Tell Me a Desire (The Story Series Book 2) (7 page)

“
Y
ou ready
?”

Caleb’s hands covered my eyes as we stood in the doorway of his bedroom— our bedroom—and I laughed and jumped up and down.

“I’ve been ready all day. I can’t believe you’ve made me wait to see this.” Although I moved most of my stuff into his penthouse over a two week span, he hadn’t let me near the bedroom. We’d been sleeping at my house while the designers and painters and builders worked on the redesign. The messy-chic décor at my house was making Caleb a little anxious, I thought, and he was eager to return to the stark cleanliness of his penthouse.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I squirmed against his body as he tightened his hands over my eyes and kissed the back of my ear. “Please, let me see, Caleb. You know I can’t wait for surprises.”

“You smell good, you know that?” He licked my earlobe, making me wait. “Like vanilla and coconut. Or maybe caramel. Makes me ravenous.”

“I always smell like caramel. Now show me the room!”

He slipped his hands off my face, and I froze, open-mouthed. I couldn’t have better decorated a room if I’d had access to the Art Deco offerings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The walls were a rich cream, which set off the dove-gray curtains. A blonde-teak headboard shimmered in the golden light of the geometric lamps…and of course, the gorgeous vanity he’d bought me for my birthday.

“It’s like a perfect replica of the hotel in Paris.” I recalled our first romantic trip together and grinned. “How did you remember every detail?”

I ran my hand over the duvet, then to the smooth wood of the headboard.

“I found out the name of the hotel’s decorator and hired him. I wanted it to be perfect for you. It’s our room now.”

“And this? God, it’s gorgeous.” I petted the velveteen, golden chaise and sat down.

“I thought you could read on it.”

I blinked back a tear because a flash of my childhood bedroom came into my mind, and I remembered how I’d slept on a thin futon in our trailer for the entirety of high school. How my room was barren of a bureau and how I’d had one pile for clean clothes and one pile for dirty. How I’d wake up in the middle of the night to hear the plastic skirting around the trailer rattle and wonder if it was the night everything would be blown away like the places I’d seen on TV.

This new bedroom, this lavish, luxurious space, was something I could have never dreamed of as a child.

And yet…maybe now I’d moved in with Caleb, we’d eventually decorate a room for our baby. Maybe this room, our bedroom, was the beginning of something larger. Life as a family. My heart surged as I gazed at him.

I wanted this life,
our
life. And I wanted a baby.

Would I be lucky enough to eventually have him
and
a child?
And
a career? I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

He put his arm around me. “Do you not like it?”

Startled, I nodded. “Caleb, I adore it. It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever been in. Why are you so good to me? How do you remember everything I love?”

“Because I listen to you. Because I love you.”

I crawled into his lap and straddled him. When I went to kiss him, he stopped me.

“Wait, you didn’t notice the mirror, did you?” He pointed behind me, and I turned my head, then slipped off him to get closer. The mirror was only a few feet from the chase, and it was possibly the most delicately stunning thing in the room. I couldn’t believe I’d overlooked it when I walked in.

“Oh God, Caleb. This mirror. Wow. Unbelievable.” It was a large, full-length, free-standing mirror, with cast iron fashioned into cattail flourishes at the top, two beveled lamps on either side, and a latticework of minimalist flowers at the base. I ran my fingers over the cool metal.

“It was probably the most difficult piece to locate. I finally found it in New York at Sotheby’s.”

I went back to Caleb and kissed him, then sat on his lap like a chair so I could admire the mirror and our reflection in it. He kissed my neck, moving my long curls over the other shoulder.

“Ohhh, now I see why you wanted the mirror and the chaise,” I teased as he unzipped my dress, then slipped the straps off my shoulders, kissing every inch of my skin along the way.

I stood and the dress crumpled to my feet, then I quickly shed my bra and panties. I sat back down on his lap, still facing the mirror and wearing only black ballet flats. Caleb was still in his office clothes, with a white dress shirt, a blue tie with small black polka dots, black pants, and black suspenders. The combination of his business clothes and my nakedness made me grin as he cupped my breasts.

“I will admit, I asked the decorators to position the furniture in a certain way that would please both of us.”

“I know something else that will please both of us.” I spread my legs wide, excited we’d both get to watch.

