22. Mandi
Time flies.
Things are happening so fast, I’m getting ahead of myself and falling behind, all at the same time.
With the tap of the keyboard, the black-and-white image on the screen freezes on a perfect view of our baby.
The sound of his heartbeat fills the room, and mine picks up, as if trying to match his pace.
He’s real.
At least we’re pretty sure he’s a he. Eyeballing the grainy images isn’t enough to give a definitive result this early on, but our obstetrician seems to think the angle of the little Tic-Tac-sized blip that would indicate his gender is dominantly male in and decently developed, for a thirteen week old fetus, and Jason looks pretty smug about that.
There’s no denying where the kid got his girth genes. Especially since Jason has attempted to discreetly adjust his cock twice since we got here. Only he’s not discreet about it, because there’s no hiding the size of the bulge in his jeans.
I glare at him, while the doctor puts his wand away and the room fills with silence again. The doctor wipes some goop from my belly, lowers my gown, takes one look at my face, and gulps.
Jason asks — or rather tells — him to give us a moment, in private in a tone that makes the guy scurry, and I swat at his arm the second we’re alone. “Would you quit getting hard in the doctor’s office? What is wrong with you?”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you weren’t so fucking gorgeous, I wouldn’t. You know I love the sight of your bred little body,” he says, lifting my very unsexy medical gown up to expose me again. “What else am I going to do when you’re getting all lubed up and your blessed fertile insides are being broadcast on a screen, for me to see? It’s like a double-feature movie of my favorite fucking things.” He gestures at my belly and the image on the screen.
I cross my arms with a huff and try really hard not to love how relentless his adoration is for my developing baby bump.
I swear, I’m bigger at this stage than I was the last two times I was this pregnant. I grew a significant amount in the past week, and I had two nightmares about blowing up like a balloon and floating away by the time I’m full-term, because even Jason couldn’t hold onto my strings.
The doctor assured me it’s normal to show sooner with each pregnancy, though, so now I’m not worried. Which means I’m only feeling fruitful and sexy, and that’s a real problem.
Jason isn’t kidding. He gets a major kick out of seeing and touching my growing belly, and he has been fucking insatiable.
I’ve never felt hotter in all my life, and it’s driving me crazy. The spike in my libido is so… inconvenient.
Jason slowly circles my bellybutton with his finger. “I don’t think you’re allowed to be mad at me for loving you,” he says. “Do you want me to distract you and help you vent some of your crankiness by arguing about baby names again?”
He bends to press his face to my bump, and then he scuffs my sensitive skin with his beard as he hums and kisses me. “How about Chuck? Or Norris?“
I give him a death glare. “We are not naming our baby after Walker, Texas Ranger. And if you don’t get your dick under control, I’ll revoke your rights to add any other names to our list.”
He shoves his hand inside his jeans and strokes his cock, making it even bigger. “Am I a bad husband if I’m turned on by my wife?”
“No,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.
“Is it bad if our doctor knows I love my wife?”
I sigh and stare at the monitor. “No.”
Jason looks at the screen too, his usually sharp and stern eyes so dopey with love, I want to spread my legs and beg him inside. How is he getting even hotter? The closer he gets to Doting Daddy, the more in love with him I fall. I didn’t even know that was possible.
“Are you annoyed our baby is a boy, and you’ll have two men in love with you?” he asks.
My eyes prickle with tears. “No. I want that. This is the first baby I’m allowed to keep, and of course I want him to love me. I want all of our children to love me.”
“They will,” Jason assures me. “From the moment they meet you.”
God, I want to believe him. I want to be able to hold our baby in my arms and not worry about how long I can enjoy it. My heart starts to race at the thought of losing another son. I still have two trimesters to get through before then. What if it’s out of my hands? Jason has so much faith in me.
I put on a brave face, wipe the building sweat from my palms, and rest a hand on my belly in a silent prayer that I won’t let anyone down. Not again.
We may never meet our oldest son.
Gerrard Mordant was our main lead, since he was the one who took the babies away, but he died in a freak boating accident two days before the guys planned to question him. Jason swears he had nothing to do with the man’s death, which I believe, because he sulked for weeks about missing out on his chance to torture the guy.
We have had the luck to find a close DNA connection through one of the four online registries we filed with — who must be our son, since Jason and I don’t have any other common relatives — but the profile in question is obscured, with no name, no photo, and their information locked and private. All we have is an ID number, and whoever it belongs to hasn’t responded to accept our message request.
“Do you think we should message Number Six-three-two-nine-four again?” I ask, fidgeting with my gown. “Should we message every day?”
