Chapter 23 - Georgie
Georgie
After his second nighttime feeding, Weston is fussy. I’ve burped him, changed his diaper, rocked him, and sung to him, but nothing is working. He’s inconsolable, and I feel like I’m on the verge of tears too when James pads into the nursery.
His hair is sticking up in places, and he’s only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. It isn’t fair how good-looking he is without even trying.
“Hand him over, darlin’,” James mumbles, holding out his arms to take the baby from me.
I oblige and slump onto the bed in a tired heap.
“Get some sleep, Georgie. I’ve got Weston.”
With my head buried in the pillow, I murmur, “I’ll try, but no promises.”
It’s a weird feeling to be so exhausted yet your body can’t relax enough to fall asleep.
Until Weston is soothed to sleep, I know my mama vigilance won’t allow me to rest either.
Sitting up, I realign the pillows to form a backrest, and I sit propped up, watching James rock Weston.
He hums one of Outlaw’s songs, and I close my eyes, listening to it.
Over the course of three songs, Weston’s cries grow softer and softer until they disappear altogether, and he finally falls asleep.
“Do you ever sing on any of Outlaw’s songs?” I whisper in the darkened room.
“Sometimes, but not often.”
“Oh, well, you hum nicely.”
James snorts quietly. “Thanks.” With care, he stands from the rocking chair and walks, taking slow steps, toward the crib where he lays Weston down.
When Weston makes a little noise, we both freeze and I hold my breath, hoping he won’t wake up.
After a few seconds of silence, James creeps to me and holds out his hand, gesturing with his head toward the door.
Without thinking, I slip my hand in his and allow him to pull me out of bed and into the hallway. After closing the nursery door, James whispers, “You’ll get better sleep if you don’t hear every noise Weston makes, Georgie. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
Like we did when I had mastitis, we fall into James’ bed, and he pulls me into his arms. Sinking his nose into my hair, he inhales. His exhalation tickles my neck and sends a shiver down my spine.
“I missed you.” His confession is so quiet that I’m not sure I heard him correctly. It’s not until he follows his comment up with, “Did you miss me, too?” that I know I did.
I nod. “Yes.”
His grip around me tightens as he draws my back to his front, eliminating the space between our bodies.
Within the silence surrounding us, something intangible springs to life.
James strokes down my side before his hand slips under my pajama top to caress my bare skin.
I suck in a strangled breath, hoping to minimize the softness and size of my belly.
His fingers wander across my abdomen, just under my breasts, teasing my sensitive flesh.
My nipples pebble instantly, and my heart seizes in my chest, anticipating what he’ll do next.
After overhearing James’ conversation with Josh and revisiting my fucked-up relationship with Nolan, I should be applying the brakes.
I should be protecting myself and pushing James away.
But lust duels with logic, and in the confines of this darkened bedroom with James’ body pressed against mine, logic loses.
His wandering hand keeps stroking me but shows no signs of moving further south. I know what I want to happen, but I’m too scared to voice it outright. So, instead I whisper, “Do you think you could… help me… relax again?”
With his head still buried in my hair, I hear his quiet groan that sounds almost like he’s in pain.
He sits up and slides down my body until he perches at the foot of the bed.
Rolling me onto my back, James draws his hands up my legs, starting at my ankles.
His mouth trails behind his hands, kissing up my calves, past my knees.
Wanton with desire, I spread my legs to make room for him as he settles between them.
His slow ascent continues until he reaches the juncture of my thighs.
His tongue swirls and sucks on my inner thighs.
The contrast between the scruff along his chiseled jawline and the silkiness of his lips heightens the feelings flowing through me.
His attention is everywhere but where I want it most. Lifting onto my elbows, I watch through the dim light as his blond head moves between my legs, kissing my skin. I’m dripping at the erotic sight.
“James,” I huff out in a whine. “Please.” Antsy restlessness hums in my body, and my hips twitch and roll.
Hooking his fingers under my pajama bottoms, he slides them and my panties down my legs.
After flinging my clothes onto the end of the bed, he presses his face to my sex and inhales.
His breath, hot on my skin, causes every hair on my body to stand on end.
I’ve never wanted a man more than I want James.
When he licks me from my slit up to my clit, I jolt at the sensation of his tongue.
My head drops back onto the pillow, and with each swipe of his tongue against my clit, my breathing grows more ragged.
With one hand, he pulls back my folds and sucks my pearl into his mouth as he plunges two fingers inside me with his other hand.
With a gasp, my inner walls tighten, and my back arches off the mattress.
My hands grip the sheets, my knuckles turning white, as James is relentless in his pursuit of my orgasm.
With every pump of his fingers and every stroke of his tongue, my arousal surges until pleasure blooms and then bursts, sending white-hot sparks flashing beneath my eyelids, and I come with a keening cry.
A few moments later, when I feel him shift, I open my eyes.
My juices cling to his lips, glistening in the moonlight.
Then, James’ tongue darts out, lapping up every bit of my cum from around his mouth, like he doesn’t want to waste a single drop.
Somehow, witnessing that act feels almost as intimate as what he just did to me.
When he notices me watching him, he rumbles, “The next time I make you come, I want to hear my name.”
