Big girls do it pregnant, p.2
Big Girls Do It Pregnant, p.2Part #10 of Big Girls Do It series by Jasinda Wilder
I wanted to cry. A tear of absurd rejection slipped down my face. I brushed it away, irritated with myself. I was being stupid, and I knew it. Jeff was right, so right, but the sudden inrushing of my sex drive was erasing my reason.
I shook my head, cutting him off. "No, Jeff. You're right, and I know it. I'm having one of those stupid hormonal reactions I can't exactly help." I laughed at myself through a sniffle, then tipped forward into Jeff's embrace. "Just take me to the hotel and fuck me until I can't walk."
Jeff's fingers tightened in my shoulders. "That I can do."
The elevator doors opened then, letting on a man, his wife, and three children, all chattering loudly in Arabic. Jeff and I traded glances, laughing. If Jeff hadn't stopped things when he did, this family would have gotten an eyeful.
Fifteen minutes later, we were checked in to our hotel and riding another elevator up to our floor. Jeff still had all our luggage in his hands, refusing to let me carry more than my purse. My stomach was doing flip-flops as he slid the card into the reader and pushed the door open, flipping on lights and setting our suitcases against the wall.
I hadn't gotten three steps into the room when Jeff stopped, turned in place, and wrapped a large, strong hand around my elbow, drawing me inexorably against his chest. I dropped my purse on the floor at my feet and placed my palms on his pecs, staring up into his hot brown gaze. My heart was hammering in my chest, as if this was my first time.
Except I knew what was coming, and I needed it as much as my next breath.
He didn't do anything for the space of several heartbeats, only clutched my elbow, his thumb drawing a slow circle on my skin. I stood waiting, breathing, anticipating.
Then he lifted his hand and brushed my cheekbone with the back of his index finger, trailed the pad of his finger down my neck, across my collarbone and down between my breasts. I sucked in a deep breath, swelling my breasts, and held it. He slipped the digit under the elastic of my camisole, pulling it down to bare one breast. I was already holding my breath, so when he touched his lips to the slope of my breast, I expelled the air in a long sigh, tipping my head back in ecstasy. He kissed down the breast to the nipple, paused to look at me, then took my nipple in his mouth and suckled it. Oh, sweet Jesus, thank you. Electricity shot down my body to strike at my core, sending trembles through my thighs and dampness slicking my folds.
Jeff's hand left my elbow and slid up my arm, over my shoulder, and down my back, stopping to cup my ass, drawing my hips against his. His mouth left my flesh, and he murmured, "I need you naked."
"Fuck yes," I whispered.
He pulled my camisole over my head, and my heavier-than-ever breasts fell free, bouncing and swaying. I watched in pleasure as his eyes fixed on them, revealing his desire.
Is there anything better in the world than knowing your man thinks you're beautiful? Not to me, there isn't.
He pushed my skirt off, leaving me in my panties. He liked me like that, naked except for panties. Even now, with the burgeoning roundness of my belly, he liked to kneel in front of me and take in my body, as if he were drinking in my beauty to slake an unquenchable thirst. Then he knelt forward to sit on his calves, wrapping his hands around my ankles, sliding his palms up my legs, up the back of my thighs, caressing the ever-expanding globes of my ass. He buried his face against my hip, just above the waist of my panties, kissed my skin, dug his fingers into the leg opening to stroke my wet folds. I gasped when his middle finger slid inside me, ever so slightly. I gasped again when he abruptly jerked my panties off and nudged my legs open. I spread my stance and steadied myself with my hands on his shoulders.
He swiped my folds with his tongue, clutching me close with his hands on my ass. Then, outrageously, he stopped.
"What--why are you stopping?" I demanded. "God, you can't stop now!"
He stared up at me, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "Didn't I hear somewhere that pregnant women shouldn't receive oral sex?"
I growled in my throat. "That's an old wives' tale," I said, putting my hand on the back of his head. "Just don't do a hot kitty, and we'll be fine. Now...give me orgasms." I pressed his face between my thighs and whimpered as he complied, spearing my clit with his tongue, slipping a single finger into my channel and curling it to brush me just so.