“And be the crazy stalker parents who scare him away?” Jason counters, his eye soft as he studies me. “No. It’ll be a big deal for the kid, and we shouldn’t rush him. We’ll give him a bit more time, and if he still doesn’t respond, I’ll set Vince’s hacker on his ass, to get his personal data. Then we’ll stalk him in real life, so we can casually run into him in person and let him fall in love with you that way.”
I try not to smile but fail. “I love you, Jason King. And I know it’s totally immoral and wrong, but I love that you’re not even joking.”
“So you’re not cranky anymore then?” he asks with a sexy smirk. “I should get the doctor back?”
I squeeze my legs together and sigh. “I don’t suppose we could delay it any longer?”
“Why?” He pushes my legs apart, and then sets my feet into the bed’s stirrups, to keep them open wide. “Are you scared he’ll see how wet you are and think you’re the kind of woman who gets turned on by gynecological exams?” he asks with a grin, before leaning in and running his tongue up my crease.
I moan and drop my head back against the raised bed. “Oh God. Now I’m going to be thinking about you, doing this, when he’s doing that. You mean jerk.”
Jason chuckles and pulls a few tissues from a nearby box, to clean me up a little. “You know this was your own doing, right? I didn’t fuck you for three days, because you didn’t want him to see cum inside you and know what a slut you are for my cock, but you’re giving away your own secrets, gushing like this because you haven’t had your weekly quota.”
“Don’t make me sound like a sex-crazed maniac.” I lift my chin, hoping I’ll appear moderately dignified. “I’m the mother of your children.”
“You don’t see a connection between the two?” He laughs again and helps me into a more appropriate position. “Alright, Princess. How about we ask the doc what he needs to do, and see if we can skip a few steps or do them some other time? Would that appease you until my cock does?”
I keep my head held high as I nod. “That will do nicely. Thank you.”
“I’ll go sort him out, so he knows what’s what,” Jason says heading for the door. “It’s not like I’m excited about his being in my territory, anyway. I only got him for you because he’s the best, and I want you taken care of. I’ll be back soon.”
* * *
Jason won’t stop lookingat me on the drive home. He’s trying to figure me out, and I’m doing my best not to panic, because I don’t want him to worry.
“You’re thirty-seven,” he says, as if I didn’t hear it enough before we left the obstetrician’s office. “That’s hardly ancient. Lots of women have babies in their late thirties and forties. It’s going to be fine.”
I look out the window, as we wind down through the forest, toward the lake. We’ve decided to live here all year round. Jason does the odd bit of consulting work if he spots an interesting pattern in the stock market, and I paint. Together, we’ve been healing the rifts our hearts suffered over the years and preparing for a more glorious future.
I rub my belly and sigh. “You heard all the risks. What if something goes wrong?”
“It’s not going to, because I’m going to make sure you’re taken care of, every step of the way,” he says matter-of-factly.
“But—”
“Are you doubting me?”
I shake my head. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You won’t,” he assures me “You couldn’t.”
He pulls into the garage, opens my door, and helps me down from his truck. He leads me down the hall and parks me in my new studio, before he peels me out of my clothes and helps me into my painting smock — one of his old shirts.
“There’s a new batch of paints in the utility room if you need them,” he says and kisses my forehead. “I was saving the surprise for a rainy day, but I can see some clouds coming when I look in your eyes, so why don’t you bust them out now, and I’ll bring you a cheerful snack?”
He starts to walk away, but I grab his hand and pull him in, so I can hug him. “Thank you. I love you.”
“I know. That’s why you’re going to help me take good care of you. Paint something that makes you feel good, okay?”
I nod, and watch him walk away. “I don’t know how I got to be so lucky, but I’m glad you let me live in your heart, Jason King,” I call after him.
He walks back to lean against the doorframe, watching me. “There was a hole there without you, Princess,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and heading for the kitchen. “Peanut butter or hazelnut spread?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Hazelnut, please,” I shout back, surprised I’m being offered something from the Restricted Foods list he had his nutritionist draw up for me the day after we found out we were pregnant. Do I look that miserable?
I take a fresh canvas from the stack against the wall and lay it on the floor, before lying next to it. I mark out some of the key features of Jason’s face in pencil. The stern set of his jaw. The tilt of his smirk. The sparkle in his eyes. The lines that show how serious his expressions have been all these years, and the newer, happier lines I hope will be etched more deeply than any of the others by the time we’re old and gray.
“Is that me?” he asks, handing me a jar of chocolate-hazelnut spread and a spoon.
“You said I should paint something that makes me happy,” I say with a smile, enjoying his blush. “Maybe your Mom would like it for her wall, so your face can make her happy too.”
“I doubt she’d notice a picture of me, either,” he mumbles, looking uncomfortable with the compliment.
