Chapter Thirteen #2
“Wait,” he says hoarsely. “Condom.”
Obviously, it’s a bit late for that, but he doesn’t have all the facts. I can’t get pregnant now, though, so I kiss him lightly, then say, “I’m on the pill, and happy for you to leave it, if you want.”
He hesitates. I know it would have been drummed into him since he was a teen never to have sex without a condom. But what man wouldn’t prefer to ride bareback?
I move my hips, teasing him with my slick flesh, and he groans, holds my hips, and sinks into me.
“Aaahhh…” I close my eyes blissfully.
“Fuck,” he says, “Maddie…”
“You feel so good…” I clench my internal muscles, and he grunts, holds my hips, and buries himself inside me.
At that exact moment, there’s a brilliant flash of lightning, a huge crack of thunder a second later, and then all the lights go out.
We both gasp as we’re plunged into darkness. Jesus, I hadn’t realized just how far from civilization we were here. It’s completely, alarmingly black. I can’t see the doorway or the window, or even Caesar, right in front of me.
“Fuck,” he says, “that’s dark.”
We pause, locked together, and I know his heart must be racing the same way mine is. I blink a few times. As my eyes adjust, a faint outline of him becomes visible, and I realize the light’s coming from the four glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck to the ceiling years ago.
“The Crux,” he says, obviously realizing they’re in the shape of the Southern Cross constellation. “You want me to go and switch on the generator?”
I tighten my muscles again, feeling him deep inside me. “No.” I go to kiss him and miss, landing on his nose. He laughs and moves so our lips meet, then starts to move his hips. “We’ll have to do it by touch,” he murmurs.
Ohhh… this feels magical, as if we’re floating through ink-dark space, or the depths of the ocean.
Without my sight, my other senses seem to become more powerful.
Everything about Caesar feels masculine beneath my fingers.
The slight stubble on his jaw. The curve of his Adam’s apple.
The short curly hairs on his chest. The firm muscles in his arms and shoulders.
It’s all so different from my own body. He even smells different; his woody scent is sensual and erotic mixed with his beautiful warm male skin.
“Your skin is gorgeous,” he says, clearly feeling the same way. “You’re so soft and silky, and there are no angles to you at all. You’re all dips…” He glides his hand into my waist, “… and curves,” and he follows my hips around to my ass and tightens his hand on it.
He kisses across my face, around to my ear, and then down my neck, taking his time to touch his tongue to my skin. I tip my head back to give him better access, loving the way he’s so unhurried, as if he wants to savor every second and every inch of me.
He nibbles my neck, grazing his teeth and sucking, and making me moan each time. “You taste so good,” he whispers, his tongue lacing over my skin. “Fuck, I should have gone down on you. How can you taste so amazing all over?”
“Ohhh… you’re driving me crazy…”
“I want to,” he says fiercely. “I want to make you come again. God, you feel so good…”
I’m starting to spiral out of control again. “Mmm, Caesar…”
“Cupcake,” he says, and he gives a short laugh as he kisses back up to my mouth. “Here, you’re my Cupcake.” His voice holds a touch of possessiveness.
“Mmm, if you say so.”
“I do. Right here, right now, you’re all mine.” He plunges his tongue into my mouth, his hand finding my breast, and I groan. “Tell me,” he demands.
“I’m all yours.” I whisper the words, although they ring in my head louder than any bell.
He made me pregnant. I’m carrying his child. Of course I’m his. One hundred percent.
And then it hits me. When I said I was on the pill, he could easily have insisted on a condom. He trusted me, though. And now I’m never going to be able to tell him I’m pregnant, because he’ll assume I tricked him into it. Oh… shit. I’m such a fucking idiot.
Tears sting in my eyes, and I’m glad he can’t see them.
“I wish this night could go on forever,” he says. He slows down his hips, barely moving inside me. “Let’s stay here, in this cottage, for the rest of our days.”
I swallow harder, trying to contain my emotion. “Yeah, okay. We can order Uber Eats from Queenstown.”
“I’d never need anything else. I could spend my life doing this.”