Then he stopped again. "Hot kitty?" He curled his finger once more, and my legs almost gave out.
"Blowing--blowing hot air into me." I locked my knees as he stroked inside me.
"Oh." He kissed my folds, then lapped at my opening, inciting a blissful moan from me. "That's too bad. I know you like that," he murmured, the vibrations of his voice making me shiver.
"Yeah, but just don't stop what you're doing, and I don't think I'll miss it."
He started a circular rhythm with his tongue around my swollen clit, which made my knees buckle in time with his tongue. I felt the sweet burning pressure well up within me, rising and rising with each swipe of his tongue, each curling caress of his finger. And then he added a second finger, pressing against the inner ridge, and sucked my stiffened nub into his mouth. He reached up to pinch a thick nipple between two fingers, and with that added stimulation, I exploded, falling forward against him and crying out, holding on to his shoulders for balance as my body convulsed and spasmed, heat billowing through me, lightning bursting behind my shut eyes.
He moved me back, and I felt the edge of the bed against my knees. I let myself collapse backward, gasping, feet planted on the floor. Jeff slid his body between my thighs, and I reached up, eyes still closed as aftershocks washed through me, to tug his shorts down. He peeled his T-shirt off as I took his erection in my fist and slid my hand down around his rigid, silk-soft cock. I drew him toward me, needing him, needing more of him, all of him.
"Give it to me, Jeff," I panted. "Please."
"Goddamn, Anna. You're so beautiful when you come." He leaned over me, and I felt the broad tip of his erection nudge my opening.
I pulled him closer, guided him into me. I whined in the back of my throat, a sound of pure relief, utter bliss. Jeff groaned low in his throat as he slid deep. He straightened, tucking one hand under my right knee and lifting my leg around his waist. One foot still on the floor, one around his waist, I was at the perfect height for him to stand and drive into me, his sliding shaft striking every nerve ending inside me, gliding deep, so deep, so gently and wonderfully deep.
"Oh, fuck, Anna. You don't even know how much I needed this, how much I missed this."
"I think I do."
He pulled back, almost out, then slid home again, groaning when our bodies were flush against each other. "You feel so good, Anna. Goddamn, you feel so good." He was trembling, holding back.
I fisted my hands in the blanket and lifted my hips to meet him. "More, Jeff. Harder. Please."
"I don't want to--"
I pulled at him hard with my leg, jerking him deep. "I need it, Jeff. I'm not going to break. Please, just fuck me harder."
Jeff slid out and back in, a thoughtful, hesitating thrust, then another. Then he gave me an exploratory harder thrust, and I cried out his name. That seemed to encourage him, and he pushed into me again, harder this time.
"Yes, like that," I panted. "God, that's good. More."
He rumbled in his chest. "So good." He set a fast rhythm then, and each stroke sent me further in ecstasy; each thrust had me whimpering and moaning.
And then I exploded a second time, almost out of the blue. It washed over me like a tidal wave, rolling and rollicking and detonating, and forcing a scream out of me. Jeff's hand went to my hips and pulled me hard against him. I wrapped my other leg around him, and now all that held me aloft was his arms under my ass and his shaft inside me, ramming deep in a pulsating series of short thrusts. I felt him tense, felt his buttocks clench under my legs, and knew his climax was imminent.
I clenched him with my inner muscles, clamping down as hard as I could. He groaned loudly, and I felt him release
I felt a second spasm rock his body, then a third smaller one, and then he was letting my legs down and pulling out of me. We crawled backward on the bed, and I curled into his side, his heart thumping under my ear, lulling me into a state of sated bliss.
As I was about to drift off to sleep, I heard him murmur, "Gonna be Caleb."
I snorted sleepily. This was an ongoing debate with us. I was sure it was a girl, but he was convinced it was a boy. So we had this argument, and it always came up just like that, as one of us was falling asleep, or on the way out the door. We each tried to get the last word in, me as he was leaving to DJ a shift, he as I was about to drift off to sleep.
I let him get the last word in, knowing I'd get him back later. Of course, the main reason I let him get away with it was that I was too sleepy to summon speech, too limp from his loving to even grunt an "uh-uh."
