20. August 24th
Angie
My best friend’s admission buzzes in my head like a bee as I curl up in the guest room bed after a shower. It’s after 10:00 pm, which for me these days equates to midnight. When Ana and Christina came back into the dining room to gather more dishes, our revealing conversation came to a halt. Their presence broke the tension that we didn’t want to put back together or explore any further. Why would I want to with him? What good would it do?
Unable to focus on the mafia romance I was reading, I close my Kindle and set it down. Instead, I think about Abby Martin and the wrongful pedestal I put her on all my life. The pedestal with bright showcase lighting demanding I pay attention to everything she was that I never could be.
He didn’t even like her, I remind myself. He had a crush on you.
Even with this new information tapping at my brain, I still can’t erase the years of what his dating habits have shown me. The woman at the store being a prime example.
I can’t believe how jealous I became. What is wrong with me? I’m the one who said we should have an open arrangement. He should be free to see whoever he wants. Hasn’t he been? I recount the months that have gone by since we struck this deal. He hasn’t gone out once and no one has come over, that’s for certain.
I cannot be getting this attached to him; I know better.
From inside my belly, one of the babies kicks, followed by another and another in rapid succession. I giggle, “Okay, you two are right. Mama will stop being so jealous.” My appeal to them doesn’t soothe their headbutting so they continue to party, uncaring that I’m tired and desperate to shut off my brain for the night. They’re usually at their liveliest at night in bed, but tonight, unlike most recent nights, I’m alone. I’ve grown accustomed to Rafael’s body pressed into mine, his big hand splayed out on my round belly, waiting for every kick and tumble these two offer.
Tears threaten to burst when I think about being alone for the rest of the night, and maybe for the rest of my life. Dating is going to be so much harder after kids, as if it wasn’t already hard for me. But am I upset at being alone, or am I upset that after our arrangement, there will be no more Rafael in my bed?
I know the truth.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand and I’m grateful for the momentary distraction. It’s a text message from Raf with a picture of what looks like his old physics binder. Zooming in, I take a closer look at all the notes scribbled in the margins. Notes between the two of us, because of course we sat next to each other in any class we could. Then I see a sketch I drew of Mr. Forton and Big Mean Kitty (the stuffed animal he’d use for experiments) getting married.
I’m helpless against the smile that curls on my face, but the warmth that spreads isn’t enough to distract entirely from my earlier thoughts. Regardless, I stare at the picture long enough to remember the simpler times.
When a soft knock raps on the door, followed by a slow crack, I look up to see Raf’s head pop in. “You awake?”
“Yeah. Just looking at the picture you sent me.”
Opening the door all the way, he steps in wearing only a pair of gray cotton sleep shorts. “Come with me,” he grins, throwing open my covers and taking my hand. “I have to show you something.”
“Okay,” I breathe, then stand with him and straighten my short floral nightgown before following him hand-in-hand to his bedroom across the hall.
Shutting the door softly behind me, he has me sit on the edge of his bed. His room has changed a little bit since he moved out—the dark blue and tan plaid comforter replaced with a warm gray duvet, yellow accent pillows and a throw blanket. Floating bookshelves grid the wall at the head of the bed along with matching modern lamps, once in the shape of different sporting equipment. The formerly mossy green walls are now a matching gray, but they’re still covered with his posters, medals, and artwork.
“Look what I found,” he whispers, even though his moms’ room is at the other end of the hall, and he pulls out an iPod Classic from his drawer.
“No,” I exaggerate.
“Yes!” He smiles then sits next to me, handing me a wired ear bud. “It still works.” I still have mine I pull out for occasions I don’t have wifi, but I thought he lost his.
His bare thigh presses against mine as he holds the brick of technology between us, scrolling in a circle with the pad and clicking until he finds a playlist titled RANGIE JAMZ.
“Oh my god,” I say, shaking my head. “This was back when we had to burn CDs in order to share music.”
