38. Marley
38
MARLEY
M y pussy clenches around Beau’s cock as he pounds into me from behind. His fingers are still rubbing my throbbing clit, and if he keeps up the pace, I might come yet again.
“Oh god,” I cry, my body tingling and alive with heat.
“I’m going to come, Marley,” Beau groans, his shaft filling me with each pulse and press of his body into mine. His movements become harsher and faster until he stills, thrusting only slightly as he empties himself inside me.
His warmth leaks from me, dripping onto the carpet below us. I don’t care, though. This moment is pure bliss. My head drops onto my arms on the couch, my breath coming stuttered and fast. A bead of sweat drips down my forehead and onto my arm. Beau’s hands drag up and down my back, soothing an invisible wound.
Words fail me. I thought that our first night together was the best sexual experience of my entire life, but I was wrong. Or maybe it’s because I was drunk, that I thought it was so good, but this just beat it tenfold.
Beau leans down, kissing my back and up my neck. His rapidly softening cock slides out of my soaked pussy, and I immediately miss him. A shiver wracks through my body as he shifts my leg off his thigh. There’s an ache in the muscle, but not enough that it’s painful. It’s a good reminder of what we just experienced, the way it felt.
I knew I needed to have him the moment he explained his tattoo, and I knew I would be waiting for that regret to hit after, but… it hasn’t. If anything, it feels right, like things are settling into place, the last piece finally clicking.
As if to agree with my internal line of thinking, both babies kick on opposite sides of my stomach. I gasp, their sudden movement a jolt of reality. “Woah,” I breathe.
“What’s wrong?” Beau asks, his voice suddenly panicked, all previous relaxation gone. I shiver as the sweat dries, my body no longer heated and moving.
“It’s okay,” I chuckle. “I think we woke up the babies.” I lift my head, and sit back on my heels, shifting so Beau can see that I’m really okay. “Here.” I reach out, taking his hand.
He scoots closer, but not before taking two blankets off the couch. He wraps one around my shoulders, and lays the other across his lap. I take one of his palms, resting it on the side where Baby Boy is kicking the shit out of me, and then take the other, to rest on the opposite side, where Baby Girl is. I lay my hands over his, and through his palms, I can feel the subtle bumps of the babies.
Beau’s eyes glaze over. He hasn’t felt them kick until today. They are asleep most of the day, only waking in the night when I’m in bed and he’s fast asleep. Beau is completely enthralled at the feeling, and it’s something I’ve gotten so used to that I forgot how incredible it is.
In my small living room, with his hands on my belly, our babies moving inside me, I allow myself to fall deeper in love with Beau Cunningham. For the first time since we found out I was pregnant, I really let go, and don’t fight my feelings.
We stay in the living room for far longer than necessary, only cleaning ourselves up after the babies’ movements slowed. We take turns showering, since my shower is not built for two people, especially when one is a plus-sized pregnant woman carrying twins.
I make Beau go first, since he’ll be quicker After I climb out, I do my best to dry myself with the towel that doesn’t quite wrap around my body anymore. Beau is standing in the open doorway of the bathroom, watching me with interest.
“Uhh, whatcha doing there?” I ask, my wet hair dripping down my back.
“Bringing you clothes,” he replies. He’s wearing a tee shirt now, and a pair of sweats. It’s highly unfair that he’s already in his cozy clothes.
“Oh,” I murmur, seeing the pile of clothes he’s laid out on the counter for me. “Thank you.” Again, here he is, meeting my needs before I realize them.
“I’ll let you get dressed,” he says, an almost sheepish grin on his face. He turns, closing the bathroom door behind him, and I let myself take an extra breath. I throw my hair up into a towel to wring out some of the extra water in it, and work to dry the rest of my body. Before dressing, I lather some sweet smelling lotion all over, internally cursing the Minnesota winters for making my skin so dry.
As I rub the lotion over my stomach, one of the babies kicks my rib. I wince, and press my fingers down on the spot. “Stop it,” I scold, as if they know what they’re doing to me. Like they’re responding, they kick back. I shrug the shirt over my body, cringing when it’s tight across my stomach. It used to be a loose tee on me, and now it barely stretches across my large stomach. I sigh, mournfully, knowing I still have weeks of pregnancy ahead of me.
I leave the bathroom, heading toward my room. Thankfully, I’m not quite at the waddling stage of pregnancy, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Seems like time has sped up since the day we found out I was pregnant.
Beau stands in the hall between my room and his, leaning against the wall as he scrolls on his phone. When he hears me coming, he slides it into his pocket, looking up with a glint in his brown eyes. It’s surreal to me that the man I’ve called my best friend my whole life—the one I’ve trusted with everything, the one I’ve pushed away more than once out of fear of getting too close—is here, and this is the path our lives have taken. I’m standing here, swollen ankles, huge pregnant belly wearing a shirt that no longer fits, no makeup, and my hair up in a towel atop my head, and he’s still looking at me like I hung the moon. Like I’m the one he would sacrifice everything for.
