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There was no doubt about it: Belle was pouting.
Joseph inserted the old-fashioned brass key into the door of their room at the bed and breakfast, jiggled it twice, and the lock clicked. He tried to help Belle remove the cardigan draped over her shoulders, but she ducked out of his reach and breezed past him, leaving a trail of rose-scented perfume in her wake. She flounced on the enormous king-size bed in the center of the room with a decided huff.
His wife’s usually expressive face reminded him of one of the rough-hewn stones of the little church they’d toured today during their sightseeing: bland and grey, yet with sharp edges that would cut if you weren’t careful.
Joseph frowned. He didn’t have the faintest idea why Belle was sour. He thought their miniature holiday before the baby came was going splendidly and she had been chattering happily about their plans for the nursery until they reached the porch of the bed and breakfast.
They were in Portland on their first overnight away—a babymoon, Astrid had called it—since Nick Parrish had come to live with them six months ago as a foster child.
The eight-year-old was a handful, but in spite of the inevitable headaches that came with raising a mischievous child, joy abounded. Legos and small plastic superhero figures were underfoot, sticky fingerprints adorned the walls, and there was math homework every day.
Joseph wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Astrid and Leroy had been clamoring to take Nick for a sleepover and had planned a campout in their backyard where they planned to gorge themselves on s’mores and watch the fireflies. They were excited about the pregnancy and happy to give them time away to prepare for their growing family and adjust to all the changes that came with raising two children.
After a sunshine-soaked day of browsing baby boutiques, they had shared a dinner of lobster rolls, coleslaw, and crispy fries out on the wharf, then watched the sun make its glorious descent over the jagged Maine coastline.
Belle had eaten most of their shared order of fries and finished with an enormous wedge of blueberry crumb pie. But that was as it should be, Joseph thought when he glanced at her with pride. She was eating for two.
Perhaps pregnancy hormones were responsible for Belle’s bad mood, he mused. She scooted backward on the bed and pushed the comforter away, her mouth twisted like she was eating a lemon.
“Belle, sweetheart, is something wrong?” he asked carefully.
“What makes you think so?” she shot back, then plucked a book from the center of the towering stack on the nightstand.
“You should get some rest,” he offered. “It’s been a busy day.”
She muttered something under her breath, an expletive-filled threat to hurl something heavy at his head, and burrowed under the covers with her book.
Bewildered, Joseph let the matter drop. He picked up one of the Portland travel guides on the desk and retreated to the armchair across the room. He tossed the decorative chair pillow on the floor and crossed his legs, trying to settle against the curved back of the chair.
Maybe if he left her alone to read for a while, her good mood would return. She had to be exhausted from a long day of walking and shopping. He certainly was.
He blinked at the magazine’s glossy photos and smiling faces, trying to absorb himself in an article about the evolving Portland museum scene. Fifteen minutes later, he’d read the same paragraph at least five times. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger and slouched in the chair. When that didn’t ease his tired limbs, he stretched out his legs and rolled his shoulders back, but nothing was comfortable.
What he wanted most was to stretch out beside his wife, but he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to resist kissing her. Kissing her would lead to touching her and touching her would lead to...other things. Joseph shivered. No, he would wait until she was asleep to crawl into bed with her.
Perhaps he should go downstairs to see if Mrs. Pratt had any of her fresh-baked cranberry-walnut muffins leftover from tea to tempt a smile to Belle’s face. Joseph smothered a sigh; they had just finished dinner and she wouldn’t be hungry. Maybe he should offer Belle a foot rub instead, but that would mean going over to the bed while she was still awake.
Bad idea, Joseph.
The last time they made love, he was so excited by the first flutters of life he felt in Belle’s belly that he’d nearly crushed their baby. He swallowed the lump of shame in his throat. He would return to celibacy for the rest of his married life before he risked hurting either one of them again. Joseph pushed the guilty thoughts away and refocused on the task at hand: making Belle happy.
What about a movie or a game show? There was a small but serviceable television in the credenza. Yes, Belle could snuggle under the covers and he could watch from the armchair.
He was still contemplating the options when movement from the bed and the rustle of fabric caught his attention. Belle was sitting on her knees in the center of the bed with the sheets pulled back. Her legs were spread and the skirt of her dress was hiked up around her thighs. Joseph caught his breath. They hadn’t made love in several days, yet only the barest hint of creamy skin made his pulse beat erratically. Who was he kidding? He could sink between her thighs three times a day and still be undone by the image of his wife removing her clothes.
While he watched, fascinated, she untied the wrapped sash of her shirt-dress like a present, parting the fabric just enough to give him a peek at the rounded edges of her breasts. They were lush and full from her pregnancy, large enough to overflow his hands. And oh, sweet Jesus, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her fingers moved to the little white buttons and she undid them one by one. The dress gaped above her waist in an enticing vee shape to display more of her breasts, the blue striped fabric covering only their centers. She tugged again at the edges of the dress, her nipples already so hard and swollen they dragged against a button, catching on the soft cotton.
