9. Eden
Eden
Ifeel weirdly bolstered now I’ve made the decision. Gran listened to all my worries and managed to talk me through most of them. Not without calling me a tit more than once, mind you.
Becca and Bella hadn’t seemed in the least surprised when I told them Sloane wanted to be a mother, which led me to think they already knew. No worries, I’m glad Sloane spoke to someone. They also helped calm my anxiety.
The biggest breakthrough came when I had a full-on conversation with myself in the mirror, like I told Sloane. It’s quite therapeutic, actually, and possibly something I’d consider doing again. It was weirdly abstract, and I liked it. Mirror Eden was so much more grown-up than Real Life Eden. Wild.
Anyway, the top and bottom of all my conversations led me to realise that no matter what, I won’t be alone.
Obviously Sloane will be there, because if we do this thing there isn’t a chance in Hades I’m carrying.
So, sure, Sloane will be parent number two.
The thing is, one of my biggest hang-ups of the whole kid thing was knowing I could let it and Sloane down if I turned out to be a crap parent.
That’s when Gran called me a tit—the first time.
But after talking myself hoarse, I came to understand that I have so many people around me that if I struggle, I can’t fail. Gran was clear that parenting can be a bag of bollocks and there will be times life is stressful and chaotic, but isn’t life like that anyway?
She asked me if I put all of that aside and concentrated on picturing a baby that was mine and Sloane’s, would I love it unconditionally? Would I give the kid my all?
At any other point in my life, I would have answered no to at least one of those. But now? I know I would love it because Sloane and I created it. Plus, I would give anything to Sloane, and I know that would go for my kid too.
That was it. I looked at myself in the mirror and made the decision.
Just by the way Sloane looked at me I knew it was the right one.
I’ll do anything to make her dreams come true, and I can see in her eyes this means the world to her.
I might need a little more time to be bouncing off the walls about it, but that’s just me in all facets of life.
Right now, though, I have my beautiful wife smiling a smile of a bajillion suns, looking at me like she wants to devour me, and I’m here for it.
“I think we should get some practice in,” I growl against her lips.
She gasps as my hand curls around her arse and squeezes. “E-eden, d-do I need to…oh God.”
“You were saying?” I chuckle, guiding my hand between her thighs.
“Do I need to explain how making a baby works?”
“However it works, you need to orgasm, right?”
Her eyes roll in the back of her head as I rub her through her jeans. “Not necessarily,” she groans deliciously.
“Huh, weird, I’m sure I read that somewhere.”
“Orgasms are good though,” she squeaks.
Pia and the kids are away for the afternoon, so I’m taking advantage of the empty house. We’ll stay in the bedroom though, just in case we have any unforeseen guests.
“On the bed, baby.”
Sitting, she shimmies her hips until they are on the edge of the mattress, all eager, legs spread just enough to say, try me. There’s this wild and cheeky glint in her eye—she wants me to throw her around, and honestly, it’s my favourite thing.
Sloane’s never been shy about what she likes.
Sometimes I think she could teach a masterclass.
She’s already unbuttoning her jeans with her left hand, the other hand gripping the comforter, knuckles white.
I grab her foot and yank, not gentle, and the jeans come off in one aggressive motion.
It makes her laugh, this little trill, like she can’t believe how much she loves me being an utter brute sometimes.
“You have a one-track mind, babe,” Sloane says, but she’s not complaining. Her voice is teasing, a little breathless.
“Only for you.”
I climb on top, hands braced on either side of her head.
She’s still in her shirt, a crisp white thing she stole from my side of the wardrobe.
It’s the only white shirt I have, and it’s saved solely for weddings.
I’m determined to make a mess of it. I pop open the buttons, slow just to see her huff in impatience, revealing her bra—navy blue lace, classy, totally Sloane.
It’s not that I don’t worship her, because I do. If I could lay her out and paint every inch of skin, I would. But there’s also something primal about the way she gets under me, the way she yanks me forward by my t-shirt and crashes our mouths together, like we might die if we don’t do this.
She slides her hands under my tee, and I try not to laugh at the way she always skims her fingers just under my ribs, because she knows it makes me ticklish. But then her mouth is on my neck and her fingertips pinch my nipples, and that’s the end of me.
I’m not always very good at expressing myself in words, but Sloane always knows what I mean, even when I’m just breathing her name into her hair.
She flips me with a sudden twist, and for a second she’s straddling me, gloating. Her legs are so strong, digging into my hips—sometimes I wonder if she could break me in half, and if she did, would it even hurt?
She grinds down and I actually whimper, which would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the way she looks at me when I do.
I tug her down by the shoulders so our teeth clack together. “Ow,” she says, but she’s grinning, eyes crinkling at the edges.
“You’re such a menace,” I tell her, biting at her jaw.
“Hop to it.” She’s already reaching for my belt.
With my belt undone, she works on the zipper. I help her out, because otherwise she’ll just rip the fly, and then I’ll have nothing to wear tomorrow.
“Do you want…”
I shake my head. “Just you.”
She nods, and then she’s in my lap, hands sliding under my boxers, and I swear to God she’s learned how to short-circuit my brain.
When she rocks against me, I lose the ability to form words. There’s just her heat, her skin, the little breathless noises she makes when I slip my hand into her underwear and find her already soaking wet. She grinds into my palm, and it’s all I can do to keep up.
We’ve done this a hundred times, but it always feels like the first. My fingers slide effortlessly through her pussy, amping up my own excitement. Sloane’s hand picks up the pace, and I know the moment she zeroes in on my clit I’m done for.
Sitting up, I cradle her body against mine, loving the feel of her against me. She bears down, crushing both our hands, but it’s just the pressure we both need to come.