“She may not show it the way she once did, but she appreciates you, Jason,” I assure him. “The nursing staff told me her mood lifts after your visits, and if that’s not proof, I don’t know what is. You don’t need to underestimate your effect on people, babe. You’re actually very hard to ignore and remarkably unforgettable.”
He scratches his head and continues to avoid my gaze as the color in his cheeks deepens. “If you say so.”
“Oh, I do. And I would know.” I stretch out my leg, so I can poke him with my toe.
He turns to me, his eyebrows raised like he’s awaiting a request he can then grant for me.
“You’re very sweet, and you’re so cute when you blush, it’s impossible not to look at you,” I say, looking him up and down while I slowly suck the hazelnut spread from my spoon, and then lick my lips. “Thank you for my snack.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, bending to collect the kiss I’m reaching my pursed lips up to give him. “I hope you enjoy the treat. It comes with a complimentary blood-sugar test later. Don’t think I haven’t heard of gestational diabetes.”
I suck a little more chocolate from my spoon, savoring it while I continue to look him over with appreciation. “Worth it.”
Jason snorts and kisses me again.
“Mind if I hang out in here with you while I read?” he asks, raising a parenting guidebook and the stack of pamphlets the doctor gave us about all the scary shit that can plague older women in pregnancy besides diabetes — like the increased chance of multiples, birth defects, and all the shit I’m trying not to think about. Apparently, Jason’s going to dive in head-first, research the hell out of everything, and then figure out how to ease my mind about it. Fucking hero.
He waits, poised for my permission because the studio is my territory. I give him a good top-to-toe eyeballing. “You can stay if you take off your shirt,” I say sweetly.
“Just the shirt? You don’t want me to model anything else?” He nods at a fresh canvas. “Maybe you can paint my cock next. That’s pretty good at making you happy too.”
“You don’t think I’ll need a bigger canvas for that?” I tease.
“Only if you were painting Vince.” He snorts, before his smile vanishes. “Which you won’t. Ever. I forbid it.”
I smile and turn back to my work, to focus on getting his nose right. “I wouldn’t want to do that, so don’t worry.”
He grunts softly, takes his shirt off, and makes himself comfortable on a nearby beanbag.
“I don’t think we should do this test,” he says after a while. He holds up the leaflet about amniocentesis he’s been reading. “They use a big fuck-off needle. It says the risks of hurting the baby are small, but there are still risks. And for what?” He flips through the pamphlet again. “To find out if our baby has an extra chromosome? That wouldn’t change how I feel about our kid. More chromosomes to love, right?”
He holds up the page about Downs Syndrome and points at the picture. “Look how cute this kid is. If this was a fucking catalog, I’d order this.” He swipes through the pages again with angry sweeps before throwing it over his shoulder. “Scaremongering assholes.”
Unable to stop smiling, I watch him grab the next leaflet, and then shift my attention to my canvas, to pencil in his expressive eyebrows.
He tosses two more pamphlets aside and declares that he only wants me to have necessary medical care and none of that model-babies-onlybullshit. “Whatever the fuck comes out of you, I’ll love it, I swear. It could look like fucking Daryl, and I’d still love it.” He pauses and then points an accusatory finger at me. “If it looks like Daryl, you and I are going to have words. I’ll also realign Daryl’s features with my fist, so nobody can note any similarities he has to my fucking kid.”
I laugh quietly, drop my pencil, and get to my feet. I walk over to Jason, step a foot either side of him, and then lower myself onto his lap. “You keep being this adorable, and I’m going to forget why I was moody.”
“That sounds like a good thing,” he says, sliding his hands under my painting shirt, to grip my bare ass.
“Oh, it is,” I assure him, before leaning in to kiss his sexy fucking mouth.
His phone chimes, and he stiffens beneath me.
I look at him sideways, trying to interpret the slightly alarmed look on his face. “I thought you silenced all your contacts and notifications for the day?”
“I did.” He locks me in place with one hand and tilts us both, so he can grab the phone from his back pocket. “All but one,” he adds, holding up the screen for me to see.
It’s a message-approval response from the DNA-registry site.
My heart goes a mile a minute. My breathing too. ID:63294 is agreeing to communication!
Jason grips my throat and shakes his head. “No need to panic, Princess. We’re in this together, and we’re going to make it work. We’re his parents, and we will act like it. We’re patient, and we’re open to all possibilities. Pace yourself.”
A calm washes through me, and I nod.
He releases me slowly, and kisses my lips. “Good girl. Now let’s just sit here and eat some jar-chocolate, while we craft an eloquent message that’ll convince our estranged son to meet us. I’m thinking we offer him candy and puppies.” His eyes are warm and sparkling.
I gaze at the man I love, who knows exactly how to handle me and give me all I need to know everything’s going to be okay. “You’re going to be an excellent father, Jason King.”