Chapter 32 Ligaya
LIGAYA
The car ride home is silent except for the occasional tick of the turn signal. My hands rest on my belly, fingers splayed. Tristan glances at me every few seconds, but I keep my eyes on the passing buildings outside the window. I don’t want to talk about what I heard. Not yet.
Tristan’s knuckles are white for how tightly he’s gripping the steering wheel of his rental.
“I didn’t know he’d say those things. I swear I didn’t think he’d be that disgusting.”
“Tristan.” My voice is gentle, but final. “Please.”
He nods, jaw tightening.
By the time we arrive at the townhouse, the air is tense with everything unsaid. I unlock the front door with a key that feels heavier than usual. Tristan follows, quietly shutting the door behind him.
I kick off my boots in the entryway, drop my coat over the back of the couch, and exhale.
“You can sit, if you want. Or pace. Whatever you need.”
He hesitates, then settles onto the edge of the couch.
“I am so sorry, Ligaya.”
“None of this is your fault. There’s no need to apologize,” I say softly, stepping closer till I’m between his knees and stroking his hair.
“But I need to ask, do you see it? Do you recognize how cruel your father was to you? How dismissive your mom is about the pregnancy? That wasn’t awkward. That was abusive.”
He shudders. “Yeah. I do. I always knew they were shit parents.” He rubs a hand over his face. “It was the way they treated you that pisses me off the most. And what he said. God, I should have punched him for it.”
I sit beside him. “No punching for my sake, please. I know who I am and what I bring. What your father thinks of me isn’t important right now.”
Tristan guides me closer, kissing my belly before splaying me on his lap. We hold each other. The need to soothe Tristan after that horrible confrontation is so powerful, my eyes burn.
“We’ll be raising kids together, Tristan. Do you think he’ll treat them that way, too?”
“I’ll never let him,” Tristan answers immediately and firmly.
He meets my gaze. “I don’t want to be like him.”
“You won’t,” I say without hesitation. “The fact that you’re worried about it means you’ll never be like him. You’ve always been the better man, even when you were a kid. You couldn’t be like him even if you tried, trust me. Trust yourself.”
His forehead touches mine. For a moment, we just breathe together.
“His face when you told him about counting his mistakes,” Tristan says with an almost smile. “Priceless.”
“Sometimes I say things and it takes a minute to catch up. You’ve been on the receiving end of that more than once.”
“You’ve got a sharp tongue, Terror, but it’s also fucking delicious.”
We kiss passionately. Our bodies entwine and our tongues sweep in a rhythm so mesmerizing, nothing else matters. I end up on my back with Tristan serving as a barrier to keep me from falling off the couch. His mouth moves to my neck and his hand grabs a heavy breast.
“How have you been? Two weeks is too long for me to be away.”
I smile. “Routines help. Want to do it with me?”
He perks up. “Yeah, totally.”
We go to my bedroom so I can get into shorts and a shirt—my preferred pajamas.
“First off,” I say, flopping onto the yoga mat beside the bed. “Light stretching helps with the ligament pain.”
Tristan strips down to his boxers, and I’m momentarily agog. I will never get used to his sculpted muscles and tapered waist and tree trunk legs. My baby daddy is a Greek god moonlighting as an underwear model. Swallowing my drool, I guide us through seated twists and gentle side bends.
“You’re more flexible than I am,” I observe.
“It’s the hockey.”
“Do you think the kids will be athletic?”
He shrugs. “They’ll be whatever they want to be.”
Somehow, those words are more powerful to me than any promise of support or parental advice.
They’ll be whatever they want to be.
He is going to be the best father.
After the stretches, I hand him a small jar.
“This is moisture balm to help with stretch marks.”
He opens it, sniffs. “This smells like fancy cake.”
I lie down and lift my shirt just a bit, revealing the smooth, tight skin of my belly.
He kneels by the side of the bed and licks his lips.
His hands are gentle. Reverent, even. The cream is applied in slow circles, sensual and tender.
His fingers follow the curve of my body, and every stroke stirs me lower, creating pleasurable tightness in my clit.
“God, I’ve missed you so much,” he mutters in a sexy rasp. “You’re all I think about.”
“Me too,” I admit. I’m about to pull him on top of me when my stomach growls, loudly and with comedic timing.
Tristan grins. “You’re hungry.”
I didn’t eat much at the brunch. No one did.
“Starving.” I sigh dramatically.
He kisses the curve of my belly, then stands. “Stay here. I’ve got it.”
He disappears and I lie sideways, hearing him clatter around in the kitchen. Drowsiness descends upon me, which is typical any time I lie down. My eyelids get heavy, and I bury myself under the blanket.