“Such a good mind-reader.”

“It’s because I’ve got a mind as dirty as yours.”

Keeping his right hand on my thigh and murmuring a laugh, he brushed his left hand over my breasts gently and repeatedly, so my nipples formed points. I shivered and sank into his body. Then he moved his hand slowly up my chest to my neck. He squeezed with the slightest of pressure, and I responded with a groan.

“Is it too much?” he asked. “Do you trust me?”

“I do trust you. It’s not too much. I trust you.”

His right hand drifted between my legs, his fingers lightly skimming through my wetness.

“Trust is constructed in seconds that make up the minutes that make up the hours. Eventually, they turn into years, Emma. And I want us to have as many years as we have breaths.”

I opened my legs as wide as I could, getting more turned on as I watched him play with me, spread me apart and stroke. “It’s what I want, too, Caleb. I want you forever.”

“Forever. Yes,” he murmured in my ear, his middle finger finding my clit. I watched in the mirror, while his thick finger plunged inside, then circled me, then did it again and again. He buried two fingers in me and bit my shoulder, which made me cry out with a low, strangled noise.

“Shhh. I’m not done with you. Don’t come yet.” How could his voice be so calm, yet so demanding?

The grip on my neck tightened, and I relaxed, boneless, into his hands. He slid two fingers deep in me, and I writhed my hips, wanting to feel full of him. The image of us in the mirror was voyeuristic, almost pornographic, but I couldn’t turn away. Especially not when he narrated everything into my ear, knowing his sinfully low voice turned my insides to liquid.

Especially not when his big hand was tight at my throat, the possibility of danger thick in the air. The little squeeze made me surrender and left me disoriented.

Lost in the moment.

“I love looking at you like this, with one of my hands around your neck and the other in your pussy. It’s like I’ve got complete control over you.”

“You do,” I whispered. “You do.”

T
he next morning
when I opened my eyes, I was exhausted. I wanted to fall back asleep, and yet I was ferociously thirsty. Not really a surprise, since we’d gorged ourselves on sushi at our favorite late-night restaurant after we’d tried out the new bed.

I felt my backside. The cheek was hot to the touch where Caleb had spanked me. The sex we’d had last night was dirty and rougher than usual. My eyes went to my wrist, and there was a faint bruise on the underside, probably where Caleb had gripped me.

Sitting up with a groan, my eyes adjusted to the new décor in the morning light. Where was Caleb, and where was my phone? My eyes focused on the new nightstand and a small, steel, Art Deco clock. It was ten. Thank God I’d asked Gina to open the bookstore at noon on Sundays. My breasts felt heavy and tender, probably because Caleb had paid extra attention to them with his mouth the night before.

I felt like falling back asleep, but no. I wanted to see what Caleb had planned for the day. Sundays were our only day off together. Slipping on my pink-striped cotton pajamas—we always slept naked—I shuffled to the kitchen where Caleb was sitting at the counter in front of a copy of The Economist, a cup of coffee at his side. He drank coffee in an unusual way, with a pat of butter. Something about carbs and fat and energy. The idea of the two substances this morning made me queasy.

I hugged him and groaned into his neck.

“Not sure about the sushi, babe,” I whispered.

“Why? Do you feel sick?” He closed his magazine.

“No, just puffy. All the salt.” I went for some water and noticed a medium-sized box on the counter. It was white, with a gold bow. “What’s this? Who’s it for?”

“It’s for you.”

“Noo. No more gifts,” I crooned, beaming.

“I’m still celebrating your birthday.”

I gave a mock-sigh but was thrilled to undo the ribbon, then lift the lid off the box.

“Oh, it’s a book.” I turned the tome around in my hands and read the back cover copy. “
The Oxford Anthology of the Brazilian Short Story
. Impressive. Looks good. Thank you.”

“Keep going through the box.”

I dug through some tissue paper and held up a wisp of black cloth.

“Underwear?” I held up the thong with ties at the sides. “Sexy.”

“It’s a bathing suit.”

“Where’s the top? Oh, here!” I plucked an equally small scrap of fabric out of the box, setting the suit on the counter. Then I grabbed up the last thing in the box, an envelope, and opened it. I screamed.

“We’re going to Brazil? Caleb!”

I threw my arms around him, forgetting all about my thirst and fatigue. During our time together we’d been to Paris and London and Rome, but never somewhere as exotic as Brazil.

“We finalized the opening date for the condo, and I want you at the party with me. It’s several months away, in January, but I knew you’d want to start reading ahead of time, like you did with London. And I knew you’d need to make arrangements for your bookstore.”

I hugged him so tight he made a little strangling noise.

“Will you be able to do anything other than work?” His business had caused our one and only huge fight, the time we went to London and all he did was work. He’d built in no days for us to explore the city, and after the fourth day, I’d exploded.

“Yes. I carved out a week after the opening party. Seven whole days, whatever you want, wherever you want. Rainforest, beach, samba lessons, whatever. It’s a big country, but we can take a private jet or helicopter if you want to go farther afield.”

“Well, there’s the famous waterfall. And obviously, the beach, since you bought me this little bikini.”

“You could wear it now, while we make breakfast together.”

I laughed and kissed him again.

“Emma doll, we do need to get you to the doctor for vaccines and malaria meds and stuff. Figure out where you want to go and what you want to see. We’re flying into São Paulo and then out of Rio. Make an itinerary and I’ll follow it. We’ll get private planes to take us into the Amazon if you want. You’re in charge.”

Although I still felt-sleep deprived, I slipped on the new bikini. Much to his pleasure, I served him eggs and then took him back to bed with me.

I
t was
when I was sitting on the exam table that I remembered this was my second doctor’s visit this year. The memory of the other doctor and the discussion about the baby was still fresh in my mind, since it was only—what, six weeks ago? Eight? Ten? It was easy to lose track of time in Florida because there were no seasons.

I swung my legs like windshield wipers as I waited. When was I going to tell Caleb about wanting a baby? The last month at his house, after he’d given me the tickets to Brazil, had been bliss. Like I imagined newlyweds acted. We’d slipped into a routine at home, each taking turns cooking dinner. Some nights he’d get home late from the office and wake me with his kisses and an insistent hard-on, while others, we’d drink wine, watch movies, and snuggle.

It made me fear for my own six-month imposed deadline. What would he decide?

Why wouldn’t he want to get married and have a family if things were this good? Surely after living together, he’d comfortable with the idea of marriage. And he was planning for Brazil. I picked a magazine from a nearby stand and thumbed through it, barely scanning the words.

And truthfully, I could see his point about not wanting to fix what wasn’t broken. We had an excellent relationship. Why should we tinker with it? Did I even want kids? They’d certainly change all of this goodness. And the plans for my second bookstore were sailing along.

Maybe life was perfect as is.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I called out.

It was my primary care physician, a woman who I hadn’t seen for years, not since I had bronchitis one winter.

“Emma, great to see you. How’s the bookstore? I see you in the paper all the time.”

“We’re doing great. Downtown has really taken off in the past five years.”

She nodded and sat. “Let’s check out your chart. You’re here for, let’s see. Vaccines. Oh, you’re traveling. Where are you going?”

“Brazil. My boyfriend does business there, and we’re planning a vacation around one of his work trips.” I smiled proudly, and when she lifted her head, I expected her to do the same. Instead, she frowned.

“Emma, I would strongly advise you not to go to Brazil.”

“Wh-why?” I frowned.

She tilted her head. “Your pregnancy test came back positive.”

I gasped. “How did you…oh, right, the urine sample?” Clearly, pregnancy had not only surprised me but had struck me dumb as I’d already forgotten how I’d peed on my hand in the bathroom. “Why can’t I go to Brazil?”

“You shouldn’t go to Brazil—or any tropical country, really—when you’re pregnant because of the Zika virus. Have you heard of it? It’s transmitted by mosquitoes. If you’re bitten by an infected mosquito, you can spread the virus to your unborn baby and the baby could develop a condition called microcephaly. It means the baby would have an abnormally small head. There’s also a lot of other mosquito-borne illnesses you don’t want to fool with. Dengue, malaria…”

She kept talking about mosquitoes and worst-case scenarios for pregnancy. I must have lain down on the exam table, although I don’t remember doing so. I closed my eyes and gulped in a few breaths.

“Emma? Emma?”