Sloane screams first. Her hips stutter and her orgasm runs down my palm as I bury my face in her neck and let her ride it out.
When she slumps, boneless, I roll her onto her back before she can speak.
My mouth finds her swollen and hot. Reaching for her thighs, I hold her still as I suck her in.
My face is a mess in an instant, but that’s okay.
Sloane can clean it off once I’ve made her come again.
Her hips jolt as I set an unforgiving pace on her clit.
She’s rock solid, and it’s not going to take long before she’s a quivering mess.
“Eden,” she moans.
I won’t answer because she doesn’t need words. She needs my tongue fucking her entrance and then sliding up to flick her clit before I suck her in again.
The sound I rip from her throat is gratifying, to say the least. Her entire body trembles, and she gushes into my mouth. Utter perfection.
I wait until she’s able to open her eyes before making my way up her body. Bracketing her head with my hands, I look down at her. She knows it’s not over by the way I roll my hips down. Her nose flares, and her eyes dip to my mouth, which is definitely glistening.
“You made a mess, babe,” I say, low.
I watch her hands grip the bedsheet. “I can clean it up,” she says breathlessly. I offer her a single nod and lower my head. The kiss is pure heat. Sloane licks around my mouth, tasting herself, and I’m on the cusp of coming again.
The second I pull back, she’s already arching up, mouth hot at my jaw.
“Let me,” she says, fingers already working me.
I let her push me up and scoot down below me until her face is directly under my throbbing pussy.
By the time her tongue finds me, I’m a goddamn puddle.
I don’t last. I barely get out her name before the world goes white and I’m gripping the headboard with enough force my hands hurt.
We crash after, limp and breathless, a tangle of limbs and laughter. Sloane’s face is flushed and so happy. I love her most like this: hair a mess, eyes bright, knowing she’s just debauched me.
She brushes hair off my forehead. “You okay?”
“Never better,” I mumble, pressing my nose into her shoulder. “Think I might be dead.”
“That’s good. Because if you say no to co-parenting after that, I might actually murder you.”
I snort, the sound muffled by her skin. “You’re such a psycho.”
“You love psychos,” she says, pinching my side. “You need a shower. You want to go first, or…”
She trails off, biting back a smile that’s not entirely innocent.
I shake my head, but she’s already rolling me onto my back, kissing my jaw, chin, mouth, everywhere.
“Shower,” I try to say, but it comes out as a groan.
An hour later we’re showered, hair dripping, and padding into the kitchen in our towels.
Sloane’s got the ‘I am about to meal prep with excessive intensity’ face, so I perch on the counter out of the blast radius, letting her do her thing.
I try not to stare at the way the towel keeps threatening to slip down her chest, or how it only covers her ass with a millimetre or two to spare. Yum.
She’s slicing up an army of vegetables with more focus than I’ve brought to any single task in my life.
“So, what’s next?” I ask, wanting to sound casual but probably failing.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Next…”
I shrug. “You know. Babies don’t appear by magic. Unless you’ve been keeping something from me?”
She snorts, almost slices her finger, then gives me a look. “You want logistics?”
I nod, suddenly very interested in the way she’s mincing garlic.
Sloane sets the knife down, wipes her hands on the towel, and hops onto the counter beside me. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been researching.”
Of course she has.
“There are, like, a million options, and none of them are cheap, easy, or non-weird. I thought maybe we could figure out what feels least insane?”
I nod. The word ‘researching’ is Sloane’s love language. “Shoot.”
“Okay, option one: sperm bank. Science babies. Downside: expensive, impersonal, kinda clinical. Also, you have to pay extra if you want to see a donor’s baby picture.”
I laugh. “Gross.”
She ticks it off on her fingers. “Option two: we pick someone we know. Downside: weird legal stuff, and also, most of the guys we know are…eh.” She makes a face. She’s not wrong.
I consider this, thinking about the list of men in our lives. “What about Bryce?”
She gives me a look. “You want our kid to be that tall?”
“Nothing wrong with a gangly baby.”
She grins, leans in to press her cheek against mine. “I’ll put Bryce on the shortlist.”
“Option three?” I ask.
She picks up a carrot, drums it on the counter. “Adoption. But I want…I want us to try this, first.” Her voice goes small. “I want to see you in our kid.”
The denseness in my chest almost floors me. “Sloane.”
“It’s silly.”
“It’s not silly. I get it.” I reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. “But you know, even if we end up with a goblin, I’ll love them anyway.”
She laughs, all twisty and delighted, and I realise I mean it. I’d take a goblin for her. Hell, I’d take three.
“Thanks for choosing this,” she whispers into my shoulder. “And me.”
I hold her. “You’re it for me, you know? Have been since I clapped eyes on you in junior year.”
“Yeah,” she says, voice thick, “I know.”
We sit on the counter like that, two idiots in towels, until the timer on the oven blares and she scrambles off me with a yelp. I let her go, grinning.
Practice might not make perfect, but it’s a pretty good start.
The next few days fly by in a blur of work, gym, and covert glances at Sloane’s phone as she buries herself in “research.” I can’t help but notice she’s quieter, more thoughtful.
Sometimes she’ll just be gazing at me, and when I catch her, she pretends she was looking at something behind my head.
I know that look—she’s plotting, and whatever it is, I probably won’t know about it until I’m in the thick of it.
Friday lunchtime I get a message from Jenna all but ordering me to her house for a barbecue the next day. Sloane gives me this weird smile when I let her know we’ve been summoned. Mum calls me and asks if I know what’s going on because she too got a message.
By the end of the afternoon I’ve played phone tag with all our friends, wondering why we’re deviating from eating at my parents’ house.
I’d like to know why I’ve been designated as the group fucking secretary!