

“Ella?” He asked, his eyes darting up to find mine.

“That’s a note from your baby.”

“My baby?” His eyes fell back to my belly, then found mine again.

“Yes. Our baby.”

“You’re pregnant?”

I nodded, smiling, tears falling down my temples, disappearing into my hair—small, happy tears. His hands came to cup the softness of my stomach, his thumbs moving over the words written there. Suddenly, he was on top of me, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me to him. His face found the space between my shoulder and neck, our legs intertwined. I snuggled in, letting him hold me, my hands running through his hair, letting him have his moment of realization.

I felt his shoulders begin to shudder and new tears prickled in my eyes. I continued to let my hands run over him, hoping I was helping him. After a few moments I felt his lips on my skin again, kissing up my neck and moving to my mouth. He captured me in the softest, most gentle and loving kiss I’d ever been a part of. His hands were on the sides of my face, angling my mouth to fit his perfectly, and he kissed me. I’d kissed him before, we’d kissed each other, but never could I recall a moment where I felt like he was giving me something in a kiss, exclusively from him to me.

“I love you,” he whispered, not breaking our contact, vowing his love against my lips. “Thank you.”

“I love you too, Porter. So much.” Our foreheads rested against each other and we breathed together, tasting the salt of our happy tears. I would never forget this moment and I knew he wouldn’t either. I would only get this one chance to tell Porter he was going to be a daddy for the first time and I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than what we’d just experienced together.

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he said and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A few weeks passed and in those weeks I discovered a new side of Protective Porter. He meant it before when he told me not to lift anything, and he was serious when he now told me to rest at night. If I’d tried to do so much as a load of laundry, I was promptly deposited in bed. No amount of arguing could persuade him.

We had our very first doctor appointment today with my OBGYN, and Porter prepared for it as if it were a merger. He had an envelope with articles printed off the internet he wanted to discuss, a list of questions he wanted to ask, and of course, he insisted on driving me there. We were only eight weeks in and I was already getting a little irritated by his overbearing demeanor. Most of the time it was cute and I understood it to be a manifestation of his love for the baby and me, but sometime a pregnancy rage would come over me and I felt like I was going to punch him right in his tight abs.

We decided to see a doctor in Salem. Being at the beach was nice and all, but I didn’t have faith in the hospital there. Salem was where I felt safer, not to mention that Porter would have shackled me to the bed in Salem had I mentioned having the baby in Lincoln City.

We arrived at the medical office and were sitting in the waiting room when a woman who was obviously uncomfortably pregnant waddled past us to check in with the receptionist. She stood at the little window, one hand on her giant belly and one hand rubbing her lower back, seemingly unconsciously. I watched her move, the pain etched across her face with every step, and started having very legitimate concerns about the whole pregnancy thing. This woman looked miserable. As if he read my thoughts, Porter’s hand came to gently rub across my still very flat belly. He leaned in and kissed my forehead.

“It’s going to be ok, Babe. Maybe she’s pregnant with triplets.”

Oh God. Multiples. I hadn’t even thought of that. I swallowed hard, a wave of nausea coming over me. Just then a door opened and a younger woman with colorful scrubs on called my name, leading Porter and me back to an exam room. She made me pee in a cup, which I learned would happen every visit. Great. Just one more thing to not look forward to. She left me to change into a gown and then came back to take my vitals and was very chipper. Eventually she left us to peruse the graphic pictures that hung on the walls of the exam room.

One poster in particular caught my attention; it showed the progression of a dilating cervix, from closed to 10 centimeters. My eyes grew wide and my heart rate picked up. How in the holy hell was that supposed to happen? Porter must have noticed my panicked expression because his hand was on my arm, rubbing gently.

“Ella, what is it?”

I pointed to the poster and looked at him, my mouth agape. “Do you see this?” I swallowed and tried to tamp down the fear running through me. “I don’t think I can handle this.” I sat down on the exam bed, my hand running over my forehead. I felt him at my side and leaned into him.

“It’ll all be ok. Women have been doing this since the beginning of time.”

“Yeah, but
I’ve
never done this. I guess it just never occurred to me that now, since it’s already in there,” I said, gesturing to my stomach, “it has to come out.” I started to feel ill just thinking about it. “I can’t do this.”

“Babe, I hate to break it to you, but it’s too late to back out now. Everything will be ok, I promise. I’m sure this little freak out is totally normal.”

I kind of wanted to smack him. It was not normal to stretch out one’s vagina that big, not at all. Before I could tell him how I felt about it, the door opened. A woman of about fifty walked in, all smiles, and moved to shake my hand. I took hers, but immediately felt bad that mine was all clammy from my panic.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Bronson. You must be Ella Masters.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” I said softly as we shook hands.

“And is this Daddy?” Dr. Bronson asked, looking in Porter’s direction.

“Yes. This is my husband, Porter.” They shook hands, exchanging smiles.

“Ok, well, let’s get this party started,” she said with way too much enthusiasm for my current mental state. “Go ahead and lay down and place your feet in the stirrups.”