All the Waters of the Earth (Giving You ... #3) (32 page)

“Jake, my belly is getting too big,” I protested, while at the same time I wanted him. 

Pregnancy made me horny. Sorry, I had to admit it. I mean, just Jake’s physical presence alone, most of the time, made me want to strip him down and touch him all over. But with the added natural aids during pregnancy? I was unstoppable. I found myself getting turned on all the time. He didn’t seem to mind.

I discovered a love of all of the positions that didn’t put weight on my back or belly. Doggy style. Standing up. On my side.

In the bathtub.

My joints were getting loose and achy and even though it was warm out, it still felt good to soak in the tub. Sometimes Jake would join me. Like tonight.

We’d been married for six months, honeymooning briefly in Mexico, and planning a bigger reception after I gave birth. We were in his house, which was now our house. I’d rented out mine, which brought in some extra income. But now, Rob was at Carlos’s house and I was ready.

But I mean, my God, my belly was so big right now. “I don’t know how we can do this.”

Stripping quickly, his athletic body graceful, he sunk into the filling tub and called me to him. “Come in the water, Lucy honey.” I took off my yoga pants and my cami, wanting to feel him and the warm water around me.

Reaching out his hand, he carefully pulled me into the bath. I stepped into the water, feeling it swirl around my feet, looking down at him for once.

Short girl gets a new perspective. Nice. It felt very different to be the one above him, almost like I could see new things about him. His eyes looked so arresting in the sunny, lit room.

There wasn’t that much room, but I managed to kneel down and straddle him, setting my knees on both sides of his belly.

Running his hands up slowly up my body, over my swollen abdomen, caressing my breasts that were now perkier than ever, pausing at the hollows in my collarbone, and sliding one artistic hand behind my neck, he appraised me with his eyes. “I don’t know that you have ever been lovelier,” he whispered. “Carrying our baby.” And he knifed up and kissed my belly.

Splashing a little bit in the water, I leaned down to kiss him, my belly in the way. He sat up, his cock hard below me, my need for him inside me increasing.

We kissed, a loving, total, passionate kiss, the kind of kiss that makes you forget about aching joints and knocking knees and just focus on the fact that you were getting some lovin’. Because heck yeah, Jake gave me some lovin’.

He reached around, gripping my ass, firmly but gently, then pulled me down, allowing me to guide myself onto him.

And now I was in charge. This was exactly what I needed—connection with him, release of tension, the warm water of creation all around me.

Enjoying our last days or weeks of being a couple without a baby.

Jake had learned, over the years of his life, that it was not okay to dream, that his art was not safe, that he had no family support, and that life was not certain or secure. But we had set to work undoing that.

He’d carried through and switched his job. While he spent a lot of time with me and Rob, he also spent time drawing, painting, playing, doing art. He’d rekindled a connection with his dad, who had recovered from his hospital stay and was working reduced hours. And every day that we were together added evidence to our relationship, proving that we were committed to each other and that life was secure when you were honest and open with the ones that you loved. Whatever the opposite of abandonment was, that was how we were. I spent my nights cuddled with him. My mornings in his arms. He came with me to every doctor’s appointment. When we heard the baby’s heartbeat go thuwump on the machine, every time, both he and I cried. And we talked all the time.

For he had learned that I couldn’t read his mind and told me what he thought. He asked questions, he made mistakes, and he told me what he was thinking. And, be still my heart, he paid attention to Rob, too.

He had walked out of a romance novel and into my life, but he wasn’t the hero of a romance novel. He was just my Jake.

Now, making love to him, in the water, with the baby that we’d created growing in my belly, my novel out there, doing well, and him finally taking his art seriously, I knew that this was bliss. In the arms of my lover, who cared about me. With the knowledge that I was loved. And doing what fulfilled me.

All of life existed in the waters of the earth. We needed water to exist, to create, for gestation, and for survival. Every single person on this planet was created from almost nothing—a tiny egg and a sperm.  Then cells divided in the waters of the womb and there we were. Every single thing on this planet, from laptops to toothpaste, was created from nothing—starting with an idea and making it real. And the art, music, stories, movies, and dance that made us swoon? That wouldn’t exist without all of us either. 

As I arched my back, shuddering in ecstasy, I looked down at him, head thrown back, chiseled torso shaking as he came too.

After he recovered, he wrapped his arms around me, and then cleaned us off.

“I love you,” he said, drying me off with a towel.

“I love you, too,” I replied, nestling my head in his arms.

It is in our very nature to create. And it’s the only way to live for real.

“Come here, girl,” I crooned, as I plucked my daughter gently out of the stroller. Three months old, she fit in the crook of my arm, right on my bicep. As she liked to do, Lucy had decked her out in pink fluff, a pink band around her head taming her mass of dark hair. My wife liked to dress up our daughters. Lucy treated baby Natalie like a doll. With pretty brown eyes like her mama, my little baby girl sleepily rested her head on my shoulder.