“Mika!” he hisses, pressing play on Grace Kelly and immediately triggering my lyrical memory. It’s the kind of memory that makes you remember every single word because you’ve sung it over a hundred times. It’s the kind of memory that makes you anticipate that the next song will be Roses by Outkast because that’s the way the CD was burned. It’s the kind of shared knowledge only Rafael has with me.
“I think they like this song,” I smile, leaning against his shoulder and placing his hand on my stomach when the babies start kicking again.
“Come. Lay back with me,” he says, shifting us into place under the covers and wrapping his arm under my belly as he lays propped up on his other arm. His fingertips play along the thin flowy fabric as he waits for more kicks. “Oh yeah, they’re fans,” he chuckles, then leans in to talk directly to them. “Do you know how lucky you are to have two parents with excellent taste in music?”
“What do you think about when you hear this song now?” I ask him, rolling my head to the side to admire him.
It takes him no time at all. “I think about listening to it endlessly with you, hunched over the computer downstairs, and which one of us could memorize all the lyrics first.” My belly bounces up and down as I giggle at his memory because it’s the same one I have.
When the song ends and starts playing No One by Alicia Keys, my heart sinks, but he must be unaware because he asks, “What do you remember when you hear this song?”
Afraid to put words to it, I deflect. “What do you think about?”
“Hmm,” he considers. “That time you failed your chemistry test and we drove to the park for lunch. Do you remember?” I nod once but keep my mouth shut. “You studied so hard and were so upset. I knew you needed to belt something at the top of your lungs to feel better.”
It was a cold and damp spring day, but we blasted the song from the speakers of his little blue Impreza as I sobbed and released all my pain. I wasn’t someone who did well with failure when it came to schoolwork. I didn’t mind being bad at extracurriculars, but when it came to my academic success, I took it personally.
I remember that day. I remember being grateful for a friend who knew what I needed more than I did at the time. I couldn’t see past my anger and self-hatred, but he could, and he made me breakdown in tears in the middle of a desolate park on a Friday. He knew it would heal me. No one else knew how hard I pushed myself to get good grades. No one else knew the struggle I faced trying to be a role model to my siblings and keeping it all together for their sake.
But Raf did.
He could remind me to let go and scream until I could feel other emotions again. That it was okay to be mad, but to remember grades did not define me. He did it then, and he did it throughout college too.
But No One by Alicia Keys doesn’t trigger that memory for me.
“Is that what you think about when you hear it?” My best friend asks, scooting up to lay his head next to mine, his hand still caressing my belly.
“No,” I admit.
“Then what? I thought for sure it would be that.”
Maybe it’s because of that park memory and what Raf can pull from my emotional bank, but since our crush conversation earlier, it seems fitting.
“I think about you dancing with Abigail at prom when I hear this song.”
“Did I?” he asks, his face serious.
“Yeah. I was standing with Will near the entrance and I watched you dance together.”
“Why weren’t you dancing with him?”
“Because I didn’t want to slow dance with him,” I whisper. I wanted to slow dance with you, I think to myself.
“I don’t remember what happened that night much, to be honest,” he says in a low tone that captures my full attention, and then he glides his warm hand to the nape of my neck. “What I do remember, was how beautiful you looked and what a fool I was for not asking you myself.”
Oh fuck.
Let me just step off this cliff and—yup—fall to my death.
When his forehead presses against mine, my eyes fall shut. “You thought I was beautiful?”
His lips dust over mine before he whispers back. “You still are, Angel.”
His tender kiss is like one of our songs—a touch that elicits a memory. We’ve only been kissing a couple months, but the memories he transfers in the brush of his lips aren’t that of an act; they’re that of a love that’s been growing alongside us. It’s bonded our trust and care and mixed feelings into something that, even if we tried to break it, could never be.
Our kiss is slow and warm. Impossibly intimate. Every nerve ending I possess comes to life with each shared breath—with every graze of his lips against mine. His hand is still cupping my jaw, and I need nothing more than for him to keep it there. To keep me at his mercy. To kiss me like I’ve always dreamed he would.
