9. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Elsie
March 23 — 12 Weeks, Plum
S ince I gave him our new roommate rules, Marshall and I have been playing house quite successfully.
He’s finally exited the office completely, which has my whole staff letting out a sigh of relief. He has found other ways to occupy himself during the day.
Despite having a cleaning crew come to the house once a week, my home has never been cleaner than since Marshall moved in. I’m pretty sure he’s pulled every tchotchke off my shelves to dust, and he re-alphabetized my books by genre, then author’s last name, all while keeping the series together and in the correct order.
He even put up a whiteboard on the fridge next to my pregnancy calendar and has been keeping track of the baby’s growth. Every day, he marks the day on the calendar, and each time I hit a new week, I wake up to find another awful drawing of a fruit or vegetable alongside the phrase “Baby is the size of a….”
He’s put hair claw clips in every bathroom so that when the nausea takes over, he has one on hand to pull my hair back with, and he even wears hair ties on his wrist now.
There’s dinner on the table waiting for me when I get home every night from work. Every dish of which takes my current food preferences into account.
I know he’s been spending time with friends during the day, but I’ve never seen him go out like a single twenty-nine-year-old bachelor is supposed to do.
Not even on the weekends.
However, when I’m home, I become his whole focus.
This morning is no different.
“Good morning!” Marshall says when I appear in the kitchen at 6 a.m. on the dot, as is my routine.
“Morning,” I grumble.
“Which sounds better, huevos rancheros or breakfast tacos?” He asks, turning around to heat up the cast iron skillet for our breakfast.
“Tacos. Always tacos.” I reply, smiling softly at his consideration, to wait to start breakfast and ask my preference.
“Good. That’s what I was hoping.” He says, smiling to himself. “Do you think you can stomach chorizo?”
“Ooh. Yes. Gimme all the spicy.” I groan.
In the past few days, I’ve been craving all sorts of spicy foods, but for some reason, it’s hard to admit that to Marshall and just ask for the things I want.
It’s that way with a lot of things with him .
“?A mi princesa le gustan las cosas picantes? Anotado.” My princess likes things spicy? Noted. He says with joy in his tone.
“You think you’re being so clever speaking Spanish around me. While I might be rusty now, I’ll have you know I aced all of my Spanish courses in college and did a study abroad in Spain for a semester,” I say, my tone growing slightly too defensive.
“I’m not trying to be clever.” He says, turning around to grab an onion from the basket on the island for the tacos. “Lo estoy haciendo para que la bebé también lo sepa.” I’m doing it so the baby knows it, also.
“Oh,” I say sheepishly, glancing down at my stomach where my hands are now resting. “Okay.”
“I’d like all of my kids to speak Spanish. I think it would be nice for them to be able to speak fluently with my family and especially my grandparents, who only speak limited English.” I shrug, going back to preparing our breakfast.
I’d never given much thought to Marshall’s family before.
I know very little about the man who’s now living with me, actually.
Sure, he barged his way into my life purely because of the new life in my belly, but that doesn’t mean I should treat him like a stranger, right?
We have slept together, after all.
“Right. Sorry.” I mutter.
“No need to apologize. There’s a lot we still have to learn about each other.” He says simply.
He’s right, though.
While part of me wants to maintain a distance from him, another craves to know more about him and his life, including his family .
Family, who will soon also belong to our baby.
A thought that has me shuddering.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” He asks when the room grows quiet.
“Mostly just work...”
“It’s Saturday, though.” He says with a raised eyebrow as he chops vegetables.
“I know, but work doesn’t stop just because it’s a weekend.” I sigh, thinking of the to-do list I still have to get through. “Though, I was thinking...”
“What are you thinking?” He asks, switching to whisking the eggs for our tacos in a bowl while the chorizo cooks in the pan.
“You’ve been really... good... this week,” I say carefully.
“Good?” He asks hesitantly.