We still hadn't decided if we were going to find out the gender at the next ultrasound, and that was the source of a less playful debate. He wanted it to be a surprise, and I wanted to get the nursery ready with gender-appropriate decorations. Of course, Jeff was all like, "just paint it green," but that was cheating to me.
My last thought was of my own inability to decide whether I wanted it to be a girl or a boy more. I wavered from day to day. I would think of big, burly Jeff holding a little baby girl with blonde curls and Jeff's brown eyes, a big pink bow in her hair, and I'd have a mini-emotional meltdown, and then I'd picture him with a little boy who'd be the spitting image of Daddy and I'd have a different kind of breakdown, and I just couldn't decide.
I fell asleep with images of baby boys and baby girls dancing in my head. In the end, it didn't matter, because girl or boy, they'd be ours, and that was the only important thing.
Chapter 2: JAMIE
I slid my palms flat over my belly, turning sideways to look at myself in profile. My red curls were longer than they'd ever been, hanging loose nearly to my waist. They were actually kind of out of control at this point. I'd been thinking about cutting my hair for weeks now but hadn't done it. Chase would freak, for one thing. He loved my hair long. He liked to bury his fingers in it when he came inside me. If I cut it off, he'd absolutely shit his shorts.
I giggled as I pictured his reaction if I showed up at his show tonight with my hair chopped off. What if I actually, factually, shaved my head? We'd be matchers. It could be funny. Chase would probably have a heart attack. Maybe shaving my head wasn't a great plan. I took a long sheaf of springy red curls in my hand, narrowing my eyes at myself. My belly was getting ridiculous. I wasn't even twenty weeks along, and I was already getting mammoth. Stupid Anna was barely showing at all, the bitch. Here I was, big as houses, when she still could get away with most of her normal clothes. I was shopping in the maternity section already.
I sighed, smoothed my hand over my belly again, then returned to examining my hair. I held the bulk of it up at my nape, trying to picture myself with my hair at chin length. Just holding my hair up out of the way was a relief on my neck, and that was what decided me.
Time to cut my hair for the first time in my adult life. The last true haircut I'd had, not counting the odd inch or two trimmed off now and again, was before I'd moved out on my own at seventeen. I let my hair go and felt it bounce free at the small of my back, then reached for my cell phone on the bathroom counter. I got my stylist friend Lindsey to pencil me in at the last minute, called a cab, and then spent the next few minutes trying to figure out how I'd explain my sudden decision to Chase.
I'd have to seduce him, of course. As long as I left my hair long enough for him to have something to tangle his fingers in, we should be fine, I thought.
There I went, again, with the "we." I'd been referring myself in the plural lately. Myself and the baby, I guess. We. We're gonna take a shower. We're gonna get some breakfast. We'll be fine. We're feeling nauseous. It wasn't something I did intentionally; it just happened. It cracked Chase up to no end, which only irritated me further. I always corrected myself when I caught myself doing it, but it kept slipping out.
After putting on the sexiest bra and panties I could fit in, I put on my favorite outfit, the only thing I felt sexy in, a floor-length, high-waisted dress, scooped low in front and back to show off my ginormous preggo boobs, tucking in just right to give me some curves around my hips and ass without hugging my belly. It was ivory in color, soft against my skin, loose and comfortable, yet still let me feel attractive.
I wore it more frequently than I should, mainly because I'd never been able to find another dress like it.
The cab honked outside, and I snagged my purse and phone on the way out the door. Chase had paid a fortune for our house, but it was perfect, a brownstone walk-up in a hip but fairly quiet section of Manhattan. We had the entire first floor, and he'd let me furnish it to my heart's desire. I loved our home. I'd love it even more when his tour was over and he could stay home with me every day. His label was giving the band a couple months off, since Chase and I were having our baby, and Gage, the bassist, claimed to need personal time. No one knew what his deal was, but Chase had made the hiatus happen since he'd noticed Gage was had been acting off lately, in a funk. I'd get Chase all to myself for six whole months before they went into the studio to start recording their first full-length album. They'd put out a couple EPs up that point, each recorded in whirlwind, marathon sessions between tour dates, but they hadn't put out anything full-length yet.
