Chapter Thirty-Nine
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“All right, Mr. and Mrs. Richie...” an older white man says, glancing at the screen as he comes into the room. “I’m Dr. Francis. I hear you had a bit of trauma a month or so ago, but it sounds like things have been going well since?”
Lydia and I look at each other and nod. Dr. Sharma sent us to a high-risk specialist for the baby’s anatomy scan in order to “take a closer look and be sure everything is still good.” Which all sounded fine until we got here. On the surface, it looks like any other doctor’s office, but as soon as we walked in, the mood was clearly different. The waiting room was more somber, the office staff gentler, the informational posters on the walls more concerning. I haven’t said anything to Lydia, but I can’t help wondering if Dr. Sharma’s concerns are bigger than we thought.
Lydia grips my hand a little tighter. Maybe she’s feeling it too.
“Okay, let’s take a look and see how things are going,” the doctor says, sitting on a stool by the ultrasound machine, which seems bigger and fancier than the one at our usual clinic.
Before the doctor came in, the ultrasound tech was already hard at work taking countless measurements of the baby at what seemed like every possible angle. She’s been pleasant, but we’ve been waiting impatiently for real answers. The one comfort has been watching the little form on the extra-large screen across the room, waving its arms and legs to the rhythm of what sounds like a strong, steady heartbeat. I’ve been quietly mesmerized the entire time.
The doctor applies more jelly to Lydia’s rounding belly and mutters back and forth with the tech in a medical jargon I don’t follow. From what I can tell, he is going back and double-checking every measurement she already took. I swallow dryly, adjusting my seat on the stool.
“Well, looks like you’ve got yourselves an active little kicker,” he says to Lydia with a chuckle. “Are you feeling any of this yet?”
She shakes her head, staring at the screen. “No... but watching this, it sure seems like I should.”
“You will. Any time now.” He smiles. “And it looks like everything is growing just the way it ought to be.” He proceeds to go through, showing us various angles of the head and body, rattling off information I can’t hold onto about size, proportions, and statistics. But he never stops to express concern. “Okay, finally, I want to show you this right here.” He zooms in on an area I can’t make heads or tails of, and from Lydia’s expression, neither can she. “This is the placenta. Appropriately sized, good placement...” He pauses, moving the transducer more carefully over her abdomen, back and forth over the same spot while we hold our breath. “Yep,” he says, sitting up confidently. “I see zero indicators of an abruption, or any other concern.”
We both look at the doctor, and slowly, I exhale.
Lydia bites her lip. “So, everything’s okay? We don’t need to worry?”
He gives us a kind smile. “No. You should go home and enjoy your holiday. This is the most uncomplicated pregnancy I’ve seen all day.”
It feels like the entire room relaxes, even the little figure on the screen.
The doctor turns back to the tech and they resume their exchange of jargon and measurements. But then the tech turns to us and smiles. “Do you want to know the gender?”
Lydia and I look at each other, then she gives my hand a firm squeeze.
“ Yes ,” we say together.
“Good, because we’re being given a show right now.” She chuckles, gesturing at the screen. She repositions the transducer until we’re very clearly looking between two kicking legs. Then she freezes the frame and draws a circle in the middle. “See these three parallel lines? Kind of looks like a little hamburger?”
“Yes,” Lydia whispers, but this time I’m the one gripping her hand.
“Looks like you’re having a little girl—congratulations!”
Suddenly, I am grateful to be sitting down. It feels like gravity just re-entered the room, shoving me down on my stool. A daughter—we’re going to have a little girl just as beautiful as Lydia. My eyes are burning, but I don’t look away until the tech shuts off the machine and starts wiping Lydia with a towel. The doctor turns on the lights, and then he’s in front of me, shaking my hand.
“We’ll send the imaging back over to Dr. Sharma for you,” Dr. Francis says, heading for the door. “I love delivering good news. Even better before the holidays.” He smiles warmly. “Good luck to you both, and Merry Christmas!”