Chelsea, my four year old, had run ahead of us and was now swinging on the swing set, free and wild. Her hair was up in two ponytails on the side of her head. She wasn’t as pinked out as her sister, wearing a comfy dress over striped pants. She didn’t let Lucy dress her up these days, because she liked to dress herself. Pumping her legs, going higher and higher, she giggled in delight.

I’d left the house—and taken everyone with—to give Lucy some quiet time to write. She had a new idea for a book and was excited to get going. I’d read everything she’d written and she still surprised me with her creativity and intelligence.  Even though she had a string of major successes with her latest writing, she still pushed herself to try new things, to challenge herself. So I’d taken the kids and a diaper bag (it was amazing how much crap they needed) and walked down to the playground at the beach. She’d said that she would come and join us later so that we could get a ride back up the hill. 

I’d settled on a bench where I could watch Chelsea and hold the baby, while talking to Roberto, who had come along.

“Dad?”

I looked over at Rob. Sixteen years old, he normally was too cool to hang out with me and Lucy and his sisters, wanting to spend time with his friends. But today they weren’t picking him up until this later afternoon and he’d decided to come with. I was glad he did. Today was a tough day for me—the anniversary of my brother Ethan’s death. I was glad to not be alone any more.  The more people around the better. I was done with being by myself. 

Losing Ethan didn’t get any easier. His memory just got a little quieter. And I learned that celebrating his life was important, but it was also important to be here now, present, with the ones I loved—and that didn’t take anything away from his life.

Over the years, Rob and I’d become pretty close.  Now he called me Dad.

I loved that.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“How do you know when a girl likes you?”

He’d grown from a skinny, gangly kid to a classy young man, still bookish, but now with some serious style. Taking after his mom, his hair was always very cool, his clothes sharp, and he looked good.

The fact that he trusted me enough to ask was everything. “You got me, son. I have no idea. They’re mysteries.” My eye caught Chelsea’s, who’d hopped off the swing set and was now headed to a slide. “But they’re worth it.”

“I want to take her to the movies, but I don’t know if I have enough from my allowance.” I shifted Natalie to my other arm. Rob didn’t know yet that he was taken care of. The money from my grandparents sat in a trust to be divided equally between him, his two sisters, and also his half-sister Ella, Carlos’s daughter. Lucy had asked for that, not wanting Rob and his sister to be treated differently, and I’d agreed. Rob was part mine now, if not legally adopted, definitely in spirit.  And now he saw his dad too, regularly.  That seemed to work, too.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“A girl at school. She’s quiet, but I like her.”

“I’ll give you money to take her to the movies,” I offered. “Will you babysit the girls so I can take your mom out?”

He nodded. “Deal.”

We sat on the park bench, watching Chelsea play with a little boy who looked about her age and a little girl who looked a little bit older. It was the weekend, but these days, I had plenty of time to spend with my family. My job at the courthouse suited me. I helped people, but I didn’t work crazy hours.  And I had time to paint. 

My first show at the schoolhouse collective in Ventura went well.  I actually sold all but one of the paintings. With that success, Lucy persuaded me to do a show of pictures of her. I’d been worried that they were too intimate, but she was right—the intimacy gave them the spark they needed.

It’s amazing that I’d worked so hard for as long as I did. Before, I didn’t know how to live.  I just existed. Now? This was living—watching my kids play at the park and talking with my son.

And then Lucy pulled up in her car.

Emerging from the car, I gazed at my wife.

She was so fucking hot.

Compact, yes. Curvy, fuck yes. So, so beautiful. She took good care of herself.

But more, she was wise. She was sassy. She loved deep, and she gave herself to me.

I loved her. More each day.

Lucy always wore high heels, today at the park was no exception.  She had on some sort of sandals, along with little shorts and a pretty top. School would be out soon and it was warm out.  She smiled and ruffled Rob’s hair, which he protested, then leaned over and kissed me. Sitting down on the park bench next to us, she picked up Natalie, cradling her.

“All good?” she asked me, rubbing her nose into Natalie’s hair.

I looked around. 

“Yeah,” I said. “All good.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leslie McAdam is a California girl who loves romance, Little Dude, and well-defined abs. She lives in a drafty, old farmhouse on a small orange tree farm in Southern California with her husband and two small children. Leslie always encourages her kids to be themselves—even if it means letting her daughter wear leopard print from head to toe. An avid reader from a young age, she will always trade watching TV for reading a book, unless it's Top Gear. Or football. Leslie is employed by day but spends her nights writing about the men you fantasize about. She's unapologetically sarcastic and notoriously terrible at comma placement.

Always up for a laugh, Leslie tries to see humor in all things. When she's not in the writing cave you'll find her fangirling over Beck, camping with her family, or mixing up oil paints to depict her love of outdoors on canvas.