As our kiss deepens and our tongues dive for the other, our breathing picks up. The weight of his body shifting causes the mattress to dip slightly as he braces his arms on either side of my head and lets his lower half fall against mine, his erection growing stiffer by the second.
This is a first—Rafael initiating that is. It’s always been me leading our games. That’s the way it was designed; I simply tell him when I’m horny and he takes care of it. Now he’s making the first move and with so many feelings wrapped up from our conversations tonight, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.
It’s a fucking great idea, my hormones shout. Wait, no. That’s my heart talking, not my hormones. He said you were beautiful, my heart pumps.
“I wanted to slow dance with you,” I exhale into his hungry mouth before I can stop myself.
“Me too, Angel. I wanted to kiss you then like I’m kissing you now.”
“I wish you would have,” I whisper, and his mouth drops to my neck, sucking gently and dragging his lips lower, across my shoulders and down to the stiff peaks forming under my nightgown. He lifts it off quickly, straddling me, running his hands over my breasts and stomach, admiring.
“I wouldn’t have known what to do with you back then,” he says almost to himself. “I had no game, no experience, no idea what I was doing.”
“You didn’t need game, Raf.”
“No, I clearly did. You had no idea how bad I wanted to simply hold your hand in the hallway. I wanted to carry your backpack and all your worries.” My heart stutters and my mouth goes dry listening to him admit this. “And I was being serious before, when I said I’ve never been with someone who looks like you.” His wide muscled chest rises and falls as he pets my hip. “It was on purpose because there’s no way I could have gone through with it without thinking of your incredible body.”
“Oh yeah?” I tease “My small chest, lack of ass, and thick ankles… That gets you going?”
“Angel, you rev my engine.” He leans down for a drugging kiss and his words wash away the whispers of my former insecurities—the insecurities I banished, but still itched in the back of my psyche from time to time.
“I have lost time to make up for, sweetheart. I want to touch you like this whenever I please. I want to watch you come because of what I do to you.” He pinches one of my aching nipples, shooting a direct pulse of desire to my pussy, making me forget that I’m supposed to be the one calling the shots. “Those were the dark days, the foolish days,” he rumbles, then pushes himself down my trembling body until his mouth hovers above my mons. “Let me prove to you just how much I crave this body.”
Rafael
She smells like the shower she just had, but tastes exactly like what I’m growing fond of. “Already so wet, Angel?” I hum, pushing my nose through her slit and dragging my tongue along for the joyride.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Can you be quiet for me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl,” I whisper back, licking at her entrance in slow measured strokes. From this angle, her rounded tummy is more pronounced than ever and a boost of masculine pride fills me.
I did that to her. She’s round with my babies.
But it’s not just me—I’m proud she’s the one carrying them. We may have stumbled into this by mistake, but it’s hard to see it that way when, if given the choice, there’s no one better suited to have my babies than Angie. No one is better suited to raise them with. No one is better suited to me.
Her adorably sexy whimpers encourage me to keep teasing her with my tongue, nipping at her softly with my lips. “I need more, Sir.”
“I know you do, Angel,” I smirk. “But I need this more. You’ll take what you’re given, is that understood?”
She lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good,” I growl, then use my thumbs to spread her open for better access to that perfect little pink pearl at the top. She writhes above me once my flat tongue drags over it, pulling a pillow over her head to muffle her moans.
When her fingers tighten in my hair and her muscles begin to contract, I know I have her on the precipice—and it’s then that I pull back my aggressive tactics and start slowly, gently, again. Angie whines and lets out a huff of frustration that makes me smile. This time, I enter her with two fingers, carefully pumping into her without touching her clit or her G-spot. I revel in her warmth and my trapped cock begs to be let free inside her. She’s more than ready to take me, but I can’t stop watching the way her bare and beautiful chest lifts and falls and the way her fingers play with each stiff peak.
“Please, Sir,” she whispers. “Please make me come. I don’t care how, just please make me come.”
