After dinner, she wanted to go lie down and rest. Morgan wanted to go watch a movie. A date night, he’d suggested. She loved the idea, but something about having to get dressed to go out and sit in a theater for a couple of hours then come home again didn’t appeal. Now a hot bath and early to bed, that appealed.
She knew he was watching her walk out of the kitchen, leaving the dishes for him to do for the first time. Hopefully he’d take it to mean she was feeling sick. And she was.
But not the way he meant.
Her dinner wasn’t sitting well. She thought morning sickness was just that – ‘morning’ sickness – not all day sickness. She’d Googled several times and found out that some women were sick for the whole pregnancy. Just what she wanted to hear. Morgan had worked hard at putting some flesh on her bones these last weeks, but keeping it on was going to be the challenge.
Then again, some women reported that they felt fine after the first trimester and others who said they only started to feel sick at that point. In other words, no one knew anything. She’d have to figure it out herself.
She stripped off her clothes and tumbled under the covers. Somewhere along the line, the thought of a bath had gone under the heading of too much work, too.
For all her fatigue, sleep was hard come by. She tossed and turned and decided the bath was a good idea after all, then instantly decided that she was too tired to move.
“Not feeling good, Jazz?” Morgan asked from the doorway.
“No,” she whispered from under the covers. “I might be coming down with something.”
“Can I get you anything?” His loving voice brought tears to her eyes, but she didn’t dare care or he’d know for sure something was wrong with her. Or right with her.
“No, I just need sleep.”
And sleep she did. For a few hours. When she woke up, she was hot and fretful. Hell, maybe she really was coming down with the flu. That would explain so much. But not the pee stick. At least she didn’t think it would affect the results, but what did she know?
What if it had? Maybe she wasn’t pregnant and all these psychosomatic symptoms were likely just that – from the flu or in her head.
Instantly she was awash in grief, tears pouring silently down her cheek. That was when she realized something else. She wanted to be pregnant. She really wanted this baby. Morgan’s baby. Dear God, please don’t let these symptoms be from the flu. She so wanted this to be real.
Beside herself, she sat up and found the tissues. She blew her nose, trying to pull it all together.
And cried harder.
She heard the muffled cry from the doorway before she was gently picked up and turned around until she was in his lap with him leaning against the headboard. With his gentle massage and soft murmurs, she couldn’t hold the tidal wave back, and she cried and cried.
When the storm finally passed, and Lord only knew where it had come from or why, she lay against his chest, so damn sad.
“What’s the matter, Jazz?”
His rich voice was full of worry and held a tinge of fear. Of course. He had no idea what was wrong with her.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m just going through a rough patch.”
He held her close. “And here I thought we’d gone through the worst life could throw at us.”
A burp of a laugh erupted from her mouth. “Oh, we did. We did.”
“And yet here you are, terrified to tell me what’s going on.”
He knew her so well. Hell, no one else could have seen the fear in her actions. No one but him. She hadn’t even seen it. But he was right. She was terrified.
Terrified that this was too big. For her to do. For them to do. Motherhood, oh my God, was there anything bigger? The commitment? All so big, so important. Up until now, she’d brushed it off as being something she’d do eventually, but now… she shook her head. Now… it was too soon. She needed time. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t good enough to be a mother. The thought petrified her. The responsibility.
She wanted to be the best mom ever, but for the baby’s sake, not hers. Morgan would be a wonderful father.
If he wanted to be.
“Shh. Whatever is wrong, we’ll fix it.”
She nodded and reached up to kiss him. If her kiss was a little demanding, he didn’t seem to care. If it was a little too passionate, he didn’t seem to mind. If her actions were hurried and rougher than normal, he seemed to be right there with her.
In fact, he moved her back a step, his breathing hard, choppy. “Hold on. Let me get out of these clothes.”
Only she followed as he tried to retreat and was reefing on his belt buckle as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I’ve got this,” he said, his voice thick.
She smiled and let her hand slip down to encase the bulge under her fingers, then stroked it up and down over the thick denim. He swore and opened his jeans zipper. Her fingers dove in.
He laughed, but it ended as a groan as her fingers encircled him. “Jesus sweetheart, you’re killing me.”
She laughed. “Not yet.” With her other hand, she pulled his boxers down so his erection stood in front of her with nothing between them.
Then she lowered her head.
He swore lightly, then loudly as she licked the head of his erection, then his voice rose and fell as her tongue stroked down the side of his penis. She cupped his testicles and squeezed gently. She couldn’t resist when she saw the bead of moisture along the slit. She licked it up then took the head into her mouth and sucked gently.
He gasped then groaned and then whimpered. His hands held her head gently, the restraint in them amazing her. He pulled back suddenly, lifted her, dropped her on the bed, and mounted her. In a single thrust, he entered her to the hilt.
She arched her back, a light scream ripping from her throat.
He stilled, searched her face, and must have seen something reassuring in there because he pulled back slightly then plunged back in. She arched her back and cried out again. She was already so damn close. And then he retreated.
“No,” she cried out, “Don’t stop.”
“It’s all right, my sweet.” He reached down for her hips and held her firm as he entered her, thrust after thrust… and one final time…
Waves of pleasure washed through her in unending spirals. Dimly, through the haze of wonder, she heard him cry out his own release.
*
Perfect.
It was always perfect. No matter how or where or what mood, making love to Jazz was perfect.
He loved her so much. He was terrified of losing her.
Maybe this was the time to ask the big question, to give her the ring? He glanced down at her, intending to slip out of the bed just long enough to grab his pants where the ring was still in the pocket.
Only she was asleep, her breathing even.
He smiled and relaxed back. He’d let her sleep. She needed the rest. He didn’t know why she was so tired but if she needed more rest, then he’d do what he could to see she got it.
She was still recovering from her injury, and more than that, she was recovering from the shock and terror of everything that happened to them. It had been hell on her. On them.
He couldn’t wake her now.
He wracked his brain for a way to ask her to marry him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to make a public display. Nor was he the one to do something big and over the top. He was just Morgan.
There were videos all over the Internet of guys doing something wild and wonderful to ask their beloveds. Most he watched for amusement, but the thought of doing something like that himself made him break out in hives. Nothing good came to mind. He had no idea how to do this. He figured he’d know the right moment when it happened, only every time there was maybe a right moment, he second-guessed himself and couldn’t get the words out.
He was a fool. He needed to just do it.
Tomorrow. He’d ask her tomorrow. It was Saturday. They would be able to lie in late. He could wake her up the way he loved to and ask her just after she was overwhelmed with pleasure.
He needed to do it early. The rest of the morning was going to be getting caught up on house chores. They’d already talked about it. He glanced around the room full of discarded clothing.
Laundry being one of the highest priorities.
Yeah, he’d find the right time tomorrow.
Somehow.