Six Foot Tall had gone viral, in a way. Someone had recorded his performance and proposal to me and uploaded it to YouTube, and it had gotten well over a million hits, which spurred the sales of their music and sold out the rest of the shows on the tour. They'd played on Leno and Late Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, and had been on the cover of Rolling Stone and Revolver.
All of which, of course, translated into me not having seen my husband--even after more than year, I still got giddy thinking that--in more than three months. We FaceTimed and Skyped, of course, but it wasn't the same. Skype sex wasn't anywhere near as satisfying as having Chase in my bed. Not by several orders of magnitude.
I pushed the thoughts from my mind as I sat down in Lindsey's chair and told her what I wanted, more or less. Which was, namely, shorter. Not so short Chase couldn't grab into my hair, but shorter. Lindsey made quick work of my hair, keeping up a constant chatter in her thick New York accent, black bob nodding and ducking as she snipped and fluffed and snipped until she was satisfied. I had made her turn me around so I couldn't see myself. When Lindsey finally stepped away and tucked her scissors in her apron, I felt nerves shoot through me.
What was I thinking? Cutting my hair? Shit! Chase was going to kill me. He'd hate it. I'd hate it.
"You seriously look amazing, Jamie," Lindsey chirped, teasing my curls with her fingers before turning me around. She must have sensed my nerves. "Honest, Jamie. He'll love it, I promise. You've got to, like, trust me."
I had my hands over my eyes, refusing to look still. "What was I thinking, Linz? I don't know why I just did this, I really don't."
Lindsey laughed and took my wrists in her dainty little fingers. "You're pregnant. You know how many pregnant women I get in here who have had a sudden urge to cut their hair? It happens all the time. I'm not sure why, really, but it's a fact. It's kind of my specialty, actually. The other girls always send me the preggos, because I can usually tell when they really want to cut their hair and when they think they do but really just want it to look different. Sometimes that's all it is. Part of the nesting phase, I've heard, where you go through and, like, change everything for the baby."
I laughed. "Maybe that's it. But I don't think I'm nesting just yet. I just...wigged out, like, I all of a sudden hated my hair and wanted it gone, off my neck. But now? Oh,
Lindsey pried my hands away from my face. "Look at yourself, Jay. You're beautiful."
I sighed and opened my eyes, heart in my throat. I gasped. I looked totally different. Like, completely altered.
I interrupted my own thoughts to tell myself to stop talking like Lindsey, who, at twenty-two, had a tendency to still say "like" in every sentence.
I turned my head from side to side, marveling at how much lighter I felt. I shook my head, laughing as my hair bounced around, now hanging just above my shoulders. She'd cut away a good bit near the front so I had springs of curls as bangs that drifted across my cheekbones. It was a perfect cut for me, I realized, emphasizing my heart-shaped face and accentuating my eyes. It sharpened my jawline somehow, and brought out the curve of my throat.
Plus, there was still a good bit of hair left, so Chase could do his thing.
I pulled Lindsey into a hug, and felt my eyes prick. I cried at the drop of a hat these days. A Hallmark commercial had me bawling just the day before, and it was driving me nuts.
Lindsey pulled free and unsnapped the apron from around my neck. "So you like it?"
I nodded happily, sniffing back the traitorous tears. "I love it. I really do."
"And you think Chase will like it?" She grabbed a nearby broom and started sweeping up the mess of hair on the floor.
I took a deep breath. "I hope so. I think so. He'll be surprised, but once he gets over the shock, I think he'll be happy. I'll find out in a few hours, I guess."
Lindsey's gaze sharpened. "They're in town? The whole band?"
I nodded, wondering what her angle was. "Yeah, they're playing the Garden."
Lindsey crouched to brush the hair into a dustpan. "Is it sold out?"
I laughed at the hopeful tone in her voice. "Who do you have a crush on?"
Lindsey blushed, her fair skin going pink across her cheeks and on her nose. "Gage."
Big Girls Do It Pregnant by Jasinda Wilder / Romance & Love / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes