His hands are like fire, his fingertips scalding hot as he traces them over my body. We’re facing each other on the massive mattress, tangled limbs in the middle. His cock is inside of me, as it has been for a good portion of this snow day we’ve taken for ourselves.
His palm urges my ass into him, pushing and pulling me in slow, unrhythmic movements. No gracefulness, no urgency. We’re fucking simply to be within each other. My hands scale his damp skin, up into his hair, the dark wet spirals at the end that are so comforting to grab on to.
For the fifth time, his phone blares, a distant call from the living room where he left it.
And for fifth time, it goes straight to voicemail.
His lips are pushing into mine, his tongue driving between them, curling and sucking me in. It’s enough to make someone incoherent. My thigh is wrapped around his waist, my chest up against his chest. When his touch trails from my backside, taking the slope of my spine to my neck, which he grasps tight enough to keep me in place, ultimate protection sweeps through my skin, my blood, and bones.
Every part of me is here.
We’re getting there without a single utterance. No dirty talk, no urging. We’re hardly moaning now, lacking enough breath to do so. The end is within reach, but he slows us down, forcing us to wait together.
It’s so close my fingers are contracting violently over him, my stomach tightening from the build up. I let it go, smiling against him.
My husband wants to make it last. I cherish that gift.
***
A plus sign.
Such a small, insignificant symbol…for anyone but an expectant woman.
Kevin is waiting outside of the door of the drugstore, mostly impatient. “That thing’s gotta have worked by now, right?”
The pregnancy stick is on the sink, and both of my hands are clasping onto the sides for dear life. When I noticed I was a week late, I decided I’d wait one more before running out to purchase a test. Somehow, I convinced myself it was too soon to know. I convinced myself I was jumping to conclusions, only hurting myself in the process. We’ve had months and months of negatives, and yet, here it is.
That little pink plus sign.
“Darcy, what does it say?”
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, although there is no possible way he can hear it.
“What?”
Thick tears are dropping from my eyes into the sink. I’m struggling for breath as joy takes me into its arms. I snatch up the stick and whirl around, unlocking the door. He does the rest of the work, throwing it open.
I hold it up, my mouth hung open, my cheeks wet. “I’m pregnant.”
He stares at the stick in my hand, and then his features become more like mine. “No fucking way.”
“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, my voice on the edge of madness, complete deliriousness.
“Holy shit!”
Kevin wraps his arms around me in a chokehold, lifting me off the floor with a shriek. He sets me down abruptly, completely unaware of the looks we’re getting from shoppers.
“It can’t be real,” I gasp.
He shakes me, grinning. “I’m getting another one. Maybe two. We’ll make sure before you tell him, all right?” He kisses my cheek exuberantly and rushes into an aisle to snatch up two more pregnancy boxes.
Before you tell him…
***
“Hi, Tiffany.” Benjamin’s assistant has already been informed of my arrival and is waiting outside of her office.
“Darcy, hello. He’s about to get out of a meeting any minute.”
