Page 85 of Salty Pickle

I squeeze his fingers. “Can we go to some other room?”

Relief floods his features. “Absolutely.”

He takes my hand and leads me down the hall, past my guest room, to his.

We enter without turning on the lights, the dim glow of the hall leaving soft shadows across the floor and bed.

He turns to me and draws me in for another kiss.

My senses are heightened without the worry over the lights. His beard is a tickle against my cheek and chin and nose. His mouth is warm and minty.

I shiver when his hands return to the bottom of the T-shirt and slowly lift it. The hem slides along my skin like a caress, over the curve of my belly, at the base of my breasts, then slipping across my nipples.

I suck in against Court’s mouth, trying to suppress a cry. Everything is more intense than I ever remember. The pressure of his mouth. The air on my skin. The moment of release when the shirt lifts free of my body.

So much of me is bare, the breeze of a ceiling fan brushing against my cheeks, my shoulders, the tips of my breasts.

Court doesn’t return to the kiss but presses his mouth against my neck, my collarbone, and down to the sensitive swells. He lifts them both and captures one nipple, then the other in his mouth, gently, so gently, as if he understands how tender they are, how exquisitely delicate since I’ve been pregnant.

There’s no way he can know, of course, unless he read about it when he was learning about pregnancy, but he seems to be tuned into me, attentive, knowing when to intensify and when to go lightly.

I flash with different needs every few seconds. Be fast and hard and intense. Be gentle and careful and good. I’m whirling, my head swimming, but Court’s there, adjusting, understanding each grip of my hands on his shoulders, or when I go still.

How does he do it?

I can’t think on the question, because I’ve squeezed his hard bicep, and he’s responded by gripping my butt and dragging me against his hips, grinding me against the erection I know I’ve dreamed about in the months since New Year’s Eve.

It feels too familiar to have only known once, as though my mind has mapped each inch in the time between. I lift a leg and prop my foot on the end of the bed, allowing more intense grinding right where I want it.

I’m so desperate for him. So needy. I squeeze his arm again, and that’s it, the yoga shorts are gone, leaving me in pale-green panties that fit below my belly.

He growls against my chest as his finger slides along the perimeter of the stretchy band. “I remember what you like,” he says.

“You do?”

He scoops me up from the floor and places me on the bed. “I remember everything.”

I press my hand to his cheek. Does he?

He slides a pillow beneath my head and kisses my mouth, the center of my chest, each breast, then skitters down my belly. For a moment, he presses both hands on the sides of the mound, then he whispers, “Hello in there.”

A quick tear dashes down the side of my face that he’s acknowledging the baby directly.

Then my mind is erased as the panties slide down. They hit the floor with a soft whisper, and he leans down between my legs, shifting them apart with strong, determined hands.

His beard tickles my thighs, then I can think of nothing else as his tongue slides against my skin, slipping inside.

I grasp the bedding with both hands, tilting my hips up. I can’t see him, not even with the pillow under my head. My belly is too big. I think I will get uncomfortable in this position for too long, but then I don’t think about anything but his hands spreading me wider, and his mouth hot against me.

My body ignites. Parts of me buzz again as my blood pounds, my head, the tips of my breasts, my fingertips. I’m more alive than I’ve ever felt.

Where he works me starts to tighten, gathering strength. I gasp, sucking in air, more tears coming. It’s so intense and beautiful. I’m overwrought with emotion. It’s Court. It’s the baby. It’s the three of us finding our way.

It’s attention. It’s closeness.

And it’s peaking. I gasp and cry out, saying Court’s name, spilling gibberish, the pulses heavy and intense. I see stars, like the sky has been revealed.

I’m high, so high, like I’m flying and happy and can’t contain it all, not in this room, this building, this whole wide world. I want to reach down and hold his beautiful head, get him to come up to me, but I’m too big, and my hands won’t reach.

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