Holy shit, I was pregnant. I started to sob, sloppy tears of happiness and fear.

“Emma, we can talk about your options. Is this baby wanted? Was it planned? Are you in a safe space to have a child?”

“Yes, I think so,” I said, not knowing what the truth was, really.

W
hen I was a girl
, my parents used to fight. There weren’t many places to hide in our small trailer, so I’d go in the closet in my bedroom. It was my little, safe space. I’d decorated the inside of the thin closet wall with a trippy Lisa Frank poster of a rainbow polar bear on one side, and on the other, a ripped-out magazine page of actor Luke Perry. I’d stare at both, trying to tune out the muffled yelling from my mom and dad.

Sometimes I felt like they enjoyed fighting more than they liked being around me, and I walked on eggshells for most of my childhood. After nearly every fight, my dad would come into my room, slide open the door, and hug me. He’d reassure me the fighting wasn’t my fault.

Now, in the too-hot interior of my Prius (Caleb had bought it for me a year previously, declaring my Honda unsafe at any speed), I felt like I wanted to return to my little childhood nook. It made no sense, intellectually.

No one was yelling.

No one was angry.

No one knew my secret, other than my doctor. She’d wanted me to call Caleb or Sarah or someone to pick me up, but I’d eventually convinced her I was sane and could drive home with no problem.

Now, in the safety of my car, my sanity was debatable. The hot stuffiness washed over me, and I tried to breathe, tried to think about what I’d do next.

I was thirty-five and pregnant. And unmarried. I started to cry, because all I wanted was to go back to that stupid trailer and hide in the closet. I wanted a baby, but I was afraid I had no business being a mother. I was ill-equipped.

Inhaling away my tears, I reached for the phone. This wasn’t news I’d break to Caleb in a call. I’d do it later, in person. No, now I felt an inexplicable pull to call family. To share some joy with them. Something I rarely did. And I wanted to collect my thoughts before telling Caleb. I tapped the digits of my father’s phone.

“Bookworm!” he answered, calling me by my childhood name.

“Daddy,” I sobbed. I could hear electronic dance music and voices in the background. My dad always acted younger than his sixty years, so I didn’t think twice about the sounds. “Can you talk?”

“What’s wrong, Em? Wait, hang on. ’I need to step out of here so I can talk. I’m at the collective.”

I released a sigh. My father. Caleb had paid off my small business loans after I’d resisted for some time. He’d said the loans were pocket change to him—at $30,000 they were—and with my extra profit, I’d given money to my father. He’d retired from his job as a theme park janitor and had moved to Colorado because he’d met a woman from there while she was on vacation in Florida.

And he’d promptly begun smoking weed. Rather, he’d continued smoking pot, only legally now. My dad was a lifelong smoker and once said he did it during my childhood so he could cope with my mom. Coping: that’s what he called it. I thought it more of a quirk, one I never gave much thought to.

“Hey, I’m back,” my dad said. “I was at the marijuana collective. It’s four-ounce Friday and they have a DJ and free pizza.”

I sighed. This was a well-trod path of my life. I didn’t smoke and hated the way it made me feel, all paranoid and anxious. My dad’s life was his own, though, and he was free to live it.

“What’s going on, Em?”

“I’m pregnant,” I blubbered.

“Oh, honey, that’s…that’s…” He trailed off and I sobbed harder.

“You don’t think I’ll be a good mother, do you?” I shrieked, suddenly hysterical.

“No, Emma. That’s not it at all. I think it’s wonderful. Congratulations. I’m over the moon for you. It’s really cool. I didn’t think you wanted a baby, though. I remember you talking as a teenager about how you didn’t want children…”

I wiped my nose on my hand in what was possibly my sloppiest moment ever. “Well, I want a baby now. I’ve wanted one for a while. I haven’t exactly announced it on Facebook or anything, though.”

“Well, then, Emma, I’m even happier. You’re going to be an amazing mother. And Caleb’s going to be a great father, you know it. He’s made to be a daddy.”

I started sobbing again, so hard I couldn’t speak.

“What, Em? What?” His voice dropped. “Wait, is the baby Caleb’s?”

