“Please,” he begs. I know what he wants. Perhaps he’s fucked all the shame out of me, but I don’t care anymore. I nod for him, and he smiles as he tugs me to the edge of the dresser, angling me just right.
I whimper, throwing my head back as I feel an orgasm wash over me like a warm breeze—subtle but so damn perfect. The kind of release you feel in your bones all the way to the ends of your hair, possessing your body and mind.
“Bo,” I cry out, gasping at the immediate feel of his release as he trembles and stills between my legs before removing himself.
I watch, my head hanging between us, as Bo pushes his cum back in with two fingers.
I’m not sure why I find it so hot, but I do. There’s something so primal about it. Him wanting to fill me, even though I’m already pregnant. Like he’s saying, not-so-subtly, he’d do it again if he could. That he’s glad for it all.
He removes his fingers, and I open my mouth, smiling wickedly as he pushes them between my lips, and I suck them clean.
He laughs in a bittersweet way. In an I cannot believe my life kind of way that has my shoulders lifting with pride.
“So…” I say through panted breaths, smiling at the ceiling as my chest heaves. “We can do it standing, then.”
Bo’s own chest is working overtime with each quickened breath, but he still breaks into a beaming smile, his face pointed up to the ceiling. “Seems like it…” he whispers, more from exhaustion than a need to be quiet. That is long gone.
When he tilts his face down toward mine, looking all too pleased with a boyish grin and an arrogant satisfaction behind his eyes, I kiss him.
I kiss him because I’m grateful, even though I’m often terrible at showing it.
I kiss him because he truly does want to take care of me.
I kiss him because I think I’m going to let him.
I kiss him because I love him.
More and more each day.
CHAPTER 33
Thirty-Three Weeks Pregnant. Baby is the size of a pineapple.
I take a deep breath, cooling my frustrations, as I stare deep into the mirror at my own reflection.
I’ve got the cute dress on, the one Sarah insisted I buy from the maternity section that actually fits my growing frame. It’s a sage green floor-length wrap dress with white hand-sewn flowers all over it. It ties in the back, creating the illusion of a small waist above my now prominent bump. And it showcases my new boobs—two sizes larger than they used to be.
Both Bo and I are big fans.
I’ve also got the makeup on. Though, pathetically, bending over the sink to apply mascara was causing me to get winded.
What’s making me frustrated is my hair.
I had this whole vision that I’d braid it, keeping it off my face in this wispy sort of way that matches the bohemian vibe of the dress, but it’s just not happening.
I’ve twisted and contorted myself in every which way, trying to see it in the mirror as I reach over my shoulder. But no matter what I do, my right hand will not cooperate, and I drop the third strand every time.
Once I told Bo I didn’t want any more surprises, he confessed about one that he and Sarah had been cooking up ever since his birthday. A birthday party for me. Except, knowing me the way they do, they decided I’d rather kill two birds with one stone and have a combined baby shower and birthday party.
Bo insisted this way I could tell myself the party was for August, and sort of him too—so I caved.
But now I’m probably already late, and I look like I’ve never held a hairbrush in my twenty-nine years of life. I’m about to throw it into a low ponytail, curse my rectangular-shaped forehead, and call it a day when Bo knocks softly on the half-open bathroom door.
“Need a hand?” he teases, leaning on the doorframe.
I roll my eyes, smiling at his reflection as he moves to stand behind me. He’s wearing a long-sleeve grey waffle-knit shirt over black jeans, looking as gorgeous as ever.
“Classic.” I shake my head.
“Never gets old,” he says, kissing my cheek.
“I was trying to braid my hair, and now I look like this,” I say, gesturing to the mess I’ve made. “I’ve never been able to braid. I’m not sure why I thought today would be any different.”
Bo rests his chin on the top of my head, curling both arms across my chest as he holds me to him. “You look beautiful, Fred.”
“You had to ruin that compliment, huh?” I say, letting my hands roam over his forearms. “I will start calling you Bob.”
“You look beautiful, stunning, and downright ethereal… Fred.”
“I might shave my head,” I whine, pouting. “Would you still love me if I shaved my head?”
“Is this like that worm question you asked me last week? Is there also a correct answer I should know about? Yes, I’d still love you if you were a worm, or bald, or—”
“When do we have to leave?” I ask, interrupting.
“About now.”
“About?”
“Ten minutes ago, probably. But you’re allowed to be late.” He presses his lips to the top of my head, then releases both arms from around me, bringing his hands up to my hair and pulling it all back over my shoulders. “Mind if I give it a go?”
I nod shyly.
Bo separates my hair into three pieces, combing through them with his long fingers, untangling. Then he actually begins to braid it. I open my mouth to ask how, but he intercepts. “In middle school, I learned how to make friendship bracelets because there was a cute girl in my class who was really good at them. I guess I never forgot.”
“The things we do for love…” I sigh out, admiring myself in the mirror as Bo reaches over my shoulder for the hair-tie on the counter.
“There,” Bo says, letting the braid fall down my back. “I think that’s good?”
He did a perfect job. He’s even left all the loose, wispy parts in all the right places. I could cry.
Actually, I’m very pregnant and very in love with the guy, so I do cry.
“One more thing,” he says, leaving me in the bathroom all alone with my watery eyes. I gather myself, fluffing my bangs in the mirror before turning to the side to get a full view of my bump. I place two hands on it and rub back and forth, soothing for both me, and I hope, August. Every day, I feel bigger than the last, and more and more ready to meet them. And with every little addition, Bo and I become more prepared.
After I moved some of my things into the master bedroom—and some of Bo’s items elsewhere to make room—we found a happy medium with the rest of the house. Decorating to suit both of us and merging our styles into one. Afterward, we started on the nursery.
Bo built a crib we’d ordered offline that is made from sustainable bamboo, and I painted the walls a soft green. We put my trusted old lavender dresser in there and bought the comfiest grey rocking chair that we both now like to nap in. Plus, of course, some of my plants got moved in there too. Bo hung up shelves for books, and I’ve been thrifting little decor art pieces slowly over time. It’s really coming together.
Bo calls it a little Hobbit’s den, whereas I think of it as more of a nature-inspired cottage. Either way, we both win.
And I suppose, after today, we’ll have a lot more things to fill it with.