We celebrate with chicken parmigiana from our favorite Italian restaurant in front of the Christmas tree at home. December can be kind of a brown month in Denver, but the weather has decided to keep things magical for us, blanketing the city in a soft, powdery snow for the holiday weekend. Christmas is Monday, the Pooches are closed tomorrow, and we have nothing to do and nowhere to be but with each other.
I put on some low holiday music and clink my sparkling water glass against Lydia’s. “To our healthy little... I believe it’s a mango this week.”
She smiles, reclining on the couch, and I pause a moment, looking at her. Even just in leggings and a maternity top, she strikes me as so beautiful. Her hair falls lush and loose around her shoulders, her skin glows, and her bump is now big enough it’s almost in proportion with her outstanding tits. Almost . I shift, trying to ignore the growing erection in my pants. God, I had no idea how sexy pregnancy would look on my wife.
“To our little girl ,” she says, eyeing me with a warm smile.
Something swells in my chest. “Guess we just eliminated half the names on our list. ”
“There are a couple that work both ways.” She shrugs, taking a bite of pasta. “But I didn’t like most of the boy names anyway.”
I laugh. “Maybe you knew. Mother’s intuition?”
She stares out the window at the falling snow, looking thoughtful. “Maybe...”
I sit up straighter, setting my dish aside on the coffee table. “I didn’t want to bring it up before the appointment, but... I spoke with Carl today.”
Her eyes widen, and she sets her food down next to mine. “How did it go?”
“He wasn’t thrilled, for sure.” I sigh. “Actually, he was kind of angry at first. And that’s probably my fault for letting him think I was on board for too long. But we talked it through, and eventually I think he understood, on some level. He is also a dad.”
Carl Wallace’s daughter, Annabelle, is in her twenties. Somehow, I doubt he was ever home with her much as an infant. But every time I’ve seen them together, it’s been clear how much he loves her.
“So, what are the next steps?” Lydia asks. “You don’t need to resign yet.”
I shake my head. “I’m going to stay on until the baby comes and see if I can help them find someone to take my place.”
“Didn’t you say Milo was pretty eager?”
“He is, but he’s young and Carl wants him working under someone so he can learn.” I recall the rest of our conversation and chuckle. “Carl also made clear I’m welcome to stay at Vesper and just not travel.”
Lydia’s eyebrows rise. “I mean, you could . . .”
“No,” I say firmly. “We need childcare, and I really want to stay home. To be the one caring for and nurturing our daughter.” Something tightens in the back of my throat. “I think my mom would’ve loved knowing I’m doing that.”
Lydia smiles softly, reaching up to tangle her fingers in my hair, placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re right. She would have.”
We sit there a while, finished with our dinners, just listening to Christmas music and watching the snow fall outside the window, and it’s one of the best evenings I can remember having since we’ve been married. I pull Lydia back against me, wrapping her securely in my arms, and place my hands protectively over her bump. She’s warm and soft, and it relaxes me just breathing in the scent of her hair pooling against my chest.
“I called Dr. Sharma,” Lydia says, so quietly I almost don’t hear her. “She um... she said we should be safe to...”
I pause, then smile big into her hair as I realize what she’s trying to say. Amused, because it’s always so hard for her to even talk about sex. But it tells me plenty that she called specifically to ask.
“Is that so?” I say, shifting my hands from their polite position on her stomach to the much less polite region I’ve been struggling to avoid for weeks. I give each of her breasts a gentle squeeze and she rocks her hips back against me, pressing her ass against my already-hard dick.
“Yes,” she breathes.
Her nipples harden under her top almost immediately, and I run my fingers over them through the fabric, watching her close her eyes, sinking into the sensation.
“God, it’s been... how many weeks since I’ve touched you?” I whisper.
“ Ten ,” she says almost immediately.
I can’t help chuckling. “Fuck, Lydia. That’s a long time.” I bring my lips to her ear. “I’ve taken so many showers, fantasizing about these beautiful tits to get my release.”
Her eyes snap open and she pulls back with an offended look. “At least you’ve had a release.”
