Page 14 of Playing With Her

“I see this is getting us nowhere. I know when I’m losing an uphill battle. Sylvester, thank you for all your help. Boston, I’m going back to work. Yes, I’d like for the other potential LeBlanc to be restored as long as Mom is okay with that. I can see where you’re both coming from; I’m also not an invalid. Now, I’m going back to work.” I stand up from my chair. Boston is smirking. He got his way. He and my mother are in cahoots with one another, I swear.

“You’re welcome, Amelie. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly for your mom and the court hearing, should it even go that far. I have a feeling with the case I present, it’ll be settled, and then Noah, his attorney, and the presiding judge will be more than likely prosecuted federally, meaning my job may be done in the next week or so.” Sylvester is a man of action, not so much words, which is fine with me. He can also be a little intimidating, and from what Boston told me, the only soft spot he has is for his secretary. There’s some juicy gossip no one is talking about. Maybe when we eventually go to Boston’s hometown, meet his brothers and their women, I can get the tea.

“Even better. Mom, I’ll manage the front until the new shift comes on. Boston, I’ll see you later.” Boston’s hand encompasses mine, pulling me down until his mouth is at my ear. My body lights up, and while part of me wants to blame the pregnancy-induced hormones, I can’t. It’s Boston. It’s always Boston.

“Keep your ass planted on the barstool I placed behind the desk. I come out and see you standing, your ass is going to feel the delicious sting of my palm, beautiful,” he whispers his threat in my ear. My libido soars, and I already know I’m going to defy him. Reaping the rewards in the form of another spectacular orgasm definitely has its appeal.

TWENTY-THREE

Amelie

One MonthLater

“That was notin theWhat to Expectbook.” Boston acts like he’s the one on the table, legs spread, feet settling in stirrups while a look-alike of a dildo is sliding inside his vagina, condom included. Nope, he’s sitting in the chair, much like last month, in slacks and a button-down shirt, ever the wealthy businessman. Unlike the state of my undress, a gown wrapped around my body and sheet over my lap as we wait for the ultrasound tech to come back in.

“I’m going to light that book on fire. That, or I’m going to throw it at your head. Never in my life did I think Boston Wescott would be the one who is proverbially shivering in his boots over an ultrasound or any other little nuance,” I tell him. Boston and that stupid book, bless Parker’s wife if she’s dealing with him like I am Boston and boy am I going to give her all the ammunition I can for her to use when she’s pregnant and Parker suddenly starts acting like Boston.

“Always threatening bodily harm, then changing your tune the moment my mouth, hands, or cock come out to play.” I did the unthinkable—I gave in, entirely too easily. There wasn’t enough room for Boston to stay in my room at the Inn and work there as well. His building is currently in the beginning stages of renovations and will take way too long for him to continue working at a small table. So, since the thought of not sleeping with Boston every night wasn’t what I wanted, nor did he, I moved out of the Inn. With that came on an off-switch I had no idea my body needed.

“Boston, sshh!” Thankfully, we’re saved from any more conversation when the ultrasound tech knocks on the door.

“Are you ready to see your baby?” she asks cheerily. In the past month, life has literally been smooth sailing, almost to the point that you know the other shoe is going to land in a pile of shit, or however that stupid saying goes.

“Yes, so much,” I tell her, watching as she sits down on the stool.

“We won’t be able to find out the sex today, will we?” Boston asks. I close my eyes as I lie back on the table, scooting down until my ass is almost hanging off the ledge. He knows very well we won’t be able to determine the sex yet. His stupid book gives him a play-by-play, and while he’s already itching to ask for the bloodwork in order to know the sex of our child, I’d rather wait. I’m not above getting my own way either.

“No, that would be at your next ultrasound appointment. Mom, this is going to be cold, I’m sorry.” She lubes up the probe. Boston grunts. The thought of a toy sliding inside me is not his idea of fun. Mine either, buddy. It’s not like I’m getting an ounce of sexual enjoyment out of this.

“That’s okay. It’ll be worth it. Boston, come hold my hand?” Maybe keeping him away from my legs and up by my head will calm his attitude down; all hopes of him staying seated were thrown out the window.

