Chapter 16 Georgie
Georgie
Experiencing mastitis is awful, but it did break down some of the barriers between James and me. It’s been an awkward hands-on experience, pun intended, but it’s also been… kind of nice.
I sling my arm over my eyes, embarrassed at myself for admitting that it’s nice to have someone touch me, even if he was ordered to do it by the doctor. But James also stepped up on his own and took care of me in other ways.
During the nights, James woke up with me for every feeding, massaging my breast while Weston nursed, and when we couldn’t sleep, we’d play rounds of poker.
During the days, James forced me to slow down and stop doing chores.
He brought me food and made sure I took my medicine on schedule.
We took turns hanging out on the couch, picking what to watch on television—his sports shows or my reality TV programs.
We fell into a comfortable routine over those few days.
Although we were exhausted, we were exhausted together.
We functioned as a team, as partners. I’ve never experienced that kind of camaraderie with previous boyfriends before.
But things changed when the breast pump arrived, because around the same time, the antibiotics kicked in and I felt better.
So, James no longer needed to stay with me through every feeding.
He tried to get up with me a few times out of solidarity, but I told him to go back to sleep, making the excuse that the household will run smoother if one of us gets more than a few hours of sleep per night.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss our middle of the night whispered talks. Sleep-induced delirium led to some interesting conversations.
There was that one pesky bathroom incident, which neither of us has addressed again. Instead, we tiptoe around it, pretending he didn’t see me naked, and I didn’t touch his dick.
What a dick it was. Thick and girthy. Long, too.
I can’t get his words out of my head. I’m not saying it can’t happen again, but let’s revisit the issue when you’re feeling better.
All I’ve been thinking about is revisiting that particular issue. When his huge hands were doing the doctor-ordered massage of my breasts, as awkward as it was… I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have his hands on—or in—other parts of my body.
Rolling over, I stuff my face into my pillow to muffle a strangled moan as I rub my thighs together trying in vain the alleviate the pulsations humming through my body at the thoughts of James’ dick. It doesn’t help that said dick is only a few inches away from me either.
A lot of stuff went back to normal after the breast pump arrived, but our sleeping arrangements didn’t. I’m still sharing James’ bed. I love crawling under the covers each night knowing that James is there, waiting to pull me into his arms. Who knew he’d like to snuggle?
Not me, but I’m here for it.
Though I fear I’m getting a little too comfortable, so I’ve given myself another deadline. Once my ten-day cycle of antibiotics is finished, it’ll be time for me to move back into my bed in the nursery.
And then, I really need to unpack the boxes James rescued from my wrecked truck so I can find my vibrator and get some relief from these lusty feelings overtaking my mind as of late.
After James apologized for the bathroom incident, he sent mixed signals.
Sure, he left the door open for something physical to happen between us, but he first explained that his erection had less to do with me specifically and more to do with him just being horny.
I’ve had enough relationships with guys who use my body for their pleasure without forming any emotional attachments.
For instance, Weston’s father, Nolan.
Fucking Nolan, the Dickhead Deluxe.
When James offered me a place to stay, I thought I’d won the lottery. But that tabloid article has me worried. What if someone from my old life sees it? I hadn’t even considered that James’ notoriety might lead to my picture landing in the gossip magazines.
I roll over again in bed, as sleep eludes me despite the late hour.
What will I do if Nolan comes after me for custody?
Most likely, it wouldn’t even be Nolan; it would be his family. They wouldn’t push for access to Weston out of love or a desire to know their grandchild. Oh no, it would be for appearance’s sake. It wouldn’t look good for Nolan to be a deadbeat daddy.
Ha! Maybe that’s what D.D. should stand for. Not Dickhead Deluxe, but Deadbeat Daddy.
I rub my forehead with a grimace, letting out a long-suffering sigh.
Lying on his side facing me, James reaches for my arm, tugging me into his chest. As we lie spooning, my back to his front, his fingers trace a path up and down my arm, and no matter how good it feels, it does little to alleviate the stress coursing through my body.