“You’re right,” I say, at once chastened and so fucking aroused, thinking of her simmering in want for weeks and weeks. “Oh, Mrs. Richie. Let’s take care of that, shall we?”
In one fluid motion, I grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up over her head. As soon as I do, my jaw drops at the sight of the bra she’s wearing. It’s red and green and sheer, and I can see her swollen nipples straight through the fabric, both of them hard and clearly aching to be touched. I run my hands reverently over the cups, circling the centers, my cock turning to fucking steel in my pants.
“You went shopping,” I say in a hoarse voice. And then I trace my fingers down to the waistband of her leggings. “Did you buy a matching set?”
“Guess you’ll have to find out,” she whispers.
I don’t waste any time. Her leggings and socks are off and across the room, in Heartthrob’s bed before I can take my next breath. The dog turns his head as if to say, this again?
“You look like a Christmas present,” I say, taking in the sheer red and green thong below the beautiful swell of her belly. She reclines and gazes at me through her lashes like some kind of festive fertility nymph.
“Will I be on the naughty list for letting you unwrap one of your presents early?” she asks, circling her fingers around one of her nipples through the fabric.
My mouth goes dry. I run my hands up and down her smooth legs. “I doubt Santa will be pleased. He might send one of his elves to spank you...”
She presses her thighs together, her blue eyes darkening until they’re almost black.
“But I have a gift I want to give you too,” I say.
She bites her lip. “We shouldn’t open everything. It’ll ruin Christmas morning.”
I rise to my feet, flashing her a wicked grin. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it’ll only enhance it.”
My erection is so stiff, I can barely walk down the hall to the office-nursery. I finished painting a couple weeks ago, and recently it’s just been accumulating boxes of things needing to be set up and assembled. The perfect place to hide an awkwardly large gift.
I pull off the blanket I stowed it under, stick on a large red bow I’ve been saving, and carry it back down the hall.
“What . . . is that?” Lydia asks, uncertainly.
I place the long gray fabric object on the floor in front of the Christmas tree and stand back. It’s S-shaped, with one end arching up higher than the other, separated by a dip in the middle. “It’s a chaise.”
Her brows draw together, studying the curving lines of the new furniture. “Like a chaise lounge?”
“Uh huh,” I say, extending my hand to help her off the couch. “Try it out.”
I hold her hand as she approaches it, my mouth salivating at the sight of her bare ass cheeks framed in red and green when she turns around. She steps over the lounger, then finally settles into the dip, laying her head back against the larger curve and draping her legs over the smaller one.
“It’s comfortable,” she says, running her hand over the velvety fabric. “But where will it?—”
“In our bedroom. Or out here. I guess we could even try it in the yard...” Our eyes meet as I pull off my shirt and sink to the curve where her legs rest. “It’s a sex chaise.”
Her lovely lips part, and I shudder, imagining sliding my cock between them. Ten weeks is a long time. Lydia studies the furniture again, like she’s viewing it for the first time, looking at the way it cradles her body. “So how?—”
“Like this,” I say, grabbing her ankles and giving her a firm tug, sliding her further down into the scoop of the S until her hips are propped up on the lower curve. “And... a lot of other ways. But this is the one I want to try first.”
I home in on the Christmassy green thong with its decorative red bows, sliding my fingers under the edges, forcing myself to go slow even while I’m dying to tear it off.
“This...” I sigh, running one finger along her already-damp center. “I want you to wear this for me again Christmas Day.”
Hooking my fingers under the lace at her hips, I slide the colorful fabric down her legs, exposing her glistening pussy, all trimmed, turned up, and waiting for me on the curve of the lounger.
“ Oh ,” Lydia says, suddenly understanding as I sink my face easily between her legs. Her entire sex is upturned and accessible to me from this position. I slide my tongue between her labia, spreading her copious juices everywhere, lapping up the taste of her like it’s already Christmas morning.
“Fuck, you taste even better now,” I mutter, sliding one finger inside her slick canal and darting my tongue over her hardening clit, then clamping my lips over it and sucking quick and firm.