“I’m going to do a few measurements before we’ll get to the fun parts.” The room is quiet. Boston’s eyes are focused on the screen, squinting at the tiny plum-sized baby. Another one of his doings was putting an app on each of our phones, giving us a weekly reminder on the development, size, and what to expect, a version of that damn book he keeps on the coffee table in the living room. Believe me, I’ve tried to hide it, but he figures out where it is instantly, almost like he has eyes in the back of his head or cameras in the house, which I know he doesn’t. I even threw it in the trash can. He dug it out, used sanitizing wipes, and pretended I wasn’t standing there with my hands on my hips while trying not to laugh at his antics. I was ready to relentlessly tease him, even though I know Boston is coming from a good place, making sure he’s nothing like his father. All of those thoughts ended when he walked up to me, kissed me until I breathless before carrying on with his reading material.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his all-time favorite question since I told him about my pregnancy. I’m sure he feels the dampness from my hand. This is our first ultrasound. I worried myself sick to mom earlier today, thinking about everything that could go wrong, feeling like life is going way too easy lately for there not to be an issue of some sort.

“Not sure.” I shrug my shoulders, my eyes moving back to the screen. I wait on abated breath for the tech to finish up, ready to ask her questions like Boston does.

“Alright, everything looks good. Your baby is growing right on schedule. If anything, he or she might be a tad bigger in the growth scale. Were either of you big babies?” she asks.

“I was average, around seven pounds,” I tell her.

“I’m not sure, to tell the truth.” Another facet of Boston’s family unfolds. I wouldn’t put it past his parents not to have a baby book of him. He may have been born into the life of wealth, but the love he missed out on could never take its place in money.

“Ready to hear the heartbeat?” I nod vigorously. The news she gave us loosened the muscles around my heart, an ache so deep in my chest, I had no idea it was possible to love something so much without having them in your hands.

“Yes, please,” Boston tells her the words I’m unable to. Emotion clogs my throat every time we’re at the doctor’s office, which makes talking difficult. At least now my morning sickness is pretty much gone, though eggs still turn me off something fierce—the smell, the runny yolk—so much so that Mom now has me come into the Inn after brunch is through, meaning my hours have been cut drastically. I wouldn’t be surprised if Boston had something to do with that, too.

Thewoosh, woosh, wooshechoes through the room for the second time since we found out I was pregnant. We listen for as long as we can while she goes through the rest of the ultrasound, showing us where the hands and feet are forming, the umbilical cord. When it’s over, Boston somehow manages to finagle her out of so many pictures I’m sure there’s enough for our whole fridge along with Mom’s. I don’t say anything, because seeing the man you love in full dad mode hits you right in the feels.

TWENTY-FOUR

Boston

“Today is cause for a celebration.It’s not every day I get to see a picture of my grandbaby. And would you look at this!” Isabelle turns on the television in the kitchen, blaring it louder than I thought she would since at one point, Isa wanted to keep this completely under wraps. It seems those days are over with judging by the television reporting the news. A prominent member of a local news station is currently talking. My hold on Amelie tightens, bringing her to my front, hand sliding to her lower abdomen, where our child is nestled inside. I’m in constant worry that between my shit storm of a family and hers, it will do something to take the most precious thing away from us.

“I’m Amanda Walker, reporting from the New Orleans Police Department, where an update is imminent. It appears Noah Boudreaux along with his attorney, Martin Strong, and Judge Maroon have been escorted from three different police cars. What we’re hearing is that these three men are being arrested for supposedly a slew of charges. Noah Boudreaux, from what we’re hearing, is the leader of this group, finding abandoned buildings and selling them without the owners’ consent. His attorney, Martin Strong, did the paperwork and created an umbrella corporation to funnel the funding into an offshore account, where Judge Maroon is accused of signing off on undisclosed documents.” Amelie’s hands clap together, probably in excitement. The past month, Sly has been doing his due diligence, working behind the scenes making sure that when he handed over the evidence, it wasn’t to a crooked district attorney. It was hard to fathom that there could potentially be so many, but I saw what a judge was willing to sweep under the rug, trying to get Isabelle to pay spousal support when Noah had more than enough from him stealing from anyone he could.

“I mean, I know the divorce won’t be final, but if he’s in jail, he can’t bother us, none of us. I’m literally free, for the first time since this whole debacle started.” Isa is twirling around in the kitchen, floating on the high on life she deserves. Amelie is in my arms, a smile plastered on her face as she watches her mom on cloud nine.

---