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and step closer to him. He reaches out his hand, taking mine without question. He leads me into my room, and unwraps the towel from my head. My damp hair falls down my back, bangs strewn across my forehead in what, I’m sure, is a ridiculous style.
“Where’s your brush?” Beau asks. He makes his way toward my dresser, where I have a random collection of things. “Nevermind, I found it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.
“Thanks,” I say, holding out my hand to grab it from him.
Beau holds his finger up in between us, shaking it back and forth. “Nuh-uh.”
I raise my brow, confused, until he guides me to sit on the edge of my bed. He climbs onto the mattress behind me, fingers already gliding across my shoulders.
“I can do it, Beau,” I try to reason, but he gently squeezes my shoulders.
“Let me, please,” he murmurs in my ear, and I catch the scent of his body wash. The clean, familiar smell of him makes me pliant and agreeable.
I nod, leaning back slightly. Beau starts by separating my hair into sections, then slowly runs the brush through the pieces of hair starting at the bottom. The touch is so soothing and relaxing, I find my eyes falling shut. When the brush reaches my scalp, I open my eyes.
“I think I’ll have to cut my hair once the twins are born,” I confess, voicing something I’ve thought about for the last few weeks.
“Why?” Beau asks. His tone is curious. “Not that it matters to me, you’re beautiful with long or short hair,” he rushes to clarify. I reach behind me, squeezing his leg.
“I know what you mean,” I say. “Babies are grabby, and sometimes, hair is the closest option.”
Beau scoots off the bed, ready to head to the dresser with the brush. I snap my fingers. “Hey, it’s my turn,” I scold.
He turns, brows pinched. “Your turn?”
“To brush your hair.” His hair is still in a knotted mess after showering. I gesture to the floor, and he smiles, handing it over, and sitting down between my legs. With one hand holding the brush, I run the other through the damp waves on his head. “You might have to cut your hair too.” The thought makes me sad, because I love his long hair.
“Nah,” Beau says. I can see his face in the mirror, and he’s all smiles as I run the brush through it. While his hair is long, it’s still much shorter than mine, and less tangled, so it takes just a few strokes of the brush before it’s done. “I think I’ll keep it.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Babies can be really strong.”
“There’s no way they’re that strong,” he tries to say, but I narrow my eyes at him through the mirror.
“Whatever you say,” I tell him. He stands, taking the brush from my outstretched palm. “I won’t cut it right away, but it might have to happen once they’re a few months old.”
Beau nods. He stands in front of me, almost awkwardly now, as if he’s waiting for something. I slowly stand from the bed, and pull back my sheets and comforter. My trusty pregnancy pillow is strewn across the middle of the bed. I feel some of the awkwardness radiating from Beau, and it’s making me uncomfortable, because… what now? We still aren’t together… at least I don’t think we are. It’s not like we had a conversation about it while he was inside me. Does he want to sleep in here? Do I want him to sleep in here?
My internal answer is almost an immediate resounding yes. Yes , I want to fall asleep with Beau’s arms around me, around our babies.
“You’re thinking awfully hard.” Beau rounds the bed to the other side, and pulls the sheets down.
I stare down at the pillow. “It’s just…”
Beau interrupts me. “Marley, I want to sleep in here. Is that okay?”
I nod. “I want that too,” I reply instantly, looking up at his handsome face.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“It’s… I take up a lot of space.”
His eyes narrow.
“I mean… I tend to sprawl out. And the pillow is the only way I get any sleep, so I’m just worried I’ll kick you or something.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Love, if you kick me in your sleep, I’ll consider it payback since you have to deal with the twins kicking you all day. I want to hold you. I need to be close to you.”
I nod, and do my best to climb into bed without looking like a flopping fish out of water. Apparently I’m not successful, because Beau snickers. “Hey, you try getting in bed with two babies in your belly. It’s not easy!” I roll onto my right side, and try to adjust myself again. Now that I think about it, maybe we should tape a watermelon to his stomach so he can know what it feels like. I’ve seen videos of that on social media.
I reach out, grabbing the pregnancy pillow and shoving it between my legs. I roll onto my back, sliding it under the bump and then roll back to my side. My face is toward the wall, my arms cradling the pillow. I hear the shuffle of sheets, feeling the mattress dip as Beau climbs in.
It feels… weird. The last time we cuddled, we were drunk, and I was convinced I’d just made the worst mistake of my life. Now, we’re thrust into this life together, something we have both wanted for so long, just not in the way we expected it. It makes me wonder if I can do this, if I really can let myself go, the way I slowly have been, to give us the best chance at a life together.
Beau’s arm wraps around my waist, cradling me against him. He scoots himself closer to me, instead of having me move myself after I just got comfortable. The small— minuscule, really—gesture is enough to have tears sliding down my cheeks.
I sniffle. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” Beau replies, and like always, he knows what I need. He holds me close and whispers all the exciting things that are coming for our future. Meanwhile, I lay there, feeling more connected to him than I have in my entire life.