“Ah!” She arches up off the fabric curve. “Anton, I—I need?—”
“I know what you need, Mrs. Richie.” I straighten up, kneeling in front of her, but keeping my finger pulsing slowly in and out of her. I watch her eyes close, then curl my finger inside her, pressing and sliding the tip firmly up against her inner wall until she moans. “You need something a little bigger inside you, don’t you?”
She nods vigorously, eyes still closed while I continue to slide my finger in and out of her soaking pussy. With my other hand, I reach out and pinch one nipple still trapped under the fabric of the holiday bra. She gasps, then I move my hand over and tweak the other. “And I need to finish unwrapping my present.”
I repeat this a few times, still stroking my finger inside her, until she is utterly whimpering. Then I withdraw gently. I help her readjust until she’s sitting up, then I hold my glistening finger in front of her mouth. “I want you to taste how much you want me.”
Her eyes flicker to mine for a moment like she’s not sure, but maybe she sees the desire in my eyes because she looks at the finger in front of her again, and takes it into her mouth just like it’s my fucking cock. I groan.
“ Fuck . That’s right. Don’t miss a single drop—it’s the most delicious taste in the world.”
By the time she finishes cleaning my hand, I’m regulating my breaths to stay under control. I pull my pants off quickly, then straddle the chaise naked and throbbing in front of her. She reaches behind her, thrusting her chest forward as she releases the clasp of her bra, and I pull it off as soon as it loosens, her swollen tits springing free in front of me like a fucking dream.
“Goddamn,” I whisper, taking a moment to caress and lift them, squeezing and sucking them into my mouth, circling each nipple until it’s hard as my cock.
I slide closer to her, gripping my shaft and rubbing my crown through her juices until it’s well and fully slick. “How bad do you want this, Mrs. Richie?”
She makes a frustrated, needy sound that I’ve never heard, but would pay to hear again. Then arches her back, cupping her tits and rocking her hips toward me.
“That bad?” I slap her slippery pussy gently with my cock. “Guess we better do something about it.”
She raises her head to watch as I position my head at her entrance, her mouth open, nearly panting. I can tell she wants me to drive it in hard, but I’m having too much fun and I am trying to be a little careful, so I slide into her slowly, inch by inch until I’m fully inside her.
Now she is panting, flailing her arms around, gripping my thighs.
“Everything feel okay?” I ask cautiously.
“Yes,” she says, wild-eyed. “But Anton, start moving, please .”
I suppress a grin. “Whatever you want, Mrs. Richie.” I go for a disinterested shrug. “Happy wife, happy life.”
She screeches as I pull out and thrust back in, both because I’m pretty sure it feels phenomenal, but also she hates that phrase and can’t fucking argue right now.
“Who’s needed to be fucked for ten long weeks?” I ask, keeping up my rhythm, pumping in and out. But when she doesn’t answer, I stop moving entirely. Her eyes pop open, and I ask again. “Who needs fucking?”
“Oh God.” She looks down to where we’re joined with distress, then covers her face with her hands. “I do. I—I need it.”
I resume my pace immediately. “That’s right, pretty mama.”
She moans again, closing her eyes, and I increase my pace, sensing it’s what she needs. My balls are slapping in her juices, her tits bouncing to the same rhythm, and her face is the most beautiful thing of all, eyes closed, lips parted, right on the cusp...
I reach out, grasp and pinch both her nipples with another thrust, and a sound releases from her throat like a song. I maintain my thrusting, letting her ride out her pleasure on my cock until it’s clear she is well and truly spent—and there’s going to be no repeat of the cramping. Then I pull out of her, grab my shaft in my hand, and pump myself empty. All over her stomach, her face, and those gorgeous, round tits like I’ve been dying to for months.
With a grunt, and the last of my effort, I push her breasts together, admiring the way they look decorated in my seed before rubbing it lightly into her skin. Then I look down to find her smiling, contented up at me, and whisper, “Told you I was going to make you sing.”