Not sure how long I nap, but when Tristan wakes me, he is holding two plates, each with a delicious-looking sandwich.
“Pan-seared chicken, lettuce, tomato, and a bit of Dijon. Do you want mayo, too?”
I sit up and take one of the plates. “No mayo. Thank you, Tristan.”
“My pleasure.”
“Did you toast the bread?”
“I’m not a monster,” he says with a chuckle.
The sandwich is perfect. He swallows his in a few bites and then watches me eat as if it’s the best part of his day.
Afterward, I clean up at the bathroom while he insists on tidying up the plates.
When he’s done, he comes back to the bedroom where I plan to keep him. I’ve had a nap and a meal, which is the ideal state of a pregnant woman for at least the next thirty minutes.
His hands settle on my waist, then slide to my hips.
“Still hungry?” he murmurs.
I grin. “Different craving.”
I pull his hand till he sits at the edge of the bed. I kneel and look up at him. My experience with oral sex is limited, to say the least. But I’m dying to taste him, this man who is hotter than an underwear model and can whip up a killer sandwich to boot.
Is there a better combination? I think not.
Also, I’m curious. What would it be like to taste him? To give pleasure instead of receiving it?
“Tell me how you want it, Tristan.”
His nostrils flare. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Teach me.” I lick the head of his cock where salty liquid pools. My fingers wrap around his thickness, the smoothness of skin a stark contrast to his rigid form.
He gently brushes hair away from my forehead. I lean down to take more of him in my mouth. He groans.
“That’s it, Ligaya. Grab it tight and wrap your mouth around the head. Yes, sweetheart, you’re taking me so good.”
I shift my position so I can dive downward, taking more of him.
“Fuck, that feels like heaven. Your tongue. Swirl your tongue. That’s it. What a good girl, choking on my cock and fucking loving it.”
I’ve never been called a good girl before.
Body: Me like!
Brain: I’d venture to guess years of academic validation and performance theater has left you with a praise kink.
“Am I doing it right, Tristan?” I whisper, my breath grazing his crown.
He fists my hair and pulls my head back. It isn’t rough, but there’s no hesitation in the gesture. I’m forced to look up at him. Although I’m lower, there’s no sense of helplessness. Knowing I can please him empowers me. It is also an unbelievable aphrodisiac.
“Am I pleasing you?”
Eyes blazing, it’s as if he can read my mind and knows exactly the roles I want us to play.
“You’re doing it perfectly. Even if it is too fucking big for your pretty lips. I love watching your mouth stretched wide. Does my cock hurt when I shove it deep, sweetheart?”
“It’s too big.”
“That’s because you turn me on so much. Only you can make me this damn hard.”
My body shivers with pleasure when he uses his grip to push my head downward again.
I’m overwhelmed by his size but focus on relaxing my throat so I can take more of his girth.
He continues to lavish me with praise. I’m so turned on, my nipples hurt.
I roll my tongue around his head. Out of instinct, I suck hard till my cheeks hollow.
Between pleasurable moans, Tristan tells me how much he loves my mouth. How good I make him feel.
“You like being praised, sweetheart? You like knowing how much you turn me on?”
I nod and swirl my tongue while taking him deeper and faster.
He groans and throws his head back. After a loud grunt that sounds like a heady mix of pleasure and frustration, he strokes my jaw in a silent order to stop.
“My turn. I want to reward you for being so perfect at sucking my cock.”
Tristan lifts me and strips me of my clothes. My back hits the bed, the cool sheets a shock to my heated skin.
In a blink, Tristan’s mouth is on my clit. The pleasure is quick and sharp.
“Oh, like that! Yes, yes.”
He grabs my ass and tilts my hips, delving that skilled tongue into my depths. Taking turns lapping up my arousal and sucking my clit, he brings me to the edge in minutes. I’m so close.
Suddenly, the shrill, insistent blast of my ringtone pierces the air. It’s on my bedside table. I reach over to silence it.
Tristan looks up from between my legs and glances at the buzzing phone. He reads the caller’s name. It’s John.
“Isn’t that your ex?”
“What? I’m sorry. I’ve silenced it. Let’s—”
“Answer it,” he barks.
I shake my head, because that would be insane. He can’t possibly mean it.
“Can you think of a reason for why he would call?” The question is spoken calmly, but something dark lingers in his tone.
“Not a good one.”
Tristan laps up the crease of my wet pussy before pressing the flat of his tongue where I need it the most. I gasp and throw my head back in pleasure.
Which is why I don’t realize Tristan is holding my phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.
“Tell him,” he grunts, squeezing my thighs. “While I’m eating you out, I want you to tell him to never, ever, call you again.”
Then, in a moment of insanity, Tristan accepts the call and dives in.