I feel dizzy at the thought of making love with him every night for the rest of my days. Of being a family with Little Raspberry.
Tears tip over my lashes, and at that moment lightning flashes, flooding the room with light. Caesar stops moving and lifts a hand to touch my face as we’re plunged back into darkness, and the thunder crashes over the fields.
He brushes beneath my eye with a thumb and obviously finds it wet. “Why are you crying?”
“Just a little… overwhelmed.”
He touches his lips to mine. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
He brushes his lips across my face, kissing away my tears. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah…”
“I’m not hurting you?”
“No…”
“Do I make you feel good, Cupcake?”
“Yes…”
“Do you think you could come for me?”
“Oh, yes…”
He places a hand at the base of my spine, keeping me tight against him, and lifts an inch so with each thrust he grinds against my clit.
At the same time, he squeezes my nipple while he kisses me, and well, I’m never going to survive that.
My muscles begin to tense, and he obviously feels it because he says, “Yes…” and speeds up his thrusts.
We come together, in the darkness, our hot breaths mingling, and lock together in our ecstasy as if we’d been made to fit. My hands and toes curl, and I dig my nails into his back as my body clenches, and he shudders, his hips jerking in response, his cock twitching inside me.
It’s intense and powerful and beautiful, and I wish it could go on forever.
I don’t want to return to the real world, where we’re not friends, and where I’m going to have to make an impossible decision.
I want to stay here, where things are sensual and loving and perfect, where he wants me to be his.
But time never ceases her incessant movement, and the seconds tick by, and the glorious ecstasy that engulfed us slowly fades.
Our arms are around each other, and our bodies are pressed tightly together. He’s still inside me. I can feel his heart beating against mine. My hand is resting on his shoulder, and when I lift it to his neck and press, I can feel his pulse fluttering.
“Checking I’m alive?” he asks.
I laugh and lower my hand. “Just making sure.”
“Not a bad idea. I think I blacked out at some point.”
I kiss his neck. I want to stay, but I don’t want to hurt him, so I go to move away.
He tightens his arms though. “Don’t.” He wraps them tightly around me, pulling me even closer, if that were possible. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
“Okay.” I snuggle my head against his neck. Peter always withdrew the second after he came, so I’m not used to this.
We lie there for a while, listening to the rain pelting against the roof and windows. He strokes my back, and I try to contain my tears.
I should tell him I’m pregnant now, because at least then he’ll know it happened last time. But will that be enough to convince him I didn’t trick him into it? I’m not sure. He probably won’t believe the condom broke. He’ll think it’s Peter’s and assume I’m only saying it’s his to trap him.
If I tell him now, it’ll be the end of our time together here.
There’ll be no more kissing and cuddling.
There’s no way he’s going to say, “You’re having my baby?
Oh, how amazing!” There’ll be shouting and recriminations.
He’ll probably want me to drive him straight to the airport.
No, there’s no happily ever after for me and Caesar.
Fresh tears sting my eyes. I can’t bear to tell him. I don’t want this perfect evening to come to an end. Not like that, anyway. I’ll keep the news to myself and enjoy this time we have together. Then when we’re done, I’ll go back to reality and decide what I’m going to do alone.
He’s drawing patterns on my back, and I murmur my approval and snuggle closer.
Briefly, I try to imagine what life would be like if he knew about the pregnancy, believed it was his, and trusted that it was an accident.
If he was pleased and thrilled about it.
If we were really a couple. I can’t picture ever being that happy.
It occurs to me then that if I have this baby alone, it might be a long, long time before I meet a man who’s willing to raise this child with me.
It’s not the nineteen forties, and it’s more common than it was for families to have children with different parents, but even so, it would have to be an amazing guy who chose to take on a young baby that wasn’t his.
I wonder if it’s worse to be divorced from the father?
At least that way he’d be involved in decisions about the baby and you wouldn’t be entirely alone, but equally if the atmosphere between you is acrimonious, it would be extremely unpleasant.
At least, if I bring it up alone, I only have to answer to myself.
More tears spill down my cheeks. Only I would get pregnant by a man who hates my family with the heat of a thousand suns.
I’ve really, really fucked up.