UNFORGETTABLE (Able Series Book 3) (19 page)

Just then my phone chirps, signaling an incoming text from Tami. I glance over, and a picture of a damn ovulation kit greets me. Instead of being happy or excited, I feel like a performing monkey. What the fuck? I need help to get her pregnant? When did knocking up a girl get this complicated?

Cody, sensing a sudden shift in my mood, decides to leave me alone. Glancing at my cell, I remember two things. One, our weekly double dinner date tonight. Two, which is the one that upsets me, the damn ovulation kit. If this isn’t an insult of some sort to my manhood, I don’t know what is.

I’m pissed at Tami, for what I don’t know.

I’m pissed at God, for what I also don’t know.

I’m pissed at my sperm and her eggs for not getting with the damn program.

I’m pissed at myself because I can’t seem to get it right.

“Dude, stop daydreaming; it’s five! Time to pick up the girls!” Cody yells at me from his office.

I quickly turn off my computer, grab my cell, and throw a quick text to Tami telling her we’re on our way. I’m really not looking forward to this stupid dinner. At this point, being around them doesn’t give me at least a sliver of hope like before, instead jealousy smolders inside me like a raging inferno.

My participation during dinner consists of a one word answer and a single head nod, which I know will make Tami upset. However, I can’t control how I feel. The magnitude of desperation—of want—of disappointment is so strong, fighting it is useless. I’m feeding off of it, succumbing to its lies, and surrendering to its stronghold.

On our way home I know Tami is going to give me the third degree, and to be honest, I really don’t care if we’re going to argue. I can’t possibly keep everything inside; I’ll freaking explode, or I’ll die of a heart attack.

“Quit it. Stop sizing me up, okay?”

I hate it when she does that. Why can’t she just ask me directly? What’s up with the sideways looks? It just pisses me off.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Not trying to hide her annoyance, she sighs loudly, “You’re brooding, again.”

“I can’t help it. What do you want me to do? We agreed on transparency and openness, right? So, enlighten me on how you want me to handle this?”

From the corner of my eye, I see her face the window while shaking her head; I’m sure out of frustration.

“Oh, so now you don’t have anything to say?”

With sadness in her voice she says, “Every time I pull, you push; every time I try to make you forget, you seem to always want to remember. Nothing—absolutely nothing gives when it comes to you and your fears.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you mad at Roxy and Cody? Or, are you just mad at me?”

“Aren’t you ever jealous when you see Roxy’s belly getting bigger and bigger, or Cody caressing her stomach? Well, I.DO! And, I fucking hate myself for it. They’re my friends, yet I have these feelings that I shouldn’t have.”

With her voice barely above a whisper she explains, “I’ve felt it too, but I don’t dwell on it. I’m not jealous of her . . . I guess, I’m jealous of her situation because it’s something I want.”

“I’m tired of it all. So, if I want to brood and not talk to anyone, give me that. Do I question you? Do I?”

“Deal with it the way you want, Brian. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Tightening my grip on the steering wheel I explode, “You’re not being realistic!”

“And, you’re not being positive! God, what will it take for you to have an ounce of faith?”

I sneer her way using a grim tone. “News flash, Tami; when it’s been taken away from you so many times, hope fades. What sticks is the fear of history repeating itself again.”

“I never said it would be easy, or promised you it wouldn’t be this hard. Why don’t we go back to the beginning of why we’re trying instead of focusing on the end? It’s an end we don’t have a clue on, so why are you so focused on it? Why? You’re hurting me; you’re hurting you.”

“You know every time you point out what’s wrong with how I think, ask yourself why we’re doing this. I feel like a damn performing monkey, fucking when I’m supposed to, doing it at a certain time, using a certain fucking position. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s hard explaining things to you because you refuse to listen to reason. I can’t even agonize over how I feel, because my heart is breaking for yours. It’s pure torture seeing you like this, Brian, because I know if you’ll only believe, it’ll lessen the disappointment. But you won’t even try. You’re giving up.”

We both remain silent throughout the drive because defending my way of thinking and listening to her explanations are moot at this point. Upon arrival, she goes straight to our room while I stay in the kitchen.

I hate myself for getting mad at her.

I hate losing my temper.

I hate I’m upset we’re not pregnant.

I hate my convictions aren’t as strong as hers.

I hate me.

Exactly an hour of beating myself up, I walk into our room, start taking my clothes off except for my boxers, lie down on my side of the bed, and face the opposite direction.

A whimper escapes her and sadness grips my heart. I turn and pull her toward me, her chest flush against mine. I let her fall, and for the first time, I let go of my own needs to meet hers. For every tear that falls on her pretty face is how many times I want to stab myself for being weak, for being selfish. There’s no excuse . . . none.

TAMI

WE’RE WATCHING TV IN OUR
room, my head on his chest as he plays with my hair. I surprise him by asking something that’s been bugging me for a while. Honesty and transparency, I repeat in my brain.

“What scares you the most, not getting pregnant or me actually getting pregnant?”

“Tami, both.” Loudly sighing as he runs his fingers through my hair. “First off, I’d be scared if and when you ever get pregnant because of what happened the last time. There was just so much blood, you were so pale and in so much pain. I don’t know at this point if it’s even worth it. Secondly, I wouldn’t classify your not getting pregnant as being scared, but more disappointment—I feel hopeless.”

I kiss his chest before speaking as he drops a kiss on my forehead. “It’s worth it. I promise.”

