Normally, this isn’t much of a worry, but she’s very, very pregnant. She’s also five days overdue and pretty desperate to get this baby out. Her car is in the garage, though, and she didn’t mention going anywhere today, so she has to be around here somewhere.
It’s possible she’s napping. It’s also possible she’s gotten herself stuck somewhere. Last week, she got trapped in the living room lounger and had to resort to texting me for help. I tried not to laugh, but I failed. Boobgate went into effect until I bought her apology flowers and her favorite non-dairy shake. Violet has been craving a lot of ice cream during this pregnancy, which is not ideal since she can’t handle lactose.
I call her name for the tenth time as I head upstairs. I check the most obvious places first. Our bedroom is empty and our bed is made, the bathroom door is open and there’s no Violet in there, and she’s not in the nursery or her sewing room either. I check the guest bedrooms and bathrooms just in case, but still no Violet.
I head back downstairs, my concern growing. I check the office, but again, no wife. I continue down the hall, past my workout room to the library. Which is exactly where I find her. Doing something she definitely shouldn’t be considering her current state. She has earbuds in, which accounts for the reason she couldn’t hear me calling her name.
She must catch the movement in the doorway out of the corner of her eye because she glances my way and startles, dropping the armful of books she’s carrying. “Shit!” she yells, then starts hopping around, smashing into the waist high towers of books arranged in haphazard piles around her.
The domino effect is rapid and impressive. One tower goes over, knocking into the next one and then the next.
“No! Oh God, no!” Violet tries to save the next pile from going over, but all she succeeds in doing is causing the ones behind her to tumble when she bumps them with her butt.
Within thirty seconds, all but one of the book towers has fallen. Her face crumples and she bursts into tears. “I organized it all for nothing!” She lowers herself to the floor, slowly. It’s more of an actual crouch and a gentle plop, but it still causes the remaining tower to fall.
Here’s the thing about my wife. She’s not usually super dramatic. Quirky? Yes, which is one of the traits I love most about her. She also says what’s on her mind when it’s on her mind, something else I love about her, even if it means sometimes she says things that embarrass her.
But pregnant Violet is a whole different story. She’s not only dramatic, she’s also emotional and hormonal. Individually, I can handle any of those things. The hormonal part I manage exceedingly well. I’m more than happy to service my wife and her needs as often as she likes. Which has been very, very often all throughout this pregnancy. I’m also aware as soon as this baby comes I will no longer have access to the boobs, or the rest of her for a while, so I will take what I can get when I can get it.
The emotional side of my wife is something I’ve had to learn how to deal with because she’s generally not much of a crier. Sure, when we went through a rough patch back when we were dating and I was an asshole, there were tears. And when I had that accident and ended up in the hospital with a severe concussion, there were more tears, but other than that, she’s really pretty level.
At least until I got her pregnant. Now she cries at tissue commercials, or cute stuffed animals—pretty much anything will bring the waterworks, really. And with her being five days overdue, she’s extra sensitive.
“Baby, what’re you doing?” I carefully step over the mountain of books surrounding her.
“I was organizing books until you came in here and ruined it all!” she sobs.
“But the books were already organized.” We used the Dewey Decimal System to set them up. Every shelf is organized based on book genre and then they’re alphabetized. Violet insisted on it.
“All the romance books weren’t organized by sub-genre, though. The contemporary romance was in with paranormal romance and the new adult fiction and the classics. It was all wrong. I needed to fix it. And Sunny said exercise will help get this baby out. I just want to be able to see my vagina again. That’s all. And my feet without sitting down.” She dashes away the tears. “Look at this mess! And I’m too tired to clean it up now.” Her shoulders slump and she exhales a long, exasperated breath as she rubs her belly.
“Come on, baby. I know it’s comfy in there, but I really want you to come out so we can meet you. And so I can see my feet again and Alex can stop worrying that he’s poking you in the spine every time we have sex.” Her head snaps up. “We should have sex. Maybe an orgasm will get him out.” She grabs the hem of my shirt and starts pulling it over my head.
“Do you want to go upstairs? The bed will be more comfortable.” My words are muffled by fabric.
“Let’s be spontaneous and have sex here.”
“Okay.” I’m not going to argue with Violet, not when she’s offering sex and she’s so emotionally reactive.
Now that Violet has decided she wants to have sex, she’s on a mission to get me naked. My shirt is still half on and covering my face, but she abandons it and goes for my belt. I pull my shirt off and toss it aside. She pops the button on my jeans, unzips them halfway, and then pushes my pants and boxers down. I’m already mostly hard, so my erection gets caught in the fabric.
Violet reaches in and frees me from my boxers. I groan at the sight of her perfectly manicured nails, one of which has my jersey number painted on it, wrapped around my shaft.
She leans in and presses a kiss to the tip. “I really need you to work superpowers on my vagina and give me an orgasm, Super MC.”
“I’ll give you more than one,” I promise as I help her out of her shirt and unclasp her bra, setting her boobs free. I cup them and very carefully nuzzle between them. “I love you.”
“Are you talking to my boobs or me?” I can hear Violet’s brow arching.
“Both.” I kiss each nipple, then suck them, but gently because Violet’s boobs are ultra sensitive these days. She gasps, then grabs my hair and moans when I do it again.
I finish undressing her and try to find a place to lay her down, but fallen books surround us.
“Wait.” She puts a hand on my chest. “I can’t lie on these! I might bend the covers!” Violet is a little weird about the state of her books. She hates it when her paperbacks have creases in the spines or dog-eared covers.
“We can move to the couch? Or I can take you upstairs?” I figure giving her the option of a bed again is smart.
“I guess the couch is still spontaneous.”
“Totally spontaneous and far more comfortable than the floor.” I help her up and we navigate our way out of the circle of books. Once she’s sitting down, I drop to my knees between her thighs and kiss her.
“I can’t wait until I can see my vagina without a mirror again.” She moans when I circle her clit with a finger, dragging it down and easing inside her. It doesn’t take me long to make her come. I pull her to the edge of the couch and give her a second orgasm with my mouth. Then I position myself between her thighs and rub a few extra circles on her sensitive clit. “Is this position good for you, baby? Are you comfortable?”