Chapter 46 Tristan
TRISTAN
The plane is quiet, everyone mulling over the missed opportunity to sweep Toronto and clench the Eastern conference final in four games.
The loss was tough, but at least we’re flying back tonight instead of in the morning.
Knowing Ligaya will be in our bed when I get home takes the sting out of any disappointment.
“How are things going? Have you called the realtor?” Dexter Whitby asks since I had solicited some advice on housing. Ligaya’s townhouse is already cramped with all the baby stuff, and that’s before the shower she had today.
“Not yet. We can’t move till the summer, anyway.” What I don’t say is how much that depends on whether Columbus extends my contract.
Like he can read my mind, Dex pats me on the shoulder. “Great game tonight. You’ve been essential to the team’s success this year.”
“Thanks, Dex.”
“And the babies?”
“She’s almost thirty-three weeks. Sometimes I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that two human beings are growing inside her. Women are freaking incredible.”
“That’s the truth,” Lance mumbles from across the aisle, eyes still closed. “Cassie was in labor for over sixteen hours.”
“Fuck, that sounds awful,” I state incredulously.
“I don’t know how she did it, but she did it.
What no one tells you is the sounds women make during labor.
Cassie growled like she was possessed by a feral mama bear.
And whatever they say while in labor, don’t hold it against them.
Their bodies are literally getting pried open so your children can be brought into the world.
If Ligaya wants to call you an asshole, you say yes, honey, whatever you say with a smile on your face. ”
Sergei snorts. “You call that advice? Everyone knows you’re an asshole.”
“No one asked you, Petrov,” Lance barks back at Sergei. “Have you been practicing the breathing exercises from the birth classes?”
“When we can,” I answer his question. That lame sentence leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’m simply not around enough to help her practice every day. It’s frustrating as fuck.
“You can practice on your own, too,” Lance says.
Thinking he’ll brush me off, I prod, “Want to practice with me?”
“If you need me to, sure,” he responds nonchalantly.
I blink repeatedly, waiting for the punch line.
“You think I’m kidding?” Lance exclaims. “Whatever it takes to be there for your woman, you do it.”
It’s interesting to have this conversation with Lance, him offering to do breathing exercises with me. He’s a world-class superstar and one of the toughest men on the ice, yet his priority is someone else’s needs.
“I’ll let you know if I need help,” I state in all seriousness.
“You do that.”
The plane hums steadily, a low vibration usually conducive for napping.
A few guys are out cold, headphones on and hoodies up.
But in the front two rows, the energy hasn’t dimmed.
Adrenaline’s still running high, mine doubled.
It’s the leftover game rush mixing with my constant buzz of unease when I’m not with Ligaya.
Sharing my restlessness are Lance beside me, Dexter and Connor behind us, and Sergei across the aisle.
“My girlfriend’s pissed,” Connor grumbles. “Every time I text her, she just answers with a K.”
“Why is she pissed?” I look over my shoulder, happy to get distracted by someone else’s worries.
“I sort of forgot her birthday yesterday.”
We heckle him about what a shitty boyfriend he is. Nice to know other guys mess up.
“I’ll make it up to her when the playoffs are over!” Connor claims.
“You didn’t even send her a birthday meme? What’s wrong with you?” Sergei prods.
Connor cranes his neck to display disgust. “Memes? What am I, in seventh grade?”
Dex, calm as ever, shrugs. “Don’t knock it. A well-timed meme is a quick substitute for flowers till you get back.”
Lance turns, grinning at me. “Alright, Tristan. Enlighten us. What’s your strategy? Especially since your woman’s pregnant. You can’t send emojis and call it a day.”
It takes me a second to realize they’re all waiting. My instinct is to dodge, but instead I admit, “I call her. The first person I talk to in the morning and the last at night. Even if it’s after a late game, we try to get in at least two minutes.”
Connor clutches his chest dramatically. “Two minutes! He’s setting the bar way too high.”
Sergei smirks. “Bet that’s the only thing he can last two minutes at.”
Even I cackle, though the joke’s at my expense. When the snark dies down, Lance scratches his jaw. Watching him makes me acutely aware of my own playoff beard.
“These beards are brutal. I feel like I’m wearing sandpaper on my face,” I say.
“Mine’s itching so bad I might claw my skin off,” Connor complains.
“You’re itchy because you’re patchy,” Sergei pipes up. “You look like a raccoon with mange.”
“Shut up. My girlfriend loves it.”
“Your girlfriend is lying. She can’t even text you two letters to say OK.” Dex adds a snort to the comment.
“Sergei conditions his beard with an overpriced salon product imported from Japan,” Lance claims. Sergei swears up and down his beard is all-natural, no conditioner involved.
The teasing bounces back and forth, easy and familiar.
I lean back with a chuckle. The noise tapers into a quieter hum.
Dex and I chat about how to shut down Patterson during the next game.
Someone at the back mumbles about needing sleep.
Lance and Connor are on their phones, playing a video game in sync.