“I don’t know,” I tease, then curl my fingers inside her to flex along her G-spot and she gasps. “I told you to be quiet and you didn’t listen.” She covers her mouth with her hand and her brows raise to watch me suck on her clit and fuck her with my hand. “See, good girls get rewarded.” Her low moan reverberate through her body, but it’s nothing compared to the spasms I create for her as she bears down, clamping my head between her soft thighs and riding my face like she owns it.
“Yes,” she hisses, but it’s more like a croak. She’s barely hanging on to her own sanity as I pump into her, curling my fingers and devouring her without mercy.
Before she can come back to reality, I pull her up and toss her onto her hands and knees. She immediately falls to her elbows and rests her head against the sheets, panting hard. Her breathing is interrupted by a string of small gasps when I plant my face directly in her ass and flick that teasing little rosebud. We haven’t done rimming until now, and I’m wondering why the hell not? Goddammit, I’m adding her ass to my diet from now on.
“Oh fuck,” she grits out and I spread her wide.
“That’s right, baby,” I purr. “I’ll fuck this one day soon. Would you like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I lick from her dripping wet pussy to her ass and shove my taut tongue inside her, fucking and massaging her with my mouth, then adding a couple fingers back to her clit and circling, pressing, pulling on it until she comes undone once more. The pillow beneath her face absorbs most of her cries, but just enough escape to make me swell with satisfaction.
I sit back on my heels for a moment, admiring her backside and toying with her slick center, as it pulses with arousal. “You were a very, very good girl, Angel. Now it’s time to take what’s mine,” I whisper, moving up with my cock in hand, dragging the sheathed tip through her wet folds, then coating the rest in her fluids. “Are you gonna take my big, bare cock?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whines. “Please.”
“That’s what I like to hear, baby,” I grumble and push in the first couple inches—just enough for my eyes to roll back in my head as I plant my hand on her ass for support. “Fuck, you feel so good.” I slide in a few more inches, then pull them out, watching her lubricate my shaft.
When I”m all the way in and her ass kisses the base of my cock, something in me snaps and I can’t stop the beast within me. I can’t play the slow and steady Dom anymore. It’s like her pussy is eating my control and every brain cell I hold—leaving only base animalistic urges. I want to kick out her knees and lay on top of her, pinning her down and rut into her, but the one brain cell she’s left me with reminds me of our babies she’s carrying, so I change tactics. Leaning over her, I give several deep thrusts, then scoop under her shoulders and pull her back up with me.
“Oh fuck,” she whispers, but I throw a hand over her mouth and let her sink down even further, letting her weight settle against my lap and chest.
“Hold onto my head, baby,” I whisper in her ear. “You’re gonna need stability in a second.”
“Hmm?” she whines beneath my hand before I thrust into her hard and her hands fly behind my head and lock in place. I pound into her from the bottom while I hold under her belly with the other hand. From this angle, I can watch her full breasts bounce with every hit.
I know she’s enjoying this, but I can tell she’s straining. “Lean all your weight against me, Angel. All of it,” I growl in her ear, and she obeys perfectly, her head lolling against me and her shoulders sagging. It already feels better for me too.
“That’s it. Give yourself to me. All your worries. Your pleasure. Your body. They all belong to me,” I soothe, drawing my hand from her stomach to her mons and pressing my flat palm against it enough to feel my own dick rocking inside her. Her moans tell me that added pressure is hopefully rubbing her G-spot against my cock.
Her tongue darts out and playfully licks between my fingers, but I clamp them tighter around her face and start strumming her clit with two digits. Her pussy squeezes me tighter, causing me to curse, and the last shred of control I held snaps.
I make it my mission to make her come again as fast as possible because I can’t hold back much longer. When she does, it’s glorious. Her whimpers drive me mad with lust as her pussy flutters around my buried dick. I’m about three seconds from coming inside her when I quickly remove my hand from her mouth and pussy and wrap my arms around her chest from behind and pummel into her core—the tight build bursting inside her.
The hair on the side of her face flies when I exhale heavily against her head. Sitting back on my knees and taking her with me, her soft body is made even softer by her limp and sated state. I’m clutching her like a pillow as I catch my breath.