“Try to sleep, darlin’,” James whispers, his voice rough with slumber. But when I keep fidgeting, he asks, “What has you fretting?”
“That article.” It came out days ago, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
“What about it?”
“It’s just… what if my ex sees it and recognizes me? I don’t want him to know I had a baby,” I admit.
Sounding more alert, James questions me. “What do you mean? He knows about your pregnancy, right?”
“Oh, I told him. Then, he told me it wasn’t his baby and that I should get rid of it.”
Pausing for a beat, James surmises, “So, he thinks you terminated the pregnancy?”
I nod with a half-hearted shrug. “He told me to, gave me money for it, and moved out.” I scoff softly. “I found out the following week, when my landlord started the eviction process, that all the rent money I’d been giving Nolan never made it to the landlord.”
“What a fucking asshole.”
“Now you can understand why I’m nervous for him to find out that I had his baby. I don’t want him anywhere near Weston. It's better if he thinks I went to another state and had an abortion.”
“If he wanted you to have an abortion, then he has no right to Weston.”
I huff out a breath. “I agree, but the courts won’t. He is the legal father, after all.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, darlin’. Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep,” I whine in frustration. “I can’t relax because my mind won’t shut off.”
James nuzzles my neck, murmuring, “You can’t relax?”
I shake my head. My breath hitches as something shifts between us.
“You’re feeling better, right?”
His words seem innocuous, yet they carry an underlying meaning, and they send electricity swirling between us.
“Much.”
James’ hand slips to my leg as he caresses my bare thigh. The heat radiating from his body warms my back as I sink further into his touch.
“I know a surefire way to relax you, Georgie,” he says, his smooth-as-velvet voice sounding deeper than usual. “Let me take care of you.”
“Yes, please,” I respond without hesitation, my own voice sounding breathy and soft. Molten desire burns through me, consuming me whole and taking my rational thought with it.
James lifts my leg, so my knee rests on his hip.
With hasty movements, as if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, his fingers pull the crotch of my sleep shorts to the side, and with his knuckles, he rubs my clit before sliding down to my dripping slit.
My inhale is sharp as a thrill shoots through me at his touch.
“You’re so wet.”
Embarrassment has vacated the premises because I freely admit, “It’s an unfortunate side effect of being in close proximity to you, James.”
James chuckles as he open-mouth kisses my neck, swirling his tongue along the pulse point beneath my ear. His lips move against my skin as he whispers, “I’ll see what I can do to help with that side effect.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” I whisper. “More. I need more.” I need more than just these teasing touches.
Every atom in my body crackles with anticipation, and my blood roars through my ears as the throbbing between my legs becomes more incessant.
“Greedy girl,” he rumbles. He slips two fingers inside me as his thumb massages my clit, circling it in delicious, firm movements. I’m getting wetter by the second.
I shiver as he strokes me, his movements growing rougher and fiercer each time he thrusts his digits inside me. His touch sears me from the inside out.
Oh God, I wish it was his cock filling me.
As my breath grows ragged, a moan slips from my lips.
James murmurs encouragement when my core tightens around him. “That’s it, darlin’. Drench my fingers with your cum.”
I’m wound so tight after months without an orgasm that I’m already close to unraveling. My hips buck against James’ hand, and his thumb circles my clit faster, delivering just the right amount of pressure.
My muscles tremble, and another moan, this one louder and longer than the first, falls from my lips.
James never stops pumping his fingers into me, curling them toward the front wall of my pelvis, hitting that special spot inside me.
Then, I snap as pleasure unfurls within me, sending shooting stars through my body as a languid, sluggish euphoria engulfs me.
James was right, I think to myself as I feel sleep settling over me before James has even slipped his fingers from my pussy. It was a surefire way to relax me.
And the next morning when I awaken to an empty bed, I can’t help but wonder if it was all a dream. A middle of the night fever dream that I just imagined.