Sweet Christ, my father could be so obtuse. I took a deep breath to collect myself. “Of course, the baby is Caleb’s, Daddy. I haven’t told him yet. You’re the first one I called. I’m in the parking lot of the doctor’s office.”

“Ah. Well, I’m proud. And honored.”

Silence.

“Why haven’t you told him yet?”

I stuttered out a response. “Be…because I don’t know if he wants children.”

“He loves you, Emma. Of course he does.”

“Yes. He says he does love me.” I inhaled a nose full of teary phlegm.

“A man who flies a woman first-class to Paris to take her on a tour of the locations of her favorite French films is a man who loves a woman. A man who makes breakfast in bed for a woman loves her. Caleb bends over backward for you, even with his busy schedule.”

Sometimes my father could be pretty smart, even though he was stoned half the time.

“True.”

“And so he’ll be happy about the news. It’s his child. I’m going to warn you, it might take him a few minutes to warm up to the idea. When your mother told me she was pregnant with you, I was pretty shocked.”

“Yeah, and look how well you two got along after I was born,” I shot back sarcastically. What I wanted to say:
Mom had an affair and you smoked tons of weed
. But I didn’t.

“Hon, marriage is difficult. Your mother and I loved each other despite our differences. I loved your mother. I think she loved me, in her own way. Our relationship thrived on conflict, both before and after we married. You can’t judge another’s relationship from the outside.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d heard this before. I didn’t want a repeat of my parents’ relationship with Caleb. And maybe it’s why I had resisted moving in. Maybe it’s why I hadn’t wanted to disturb our relationship. I wanted to make sure we were solid. That we could go the distance together without dissolving into years of arguments and affairs.

“Okay, Daddy. Well, I wanted to tell you. The doctor says I’m healthy and all. At my advanced age. I’m what’s considered a geriatric pregnancy.” A fat tear slid down my cheek.

“I’m glad, sweetheart. You’re going to be fine. You’re a healthy girl. Now you go call Caleb or, better, tell him in person. It’s all going to be okay. I promise. Anyway, you can always come stay with me and Carla in Denver for a few weeks if you want.”

I thought of their condo with the mountain view and crisp air and sighed wistfully at the idea of cooler weather. “Um, thanks, Dad. Maybe Caleb and I will make it out for a visit soon. Let me get this news out of the way first.”

“Good plan, Em.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too, bookworm.”

I went to start the car, then hesitated and picked up my phone again and dialed. I felt guilty because I should be calling Caleb, but I couldn’t bring myself to.

I didn’t want his life to change yet.

“Sarah?” I bleated when she picked up.

“Hey, dude. How are you?”

I swallowed tears. “I’m pregnant.”

“Aww, man, that’s awesome! Congratulations. LAURA, SHE’S FINALLY PREGNANT,” Sarah yelled.

“Christ, don’t say anything! I haven’t told Caleb.” Telling my closest family and friends was making me feel worse, not better.

Laura got on the phone. “What did my brother say?” she asked, breathless.

“I haven’t told him yet. And I’d appreciate if you didn’t either.” The likelihood of that, given how close the siblings were, was small.

“Okay, okay. I won’t. But tell me everything. How far along are you? Did Sarah tell you we’ve been searching for sperm donors? Now we’re going to have to make a decision soon if we want to have babies around the same time.”

Laura babbled for three minutes straight, eventually putting me on speakerphone so Sarah could chime in with observations about baby proofing the penthouse. Obviously, they’d thought about motherhood far more than I had.

“Maybe we need to have brunch to discuss all these details, the three of us. I’m a bit overwhelmed now, and I still need to talk to Caleb.” I suddenly felt weak. And sweaty.

“Look, he might act shocked at first because he’s never wanted to be a dad, but I’m sure he’ll come around,” Laura said.

“Well, that’s helpful. Makes me feel so much better. Thanks.” The sarcasm practically oozed from my pores, and I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. Sweat formed on my upper lip.

“Whatever. He loves you. It’s all that matters. He’ll be grateful and happy, or I’ll kick his butt.”

I wasn’t so sure he’d come around. And I didn’t want polite. I wanted enthusiastic and accepting. I wanted love. His love.

But I knew one thing: even if Caleb wasn’t thrilled about having a child, his sister and my best friend were. At least they’d be there for me over the next nine months and beyond.