“Fuck, Ang,” I exhale. “That was insanely good.”
“I feel high,” she whispers.
“Yeah? Nothing’s sore?”
“Not right now. I only feel pleasure,” she hums, and I catch her smile.
“Good. Me too. Hopefully hooked-in was a sex position you read about and wanted to try,” I chuckle, crossing my fingers.
“It wasn’t but based on my very recent experience with it, it should have been. Good call.”
I love when she compliments me like this. It’s exactly the kind of aftercare I want when I dominate. I want to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my partner is happy—so her feedback and praise she so freely gives me is just as important as everything else we do.
I hug her a little tighter before murmuring, “Thanks. Now, let me clean you up,” and then I’m pulling out, twisting her, and setting her down on the bed where I quickly latch my mouth on her wet center.
“Oh,” she gasps. “You know, one of these days you’re going to let me return the favor.”
“That’s not gonna happen tonight,” I mumble through her folds, lapping at my own release spilling out of her. “Tell me, what’s still on your smutty bingo card?”
She snorts but it vanishes when I start to pay closer attention to her clit again, replaced by her face relaxing, mouth hanging open. “Um,” she pants. “Fuck, it’s hard to think when you’re—oh god.”
“Tell me,” I drawl, working my jaw in tandem with my tongue into her heat, “what other fantasies you want to try. How can I please you?”
“Fuck me with a gun,” she blurts breathlessly.
That causes me to pull back immediately. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Please, Raf. I want you to fuck me with a gun.”
Angie has shocked me before with her requests but nothing at this level. “What? No!”
“Why not?” she whines, her hand flying to stroke her pussy and replace my mouth.
“Because I don’t even own a gun! And you’re pregnant!” I hiss. “Are you kidding?”
“No. I want it. Please,” she begs.
Her hand continues to play with her clit and I roughly snatch it away. “Don’t you touch what’s mine,” I growl, white-hot anger lancing through my blood. I have no idea how I’m going to get a gun or safely use it with her, but I know I’m going to make this happen as much as it freaks me out. “Can we table this fantasy for later, Angel? I need to work through some things.”
“Of course,” she smiles, then bites her lip.
Fuck, she really wants this.
I spend the next fifteen minutes eating her out again and making her come on my chin and fingers two more times. When I return to her rumpled and satiated body with a warm cloth to actually clean her up, she lets me maneuver her legs where I need to as she nearly passes out.
Good. I didn’t want her to return to the guest room anyway.
Folding back the covers, I climb into bed and take my new favorite spot—spooning her with my hand covering her stomach while her neck rests against my other arm.
A small hum comes from her lips and a contented sigh. “Are you happy, Ang?” I whisper.
“I am. I’m also tired. You wore me out.”
“That’s high praise coming from you.”
“If you wanted to sleep-creep me, that would be fine.”
Her ridiculous words make me smile. “I believe that’s illegal and morally wrong.”
“Mmm, no. I’m giving you consent ahead of time.”
Once again tonight, my brows pinch together. “You want me to fuck you while you sleep?”
“It’s more like, I want you to fuck me awake.”
We’ve come close to this since we’ve started sleeping in the same bed, but Angie has always been the one to give me the indication to wake up and slide into her. It goes against every fiber of my being to ignore that drilled-in teaching that verbal and enthusiastic consent is required before having sex. It was different when I was chasing her in the woods. I knew ahead of time she was going to say no, going to refuse me, but I had her safeword. It was all laid out ahead of time—between two conscious people.
“I need to think about this one too, Ang. I promise to take care of you in the morning, but I don’t know about this yet. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Let’s just go to sleep and pray your moms didn’t hear us.”
That makes me smile. “You know, I’ve never had a girl in my childhood bed before. This was pretty sweet.”
“Yeah. Your moms were kinda strict about that back then.”
A small laugh rumbles up from my chest and I pull her in tighter. “Probably because they thought I would get you pregnant if we did.”
“We showed them.”