Joseph drew in a shaky breath. What he wouldn’t give to be one of those buttons at this moment.
At last, Belle was bared to him, hair tumbling around her shoulders like Botticelli’s Venus alighting from her seashell. Her nipples were erect and flushed, begging for his caress. And the only sound in the quiet, slightly cool hotel room was the harshness of his breath.
Joseph dropped the magazine on the floor and stood. “Belle, love, what are you doing?”
As soon as the words were said, he wanted to call them back.
She rolled her eyes. “Trying to get my husband’s attention.” She sounded hurt, and her bold, direct gaze dropped to the soft white sheets of the bed.
Her admission startled him. Perspiration dampened his forehead like summer fog. “Sweetheart, you
always
have my attention. I thought—that is I had the impression—you wanted to be alone.”
They both looked down at her exposed chest and her lips curved as she looked at him through her lashes. “Does it look like I want to be alone?”
“No.” He licked his lips. In the course of their conversation, his trousers had become uncomfortably tight. “What, ah, what can I do for you?” he croaked, sounding like a bullfrog.
Her smile widened and just like that, his sunshiny Belle had returned. “I thought you’d never ask.” She crooked a finger, beckoning him closer.
Mindful of her growing belly, Joseph climbed into bed beside her, draping himself against her curves but careful not to lie on top of her. He leaned over her to rest his head against her breasts. He rubbed his whiskers against skin so soft and fragrant it put the fancy silk sheets of this rented bed to shame. Her peach complexion flushed darker when he turned his head to mouth at the top swells of her breasts, the taste of roses and sugar from her perfume coating his tongue. She cupped the underside of a breast and lifted it to his mouth, offering him a rosy nipple to lap and suck.
Joseph groaned like a starving man at a banquet and closed his lips around the delicious little nub. Fuck, she tasted divine. Belle moaned, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots to keep him close.
“Oh, Joseph, yes.” She arched her back, leaving him with no doubts about what her body craved. “Suck on my tits until I come.”
He growled at the gloriously filthy words, her needy plea encouraging him to suck deeper, harder. More than once Belle had found release while he lavished only her breasts, not even needing his fingers to bring her over the edge. He switched to the neglected breast with another growl, his fingers pinching and rolling the one damp from his feverish suckling.
“So sensitive,” she murmured and he loosened his hold on her nipples in case he was hurting her, but she only yanked him closer. “Don’t stop. Don’t
ever
stop.”
He hollowed his cheeks and continued to worship her breasts, alternating between long, slow pulls that made her wail and fluttering licks and nibbles that made her sigh.
Growing restless, she bucked her hips against his, the motion brushing the head of his cock through his trousers. He was aching and hard, moisture from his tip dampening his underwear. She jerked against him again and he moaned low in his throat. Her dress was already bunched around her hips and he pulled her panties aside with ease to thrust two fingers inside her. Hot wetness coated his fingers and she rolled from her back to her side with a groan, chasing the pressure of his hand.
He gave it to her, rubbing the small bundle of nerves between thumb and forefinger until she broke with a scream and melted against him. Dazed, he realized his trousers were around his ankles and his shirt was open to the navel. Somehow, his clever wife had undressed him and now his cock was between her eager fingers. He thrust into her hand with a groan as she rolled onto her back, bringing him with her. Her arms wrapped around his buttocks, urging him closer. And when she begged him to come inside her, her voice a ragged, moaning whisper, he couldn’t recall one single reason why he shouldn’t.
He lunged into her with a sharp, hard thrust, and as flesh met flesh in a hot, slick greeting, they cried out in unison. He was lost.
As they descended from the peak, he skimmed his lips along her damp forehead, kissing her with as much tenderness as he had passion only moments ago.
He hummed while he nuzzled her neck, sending up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for having the good sense to book a guest suite located far away from the dining room. He couldn’t meet the eyes of other guests or the sweet-tempered old couple who owned this establishment knowing they could hear him and Belle while they were...indisposed.
His wife
was
rather exuberant in bed.
Joseph raised his head. Good Lord, he was still sprawled on top of her, and her belly was fluttering like it was filled with a battalion of butterflies. With a gasp, he rolled away from her.
He’d forgotten himself and all the promises he had made. He’d forgotten about the baby.
“I’m sorry!” he blurted, cursing himself. Safe on his side of the bed, he searched her face anxiously for signs of pain.
Belle narrowed her eyes. “Why are you sorry? You haven’t touched me in weeks.”
He shook his head. She couldn’t be right. “It hasn’t been-”
“
Weeks
,” she supplied, cutting him off. “And I enjoyed every moment of it—particularly the moments where you were giving me three orgasms.” Her severe expression was gone and a wicked grin lit her face.
Joseph sat back on his heels, covering his face with trembling hands.
He felt the mattress dip. Belle was prying his hands away from his face with gentle fingers, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “Joseph, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
He knew he was behaving like a child who had done something naughty and believed if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him. But he couldn’t help himself; he felt utterly wretched.
“Belle, I - I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or the baby! I was so excited and I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” The confession was garbled by the pressure of his hands against his face, but he managed to get it out.
“What are you talking about?” She pulled at his fingers again. “Could you please take your hands away from your face, darling? I want to see you.”
“The baby was kicking!” he said, his voice still muffled. “I didn’t mean to hurt either of you!”
The mattress began to shake beneath his knees. Oh God, Belle was crying. He had made his pregnant wife cry. Who would do such a thing? Only a terrible husband who didn’t have the decency to be careful when he held her close.
He peeked at her between his fingers, but the tears he expected were nowhere to be found. It was Belle’s laughter making the mattress bounce. Surprise made him drop his hands.
“Sweet Joseph, you’re such a darling. I’m fine. We’re fine. I promise! You didn’t hurt either of us. The baby is just reacting to our
activities
.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Joseph flung himself down on the bed, rolling onto his back with a sigh. Belle propped herself on one elbow and hovered above him, long strands of dark hair tickling his chest. Her reassurances mollified him, but they weren’t enough to distract him from his humiliation. “I was afraid,” he admitted, his cheeks burning. “After last time.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What happened last time?”
Joseph squirmed. His past experience with babies was limited to holding them during the handful of christenings he’d performed as a priest. He would cradle their flailing little bodies barely long enough to pour the baptismal water over their heads. When the water touched them and they screamed, he thrust them back into the arms of their eager mothers who were only too happy to rescue and cuddle them close.
“I was...we were together...and you cried out. Your belly jerked.” Embarrassment returned full force and he looked toward the windows. Handling an eight-year-old was one thing, but why had he ever thought he could be a father to a baby?
Belle snorted. “I’m sure if I shouted, it was because I was surprised. It wasn’t because of anything you did wrong. I’m almost seven months pregnant. My ankles resemble racks of ribs and my stomach looks like a soccer ball. And yes, the baby is going to be kicking and moving. But it’s normal.”
“What if I crush him...or her?” He directed his question toward the curtains.
She squashed his cheeks in her hands and turned his head. “Joseph, you’ve read more baby books then I have, love.”
“So?” he asked, hating his whiny tone.
His face felt flushed and he was starting to sweat. Was it possible he was experiencing some sort of hormonal imbalance, too? A sympathy hormone spike? Was there such a thing? He would have to thumb through the
What to Expect
book or
Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth
and find out.
“So, you know you can’t crush the baby by making love to me. Yeah, it’s close quarters in there, but the human body is a miraculous piece of equipment.” She kissed him. “Besides, you could never hurt me. Look how patient and amazing you’ve been throughout this whole thing. You’re the sexiest, smartest, most supportive person I’ve ever known.”
Joseph resisted the urge to turn around and search the room. Surely there was some dashing, capable, tall fellow lurking in the doorway. “Me?” he croaked. He hadn’t been patient or amazing at all. He wasn’t sexy or smart, either. No, he’d been a nervous wreck and creating problems where none existed.
“If being on top makes you uncomfortable right now, it’s okay. I know it probably feels like balancing on top of a watermelon. The good news is there are so many other things we can do and positions we can try, whether I’m pregnant or not.” She fluttered her lashes. “Remember when we snuck into the mansion after the library benefit last year and you stroked my breasts while you took me from behind?”
The twitch of his spent cock confirmed that yes, the memory of watching Belle come in the ballroom’s huge, gilded mirror was still alive and well and figuring into his daily fantasies. “Enough,” he pleaded. “You should sleep now, sweetheart.”
“I’m not tired,” she said, rubbing her eyes with all the stubborn defiance of Nick on a school night when 8 o’clock rolled around.
He clucked his tongue while he smoothed the covers around her, then reached behind her head to fluff her pillow. Then he snuggled against her, pressing her back to his front.
How on earth had he survived before his marriage to this woman? Life before Belle seemed colorless and dim. It was as though he had always lain next to her, although he knew it wasn’t the case. What power must it have taken to draw him out of himself, out of his endless introspection and habit of stumbling through his days in a half-drunken stupor? He hadn’t lived before Belle, he’d merely existed.
How lucky you are to have each other, people would often say, and the comment never ceased to bring a foolish smile to his face. But in truth, there was never a moment he thought of it as luck. Grace, and grace alone, had brought Belle’s body close to his. Even amidst pregnancy hormones, 18-hour workdays at the store and the library, and the unceasing pressures of the world, nothing could tear them apart.
He closed his eyes and thanked God for the crucible of peace and laughter and love who, despite her protests, was snoring beside him with all the galvanized precision of a chainsaw.
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