“I know it is. But sometimes, I question if the disappointment will ever end, or if we get pregnant, will we just end up losing it again. It’s a constant freaking ping pong match in my brain. As much as I try not to focus on it, I do. When you want something so badly, how can you not think about it all the time?”

“It’s on mine . . . I just don’t . . .”

“I know, you just don’t dwell on it like I do.”

I remain quiet enjoying the feel of his fingers as he runs them through my hair until he asks a question that surprises me. I guess I’m guilty of this and probably owe him an apology.

“When we have sex, is it for the sole purpose of getting pregnant or because you want to be intimate with me? I don’t want you to be upset. I’m not picking a fight, but I need to know.”

I sit to face him before speaking, “Every time I’m with you, it’s because I want to be intimate with you. I’m . . . I’m sorry for making you feel like all you need to do is perform. I guess it comes across that way, doesn’t it? I’m not doing it on purpose, though.” I turn away, ashamed that I make him feel that way.

“Hey.” He pulls my arm to get my attention. “I’m not mad at you. God, after witnessing all my breakdowns and showing you how fearful I am about all this, you shouldn’t be upset at yourself for feeling that way.” He pulls me again, and I let him. I straddle him as I let my hand rest on his chest.

“Tami, look at me.” I do, then he smiles and continues, “We both want the same thing. Maybe we’re trying too hard and too much. Let’s forget about making a baby and focus on us. Just the two of us, in this room, me inside you, you wrapping me in your warmth. What do you say?”

“I’d like that. . . . I’d like that very much. Can you give me ten minutes?” He gives me a disbelieving look while I smile sweetly at him.

“Promise it’ll be worth the wait. Go!”

He leaves, and I get to work.

BRIAN

As I open the door, vanilla scent infiltrates my senses, as The One You Love by the Passengers plays in the background. She looks at me lovingly, wearing a lacy babydoll with luxurious satin cups and matching lacy panties. I know because I bought this for her. Love is practically radiating from her, straight to me, covering me with its gentleness and mercy, renewing my heart once again. How can she still love me, even need me, knowing my struggles.

She slowly moves my way, capturing my green eyes with her alluring grey ones, silently hoping, fervently praying that tonight will be the night we’ll be blessed with a little one. One that she craves to have, and I desperately desire. As she stops directly in front of me, without breaking eye contact, her fingers work on my jeans, seductively lowering the zipper to release me of my confines. Sliding it frustratingly slow while my dick is getting painfully harder, wanting to be sheathed in her warmth.

Raising her brows, looking up at me from her knees. “Commando? Hmmm, I need to taste you, love.”

I’m beside myself at this point. I think I’ll explode my load inside her mouth, but who cares. There’s more where that came from. Plus, who am I to deny my precious if she wants to taste and suck me off until I lose feeling in my legs?

My eyes, I think, literally cross when her mouth covers my shaft . . . almost covers the entirety of me. She sucks me hard for a few seconds, releases, and swirls her tongue underneath the head and up the slit; then runs her tongue from top to bottom, sucking me again and again as my tip hits the back of her throat. She massages my balls as my legs shake, and my fogged up brain can’t comprehend anything other than ‘suck me harder’ and ‘deeper.’

“Angel . . . deeper . . .” My hold on her hair is as intense as the way she’s sucking the life out of my cock.

She moans and my dick vibrates inside her hot mouth. I back away from her, not wanting to come inside her mouth, but inside her where it needs to be.

“Not in your mouth, angel. Need to be . . .”

She doesn’t let me finish, instead she lets her tongue travel from the tip of my dick entrancingly slow to my abs, making my stomach churn in excitement as it grazes my belly button up my chest, sucking my nipple, then switching to the other, biting it slightly. Next, her tongue stops on my neck, up to my jaw, switching gears, and lands on my ear.

“I want you,” she whispers as her tongue continues its teasing invasion.

I lift her up, guiding her legs to capture my hips much like her tongue made my body her prisoner. Locking her feet against my ass, I squeeze hers as my finger inches its way closer to her wet, dripping folds. Moving toward the bed, my tongue meets hers in a sensual kiss, the tempo matches my finger sliding inside of her. The closer we get to the bed the faster my heart beats. This isn’t just a sexual encounter for us. It’s so much more than that. It’s more than overcoming a desire, fulfilling a need, or finding a release. It’s me sharing my fears while she takes them and faces them. It’s her sharing her hopes while I receive them and make them mine. It’s our dream—our hope—our wish that because of our union, a life will form inside her, not only our love for each other, but a love of a father and mother for a child.

We end up on the bed, me worshipping her body as she worships mine. I wait until we’re both uncontrollably crazy for each other. The longing too much to bear, then and only then, I enter her. Like always, I revel in this feeling . . . the feeling that every inch of me is loved by her, and every inch of her is adored by me.

Thrusting deeply.

“So, close . . . angel.”

Pushing relentlessly.

“Oh. . . . God. . . .”

Stroking passionately.

We dance and writhe our way to ecstasy to these three love movements, each made with the greatest of intensity, every motion is animated by the heat of our eagerness to bring forth life. The release is just as earth shattering as the act itself.

TAMI

AFTER TWO MONTHS OF PLANNING
our wedding, the day has come. My dreams are being fulfilled, desires are being satisfied and a heart overflowing with love and excitement. As I look at my Grecian inspired chiffon wedding gown, my eyes start to water, thinking of what could’ve been many months ago when we lost our first one. I shake it off, not wanting it to occupy my brain any more than it already has. A knock on the door is just what I need to stop my pensiveness.