26. Court
26
COURT
F uuuuuuck. Those words coming out of sweet farmgirl, big-bellied Lucy almost make me shoot my load. My whole body shakes for a second, and she laughs. Laughs!
“You’re so easy, Court Armstrong. Sit back while I have my way with you.”
And then she’s on me, sliding down my shaft until our bodies rest against each other. I’m deep inside her.
Fuuuuuuuuck.
Looking up at her is like a dream. Her honey-brown hair falls forward, all dry and curling on the ends. Her breasts loom over me in a temptation I absolutely cannot resist, so I lift up in an ab crunch to take one in my mouth.
But I fall back only moments later, when she rises over me and slides back down in exquisite, maddening slowness.
Her arms are propped on the pillow on either side of my head. Her belly rests on mine no matter where she is in the rise and fall of her hips.
I figure it’s best to let her set this pace since I don’t know what’s comfortable for her this late in her pregnancy.
She closes her eyes, a content smile on her lips. She’s happy here.
Then something in her catches, and she moves faster. I hold her on each side of her ribs, helping take the weight off her arms.
“Oh, God, oh yes,” she says, and I steel myself against the rising tide of pleasure to make sure she gets everything she wants out of this ride and more.
Her body heaves as she moves up and down, then side to side.
“Court!” Her voice is raspy as she lets herself go, tightening around me.
I’m with her now, lifting to meet her movements. Her body clamps down, over and over again, and that’s it. I’m losing it, pulsing into her as my vision goes starry, and the figure of her is bathed in an ethereal glow.
She holds still, letting me fill her. Then her arms collapse, and she’s on me, more or less, her belly keeping her farther than I think she’d like.
Even so, her forehead rests on my chest just under my chin. We breathe together, our inhalations the only sound in the room.
I run my hands up her back and gather her hair.
Then I feel the oddest thing against my stomach.
A twitch.
A thump.
Is that…
Lucy looks up. “We woke him up.”
“Is he kicking?”
She laughs. “He is. Right in the gut.”
I hold still, waiting for it to happen again.
Then it does.
Thump.
He’s real. He’s an actual little person with a leg and a foot.
And apparently, opinions about our activity and position.
“Yeah, I have to move,” Lucy says, carefully sliding off my body to the bed and rolling to her side.
We face each other. I rest my palm on her belly. Would he stop kicking now that she’s changed positions?
But no, there it is again. Thump.
“Does it hurt when he does that?”
“No. It’s weird, like I have an alien in there.”
“I bet.”
“It’s wildest when I’m lying perfectly still, and yet, my body moves.”
“Can he hear you talking?”
“Oh, absolutely. I wake him up all the time if I call to Matilda. I’m sure it sounds muffled, like when you go underwater. But it’s been proven they can hear. They recognize their mother’s voice when they’re born.”
“What about outside voices?”
“Those too. There are some schools of thought that they even know the steps you take to walk in your house. The creak of the front door. The tinkle of a spoon stirring milk into your coffee. Your routines are their routines.”
“That’s remarkable.”
“Talk to him enough in this last month, and he’ll know you, too.”
Would he?
“Hello, baby,” I say.
She runs her hands along the skin of her belly. “I guess we should wait on the test to talk about names.”
“Do you have any in mind?”
“Mildred or Agatha, if she’s a girl. Herman maybe, as a boy.”
I sit up. “What century do you think this is?”
She laughs. “I’m kidding. I haven’t thought too much about it. I guess I always refer to him in my mind as just ‘baby.’”
“I guess you could name him the old-fashioned way.”
She props her head up on her hand. “Family names?”
“Random name generators on the internet.”
“You’re so funny. I was named after my great-grandmother. Lucille Marie.”
“I like it.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Court Julian.”
“Oooh, I like Julian.”
“Really? I always wished it was my first name. Court got me lots of teasing.”
“How?”
“Basketball court, courtesan, courtroom, courtyard.”
“Is it short for anything?”
“Nope. I tried switching to Julian in middle school, but it didn’t stick.”
“I’m named after a mean cartoon character and a wacky sitcom.”
I laugh. “But they’re cool. Nobody messes with Lucy, either one.”
“Kids are mean no matter what your name is.”
“Also true.”
She rests her head on the pillow. “Julian. Julian Brown. I’ll have to fill out the form in the hospital. I don’t know if we’ll know in time to make him Armstrong.”
That’s a conundrum. “We’ll figure it out.”
She runs a hand along my arm. “Did the teasing as a kid bug you?”
I think she’s still trying to get at what makes me salty. “It wasn’t any worse than what everybody got.”
“Did you always know you wanted to work in a New York business?”
We’re heading into personal territory. “I don’t know many kids who think to themselves, ‘I want to work for a mid-sized media conglomerate when I grow up.’”
“Is that what Pickle Media is?”
“Yeah. It started as the marketing arm for the Pickle delis, then expanded.”
“When did you take it over?”
“When I graduated with my MBA. The company was always meant for me. Uncle Sherman likes to spin off companies for family.”
“I see. Must be nice to know where you’re headed and have a place ready for you.”
“Or maybe it takes away all your choices.”
She lifts her head. “Is that why you’re so salty at work?”
I figured that was on her mind. “Who says I’m salty at work?”
She sits up, working the covers until they’re loose enough for her to wrap them around herself. “Well, let’s see. I bet Devin would say it. And probably Dawn from merchandizing. And I’m pretty sure I got tyrant vibes from everyone in the hall that day Matilda got loose.”
I cross my arm over my face. “I have a reputation, sure.”
“Deserved.” She lifts my arm to make me look at her. “And yet, here you are, sweet as pulled taffy and just as flexible.”
I don’t respond to that. She waits awhile, then sighs and slides next to me, her head on my shoulder. “What do you do for fun?”
“Work out.”
“What about all those well-loved carpentry books on your shelf?”
I go stock still. “You were snooping in my things?”
“Oh, there it is. Salty Court. There’s nothing to snoop here. You could move in any family, and nothing would have to change.”
I sigh to show my aggravation. “I don’t spend much time here.”
“Not even on the weekends?”
“I belong to a couple of informal sports leagues. It keeps me busy.”
“I see. Did you skip out on them today?”
“It’s fine.”
“You did that for me?”
I stare at the ceiling. I’m not good at pillow talk. I prefer hotels where I can leave.
She bumps my chest. “Court! Bring back the man who was talking to the baby who kicked him in the gut while we were having sex.”
She’s right. My whole body has gone rigid and not the good parts.
She deserves something. We’ve changed the tenor of our relationship today. I know I initiated it, all of it. I have to follow through. “It was like you with your grandmother. I learned carpentry from my grandpa.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely. Did you make things?”
“Everything. Tables. Chairs. Chests. Beds.”
“What was the first thing you made?”
“A music box. We wired a spring inside, and it would play the Blue Danube Waltz .”
“I bet it was lovely. Did you make it for your mother?”
“My grandmother. For Mother’s Day.”
She sighs. “Isn’t it nice, the legacy family can leave us?”
I don’t answer that. My legacy was shuttered with my grandfather’s death. Uncle Sherman handed me a new one. I wasn’t even out of high school when it was all decided.
I change the subject. “You think you might name the baby Julian?”
“I like it. And Julia, too. Maybe it’s all set.” She snuggles her head next to mine.
I draw her close. I’m glad she’s content. It will have to be enough for both of us.