With a languid grin, James settles back down beside me, pulling the covers over us. His erection pokes into my stomach, but when I reach for it, he pushes my hand away.
“But James—”
“Shhh, darlin’. Go to sleep.”
Cradling my son to my chest, I walk into the kitchen and strap Weston into his swing. By the time I get him situated, James already has a cup of coffee waiting for me on the table.
This is usually my favorite time of day. When everything is quiet and still… and when James is almost always shirtless so I can ogle his hot body. Just because I shouldn’t allow myself to become more emotionally attached to James doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a thing of beauty.
And his body is a true work of art. Those muscles. The light smattering of chest hair. The pajama pants that hang low on his torso. James’ body isn’t a gym body. It’s the body of a man who works out and works hard. There’s a difference, and it’s one I respect.
Oblivious to my staring, James scratches his jaw as he thumbs through a car magazine. He never grows a full beard, but he always has a little stubble. I’m not sure how it’s possible to always look like he hasn’t shaved in three days, but he does.
Noticing his stubble reminds me of what happened last night, of how good James’ scruff felt as he buried his tongue inside me.
It’s the second time that he’s made me come, and like the last time, we don’t discuss what happened.
Which seems to be our modus operandi. Something physical transpires between us, and then we ignore it without much, if any, discussion.
It’s as if we’re different people in the daylight.
I’m confused, but when he doesn’t bring it up, neither do I.
I learned from Nolan not to ask questions because I usually wouldn’t like the answers.
Maybe things happen between James and me under the cover of night because my body doesn’t turn him on in the light of day. In the darkness, he can pretend I’m as beautiful and svelte as every other woman who has graced his bed.
Uncomfortable with that depressing thought, I pull my borrowed robe tighter around my body, to cover as much of it as possible. Because for every ounce of muscle James has, I have a pound of flab.
Over the rim of my coffee mug, I watch James pick out the multi-colored marshmallows from his cereal bowl with precision, placing each one on a napkin. Then, he pushes them over to where I sit across the table from him.
Tossing a heart in my mouth, I ask, “Why do you give them to me every day?”
“Because you’re my lucky charm,” he grins, his dark blond hair falling over his forehead when he winks at me.
My nerves somersault within my stomach. I lean back in my chair, surprised by his response because it almost seems…
flirtatious. Is James flirting with me? I squint my eyes and take another sip of coffee, washing away the sweet chalkiness of the marshmallow.
Combing through the pile, I select a bright green four-leaf clover next.
A clover for good luck.
I’m going to need a big, old heaping dose of good luck to survive our fake marriage with my heart intact. Despite what happened between us last night, the contents of his conversation with Josh still circulate in my mind, reminding me to fortify the walls I have around my heart.
But… is he flirting with me?
Because you’re my lucky charm.
Shaking my head, I chastise myself. Stop with the delusions of grandeur and start working toward the goal of moving out, Georgie.
Ugh, moving out requires money. And to earn money, I need a job. Sheila still hasn’t called me about the waitressing position at Deb’s Diner, so I really need to turn in those other applications.
“Do you mind if I borrow a car this afternoon so I can get some job applications turned in?”
“Course not. You don’t need to ask to borrow a car, Georgie. I’ve got five, though only three are running,” he smiles. “Need me to watch Weston?”
“If you don’t mind, that’d be great.” My fingers reach up to find my locket, and I twist it around on its gold chain, feeling nervous.
“Assuming I get hired, would you be able to watch Weston for the first couple of weeks? Just until I get my first paycheck and can afford to pay a sitter to watch him,” I hurry to add.
As a first-class drummer, James’ time is valuable, and I don’t want him to think I don’t understand that.
He gets up from his chair, abandoning his bowl of cereal to get soggy, and kneels next to me.
Clasping his hand over mine, he gives me a squeeze.
“You don’t need to carry the burden of raising him alone, Georgie.
I love that baby. Of course, I’ll watch him while you work.
You don’t need to worry about hiring a babysitter.
And when I can’t watch him, we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”
Together.
Uncertainty floods my system. Other than Nana, I’ve never had anyone else who I could depend on. I blink back tears as I take a shaky breath. “Okay.”
I may question whether James harbors romantic feelings for me, but I’m learning not to question his feelings regarding Weston.
“Go get ready, Georgie, and I’ll take Weston out back. I’ll teach him all the names of the wildflowers as I water them.”
“The wildflowers are looking really pretty right now.”
“Not as pretty as you,” James says.
His casual reply is instantaneous, like he made it without even thinking about it. Like he’s just stating a fact, and my heart flutters in disbelief.
Is he flirting with me?
As I stand to leave the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, James calls out, “I’d like to take you to lunch after Weston’s doctor’s appointment. Okay?”
Coffee sloshes over the side of my mug as my footsteps come to a sudden stop. “Lunch?”
“It’s the meal between breakfast and dinner.”
“Shut up.” I purse my lips, unsure of exactly what James is asking.
“You’ve been cooped up in the house with Weston since we came home from the hospital. Now that he’s getting a little bigger, it’ll be nice for you to get out a bit.”
When he puts it like that, it makes sense. For a second, I thought he was asking me out on a date.