It was already enough for me, but it wasn’t enough for Edward.
“Deeper,” he ordered, and because I could rarely ignore this particular commanding tone of his voice, I pushed it in a little farther.
It still wasn’t enough. “All the way,” he said sharply.
I whimpered as I pressed it in as far as I could. I felt so full. So tight. So on fire.
“Good,” he said, and I almost came right then I was so happy I’d pleased him. “Now fuck yourself with it.”
I did as he told, shoving the object in and out while his dark hooded eyes watched in earnest.
“Harder,” he said, and I complied. Then, “Pretend it’s me,” and I increased my tempo yet again, and let out a moan at the erotic sound my juices made as the toy slid in and out. “Fuck. Yes. Just like that.” His own strokes quickened, matching mine. “Touch your clit with your other hand.”
My fingers nudged against the sensitive bud, and my knees involuntarily pressed together, as if to push away the intensity of the sensation.
My husband wouldn’t have that. “Keep your legs open wide so I can see.”
I took a breath and eased them back down. I was panting now. So close to coming. So close to falling apart and breaking down and letting him have every last piece of me, even the parts I’d managed to withhold.
“Edward…” Tears pricked at my eyes.
“Say it.”
“What?”
“Say what you want to say.”
He knew. He knew everything that was inside of me, and he was determined to reel it out.
But it wasn’t that easy. The words were lodged so far inside that I couldn’t recognize their form. “I don’t know what that is.”
“You do.”
I shook my head, trying to shake off the overwhelming feelings that pressed like high waters behind a dam. “I need to come,” I said, focusing on the physical.
“That’s not it.” His voice was coarse and insistent.
“Edward…” I blinked up at him, my eyes darting from his to the brisk jerk of his hand. “I need…” you. I need you inside me. I need to feel you driving hard and deep into my cunt. I need to feel your skin on mine. To taste your lips. To feel your body go rigid when you rut against me with your release.
It was too much—the sensation, the sight, the emotions bottled up inside me, and I exploded like a firework on the Fourth of July. Color and light streaked across my field of vision as my body undulated against my hand. And any words that had been at the tip of my tongue, fell out of my mouth in a tangle of unintelligible grunts and gasps as pure bliss strangled through my limbs.
When I’d come back to myself enough to speak real words, I realized he was also at the brink. His face was as tight as his grip on his cock, his hand flying back and forth along its length.
I scooted quickly to the edge of the bed. “Put it on me,” I begged. “Come on me. Please, Edward. Please!”
But even in the throes of pleasure, he had strength enough to resist. With a low groan, he stepped back just as white liquid spurted out over his hand.
I envied his hand. I wanted to be decorated in his cum. I wanted to be marked by him. To belong to him. To be so attached to him that he couldn’t ever retreat.
I was still staring at the mess he’d made when he spoke. “You’re starting to show.”
My eyes moved to find his staring at my once-flat abdomen. Warmth spread through my chest. He never talked about the baby or the pregnancy unless I forced the subject, and then his responses were always clipped and dismissive.
I put my palm across my belly, as if I could hold his gaze there. As if I could connect it to the child within. “I barely notice the change, but I guess I am. I don’t fit in my pants anymore.”
He continued to stare for another few seconds. Heavy, silent seconds where I wished more than anything to know what he was thinking. To be in his head.
“Edward?” I said when the weight of the silence became unbearable.
He snapped out of his reverie, tucking himself into his pants as he turned away from me. “An excuse for you to go shopping. You should enjoy that.”
I preferred when he shopped for me, and he knew it.
The moment was broken. We were back to opposing sidelines, back to our distance and our war.
I sat up, wanting to pull him back. “Tomorrow’s the ultrasound. Are you still coming?”
“I said I would when you asked last time.” He disappeared into the bathroom.
“Just wanted to be sure you hadn’t changed your mind,” I called after him. The sound of the faucet running was my only response.
I sat for a second, trying to decide what I should do next, or if there was anything I could do. Maybe I should let the conversation lie. Let him get ready for bed then, once the lights were out, roll innocently into his space.
I stood and picked up the discarded towel from the floor and used it to wipe off the toy. When I looked up, Edward had returned from the bathroom, still dressed.
Without a word, he crossed the room toward the living area.
“Where are you going? I thought you were going to bed,” I asked, sure I already knew the answer. Away from me was where.
He glanced at me but looked away quickly, as if looking at me for too long was painful. “I changed my mind,” he said, then left the room without another word.
I sank back on the bed and brushed away a tear. Pregnancy made them fall at the drop of a hat these days, and while they were often justified, this was not an occasion to cry. We might have just had sex without any touching, but it was sex. And he’d brought up my pregnancy. It was more than he’d allowed me in months.
I had to see it as a step forward. I refused to see it as anything else.
“We’ll get there,” I promised our baby. “One step at a time, I have to believe for your sake that we’ll get there.”
Three
Edward
I rubbed my lips with my thumb, watching the technician as she stuffed the edges of a paper blanket inside the waistband of my wife’s pants. How long had it been since I’d been at one of these ultrasounds? Genevieve was twenty-three now, so about twenty-four years.
Nearly a quarter of a century ago. What was I doing here now at the age of forty-five?
Of course, I hadn’t even been a quarter of a century old when Genevieve was born. I’d only been twenty with Hagan.
I remembered that first ultrasound now, sitting at Marion’s side in a small office in Bordeaux. The technician had used a wand that time, one that was inserted inside, and within seconds the black and white screen filled with a tiny sac of cells that resembled a sea creature more than a human, with big black holes for eyes and a body that curled in on itself.
I’d been too shocked to register any other emotions. Marion and I had become extremely close over the previous months, but we didn’t even live in the same country. Our time together had been measured in a handful of long weekends on Exceso and several sporadic weeks where I’d flown in to be with her in France. The bulk of our relationship had been over the phone and via email. I’d spend a few minutes every morning detailing a list of things I wanted her to do over the course of the day, then that evening she’d send an email with proof that she had. It had been more work for her—besides the tasks I’d given she had to set up a digital camera, load the photos to her computer, write a detailed message about how the assignments had made her feel. Or, if it were convenient for me, she’d call to tell me about it over the phone while I stroked myself to release.