“Yeah. You took the list, and you kind of ran with it.” I say with a light laugh. “You even cleaned out the fridge of everything expired and anything I’m not supposed to eat, just in case.”
“I’m not letting you get poisoned by expired food if I have anything to say about it.” He says, his voice growing serious.
“I’m just saying I appreciate you making the adjustments I requested.”
He whips around. “Are you saying... thank you?”
“Well...”
“You are!” He drops the tortillas in his hand and rounds the island to take my face in his hands. “Say it. Say, ‘Thank you, Marshall.’”
“Thank you, Marshall,” I grumble.
“Oh, hell yes. Mark the day. March 23. Elsie Snow said thank you to me!” He laughs, giving me a kiss on the cheek before returning to making our breakfast. “So, what’s my reward? ”
The moment is so candid it catches me off guard, and my hand goes to the place where he kissed me, marveling at the warm feeling it left in my chest.
“Reward?” I ask after a moment.
“Yeah. I get a reward, right?” He chuckles. “Bribery will get you everywhere, princess.”
I roll my eyes at the endearment.
Which, unfortunately, is becoming less and less irritating each time he uses it.
“Fine. I was thinking we could go to the club this weekend.” I say, confidence coming back into my voice and posture as I remember myself. “Today marks twelve weeks, and I am almost in the second trimester.”
“I know.” He says, nodding to the pregnancy calendar he marks off each day. “La bebe tiene el tama?o de una ciruela ahora.” The baby is the size of a plum now.
“Yeah, well… I thought we could celebrate a bit and go to the club.” I suggest.
“I did notice that the nausea and whatnot seems to have gone away. It seems like la peque?a ciruela azucarada is giving you less of a hard time now.” The little sugar plum. He shrugs and tries to hide his goofy grin before returning to making breakfast, but I catch it just before he turns. “I’m game for a weekend at The Playground, though.”
“Good,” I say with finality.
Reluctant as it may be, I’ve realized Oliver and Selene are right about the horniness which showed up around the time my morning sickness stopped earlier this week.
He has been an excellent trophy… something, the perfect boy toy. So, I fully plan on playing with him this weekend while we’re at the club to curb some of this need that appears every time I see him in his gray sweats or coming back from a run without his shirt on.
Those are my favorite mornings, seeing him shirtless and glistening with sweat. The man is absolutely gorgeous with his tanned skin and ocean-themed tattoos on his right arm.
He said I have to ask for what I need, especially when I need to be fucked. And, while I’ve been tempted several times to jump him this week, I could never bring myself to do it.
The Playground Club is neutral ground, though, and it’s intended to be used for meaningless sex at that.
The Playground Club and Resort is a swingers resort and BDSM club an hour outside of Houston that caters to patrons with particular lifestyle interests. People come from around the country to stay at the resort for several days, or even weeks, and attend the club in the evenings. Those who are primarily local chose to only come for a night or two and enjoy the club atmosphere.
It is a getaway from the mundane of daily life and a retreat from the expectations of society for many who come to visit, including myself.
Though my friend group adopted me only a year ago, I found the club long before then, visiting for a long time just to watch others navigate the lifestyle club.
“You said you had to do some work?” Marshall asks, putting my breakfast tacos down before me.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking myself from my thoughts.
“Why don’t you spend the morning doing that, and I’ll pack our bags for the weekend.” He suggests.
“You’d do that for me?” I ask, shocked that he would want to do something so silly for me. “I can pack my bag, you know.”
“I know, but you have other things to do, and I didn’t make any plans otherwise.” He explains, which makes me feel better about asking him to do this for me.
“Then, yeah. That would actually be really nice to have that off my plate.” I say.
“Consider it done then.” He smiles, settling down at the breakfast table with me to eat.
Breakfast goes by with a pleasant quiet between us, and when we finish, I go into my office to get work done while he does… whatever he does during the day.
It all has a very homey domestic feeling, which is both a little shocking and… pleasant?