The flight isn’t some grand moment where I’m a Maverick in more than name. Yet I’ve tuned into their rhythm, somehow. Laughter lingers like background music I recognize. I’m not looking from the outside in. I’m already there.
***
The light from the hallway is bright when I quietly let myself into the townhouse.
“Tristan? I’m in the nursery.”
My heartbeat ticks up. Why is she up at three in the morning?
Slipping my shoes off and dropping my bags, I rush to the room. She’s sitting on the new gliding chair at a slight incline. Lamplight kisses the curve of her cheeks so her face is outlined by a soft glow.
“What’s wrong?” I drop to kneel at her feet.
“Nothing’s wrong. I wanted to see you,” she says. “And I couldn’t sleep lying down.”
My hands grab her hips and, like they’re magnets, our mouths fuse. It’s a delicious though rather rushed kiss, since my job right now is to ensure she gets rest. Mauling her is counter to that task.
“I’ll help you get comfortable in bed,” I suggest, while reaching around to gently massage her lower back.
“That feels good.” Ligaya sighing in pleasure is its own drug.
My lips find her neck, collarbone, and lower. Ligaya runs hot all the time nowadays. The slight sheen of sweat between her breasts is delicious.
“Tristan, don’t stop. I need you.”
That’s the other thing I noticed. She’s been voracious for my touch, my tongue, my cock. I’m all for it, yet also worried about Ligaya being so close to term. The doctor said as long as she hasn’t had any contractions, there’s nothing to worry about.
Who am I to deny a pregnant woman what she needs?
“What me to eat you out, sweetheart?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “Because I’ve been dying to taste you. Missed you so much, Ligaya.”
“I want your cock,” she whispers. “And sitting here waiting for you, I sort of got an idea. Do you want to try something?”
Without waiting for my answer, Ligaya stands up and guides me over the seat she vacated. Reluctantly, I take her spot and watch in amazement as she sits over me. Ligaya’s back leans on my chest and her ass presses down on my growing dick. As she grinds down, the glider rocks.
“Oh, I like that,” she moans.
I kiss her neck with soft suction. Her breasts heave and eyes flutter closed. At this point, I’m hard as steel. I reach my hand over to find that she’s soaked.
“I want more.”
“It might be too much. We don’t want to trigger any contractions.”
“But I need you,” she whines.
“I can’t say no to you, Ligaya.”
“Then don’t.”
“You’ll need to control everything,” I say. “Since you know how much you can take me.”
“I like the sound of being in control,” she states mischievously while standing and looking down at me. “Lower your pants, Tristan.”
Her voice has taken on a new quality. Darker than I’ve ever heard, excitement mixed with something wicked.
“I said, lower your pants and take out your cock.”
“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”
“Now.”
I snort at her sudden intensity but stop immediately when her eyes glower. Without further delay, I remove my buckle and glide down the zipper. My hardness springs up.
“This what you’ve been wanting?”
“You have no idea.”
“Come and get it.”
Ligaya turns away and slowly lowers her pajama pants, her ass canted up to my face level as she bends over. I grab her hips and lick the plush globes before me.
“Sit back,” she says, looking over her shoulder.
I do what I’m told, holding as still as I can because she’s in control.
Slowly, she lowers herself.
“Hold me up. My thigh muscles are not what they used to be.”
“Like this?” I ask, gripping her hips and taking her weight as she lines up her entrance. My cock is an easy target, since it’s pointing at the ceiling.
“Yes. God, Tristan, I could come with just your tip.”
So could I, dammit. She’s definitely taking more than the head of my penis.
“Easy, sweetheart.”
“Oh, it’s so good.” She slides down and I close my eyes, willing my body to relax. The weight of her ass on my groin, the pulsing grip of her folds, the smell of her hair spilling down her back . . . everything about her threatens to push me over the edge.
“Rock,” she says breathlessly.
It takes me a second to realize what she means.
This is a gliding chair meant to rock the babies to sleep or to rest on while feeding.
Resourceful as Ligaya is, she’s already put it to other interesting uses.
Instead of rocking full tilt, I test a slight movement.
The chair is sensitive enough to respond to the tug of my elbows on the armrests.
We rock back and forth on the most sensual swing ever invented.
Best. Chair. Ever.
The movement is gentle at first, her slippery walls making perfect friction against my hardness with every glide.
As the pleasure builds, Ligaya is no longer satisfied with the steady strokes.
She starts circling her hips, chasing down the increasing intensity.
The smoothness of our contact makes way for erratic pulsing of her body around mine.
“Come with me,” she orders.
When my woman decides to be in control, she’s the best kind of bossy. I release hot surges of cum as she continues to grind.
She collapses back after we climax.
“Are you OK?”
Her silent nod is the only answer I get.
“I’m gonna help you clean up and tuck you in,” I state, guiding her off me.
“Can I have a snack in the shower?” she asks drowsily while wobbling out of the nursery.
I am in love with the sexiest and cutest person to ever get pregnant. And since I can’t ever say no to Ligaya, I get her a snack.