~~~
She’s still not too sure about me but if this is how we’re biding time until she either comes to her senses or I have to head back to Ocala for good, then I can’t think of any better way to do it...
“Yes-- f--uck… YES!!!” That’s my girl. I knew it… From the moment I saw her, never was there a single doubt in my mind that between Breanna’s legs would be my favorite place on earth. My head clamped between her thighs as I savor the taste of her. Her body writhing under the command of my tongue as her hips buck in my grasp while my mouth milks every second of her orgasm. It’s like falling down a never ending rabbit hole, a dream that I’m none too eager to wake from...
I haven’t had a more than five minute shower, alone, in just about two weeks. I usually head to her place right from the store. Once or twice she’s asked me to tote along some spice or an onion she was missing, but without fail I arrive to find a two, or sometimes even three, course meal in the works.
Breanna’s only been to my place once. One day last week, when I hadn’t been feeling too hot, I’d called to let her know that I wouldn’t be able to make it around to her place that night. At about eight o’clock that same evening she’d called asking if it were okay that she dropped by. She must’ve been right around the corner because not even five minutes later she was knocking at my door. Breanna arrived on my doorstep bearing her homemade rolls and chicken soup. She had me climb back into bed while she heated a bowl of soup for me. I wasn’t sure what to make of her impromptu visit, but I was even less sure of what to think when she sat and talked with me while I ate, washed the handful of dishes she’d made and bid me farewell barely an hour later. I hadn’t expected her to blow me or anything but, that night, it became pretty clear that one short hour of time with Breanna would never be enough.
So, the unfortunate circumstance of our encounters? While Breanna is currently slipping her body up and down my shaft, chasing yet another release… In this moment-- I’m trying to figure out how to not fall in love with her…
~~~
Randal and I have been keeping each other company for a little more than two weeks now. We’ve seamlessly fallen into the, I'm sure unhealthy, routine of playing house together. I now cook dinner for two which is, in and of itself, something that brings me much more joy than it probably should. I come home throwing on some of my skimpiest lounge wear-- usually a tank top, bra-less, and an old pair of running shorts, then get to cooking. From eggplant parm to chicken pot pie, I find myself cooking something that I know will make him hum and later show me how grateful he is...
Once I became okay with whatever this is, the rest was easy. Step one: Share a meal. Step two: Fuck like rabbits for the remainder of the night... There is no stress about where we should have dinner-- or what I should wear, and to top it all off, there isn’t a single door that creaks or light bulb that needs changing in my entire house.
I’m certain we’ve already had more sex in the last two weeks than I had in the entire first year with my last boyfriend. There wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with my last guy, but one James D. Price was more concerned with his image and topping the corporate ladder than whether or not he made my toes curl in the bedroom.
Over the five years that we spent together he’d had at least twenty dozen bouquets of flowers delivered to my office and gifted me with at least a half dozen pairs of shoes-- with sticker prices that would equal or surpass most people’s rent, but these were just things that were usually a consolation prize for something he had forgotten-- like my birthday, or some event that he wanted me to attend with him at the last minute. Eventually my birthday made it to his calendar but the usual bouquet of red roses arrived, regardless of the occasion. Needless to say, I’m no longer a fan of red roses-- not that I ever was.
Based on the hours that Randal and I spend together, which are most of them, I’ve decided to go back on the pill. In the past few years there hasn’t been much of a need for it, other than to regulate things and as life would have it, I’d never had much of a consistent cycle to begin with. I haven’t told Randal what I’m up to, but come Thursday he’ll be able to, as he would say, ‘fuck me raw’, in every possible way. The truth is, I’m not expecting Randal to be here through the winter but for the time being we can at least enjoy ourselves.
~~~
So, Gram wants me to invite Breanna to dinner. Since I’ve been back, our Sunday suppers have become a bit of a resurrected tradition but with Gram not really being up for any elaborate cooking, chilli and fish sticks don’t quite hit the spot when it comes to a Sunday meal. Before May, I’d missed more than four years worth of Sundays so I hadn’t considered that missing the last two would be that much of an issue. However, a couple of days ago, the question of where I’d ‘been ‘getting off to’ came up. Now, while out with friends, would have been the easiest answer to give, the time that Breanna and I have been spending together seemed to warrant a bit more than a high school explanation.
Gram doesn’t seem to be getting any better nor does she seem to be getting any worse but the smile that spread across her face when I mentioned Breanna’s name was encouragement enough for me to take a small leap of faith...
“Do you have anything planned for Sunday?” It’s only Tuesday, but if the last couple of weeks have been any indication, I can pretty much guarantee that Breanna knows what her plan is for Sunday.
“I found a recipe for garlic roasted chicken… I thought I’d put some root vegetables with it… Why-you-ask?” Breanna is sitting crossed legged on the bed while flipping through a Cosmo which I’ve come to learn is her not-so-guilty pleasure. As reserved and sometimes filtered as she can sometimes be, she’s still a woman, not matter how complicated.
“Gram… Wanted me to invite you over for dinner. Probably chili. Nothin’ fancy.” Ironically, I re-read the same sentence in Clancy’s Patriot Games, about tradition, at least four times in the next thirty seconds as I try to guess how Breanna will respond. I’m not sure what I’m expecting her to say, but...
“Can’t have chili without cornbread…” Was not it…
“You can’t?” I’m usually pretty-quick witted--one of the more positive traits I got from my daddy, but I’m honestly at a loss for words... I watch as Breanna continues to thumb through her magazine, her mouth briefly moving as she reads a headline.
“I’ll bring some muffins. Do Mr. and Mrs. Cummings like wine… Hmm, or maybe beer goes better with chili.” When I don’t respond, literally speechless as my infatuation for this woman instantly reaches an all time high, Breanna looks over at me in question.
“I don’t have to come if you don’t want me to…?”
“No! No, I do...” I say, scooting up from my reclined position under the bedsheet. The confusion on Breanna’s face makes me all the more aware of just how out of sorts I am with all this.
My last girlfriend, of almost three years, turned out to have been cheating on me and, just by chance, only Gramps got to meet her when he’d ventured to Ocala one Sunday while Gram was off visiting her sister. Before that I’d gone through a string of girls that were nothing more than a way to kill time on a Friday or Saturday night. Breanna will be the first woman I’ve ever brought home…
“When I first moved here your grandmother was so sweet to me and I think a visit is a great idea and I’m all for it if it’s something that will lift her spirits but if you don’t thi--” I stop Breanna from talking the only way I know how...
~~~
I could kiss this man all day, everyday, but I know that thoughts like these are what’s going to get me caught up...
I am a little surprised to be invited to dinner with his ‘folks’ but seeing that Harv and Lizzy Cummings were the first people that I met when I moved to Monsoon Country, I can at least expect that I won’t be walking into some sort of inquisition. I’ve kinda always been the girl that guys take home to meet their mothers-- usually because I was never too quick to spread my legs. That’s not exactly true anymore, but I’m a grown-- nearly thirty five year old woman, so, if now is not the time to start having some fun, then when?!
As if on cue, I hear Randal rip open the condom and feel as he nestles himself at my slick opening. My lips cradling the length of him, my tunnel throbbing for his entry. Sucking my sensitive nipple between his teeth, he tugs at one tender mound and then the other, his tongue circling each areola, in turn, until my nipples are sharp dark studs piercing the air. So focused on the attention and sensations being shown my breasts, I almost don’t notice when Randal dips inside. The very tip of him slipping in and out of my entrance.
With a slow and steady rhythm he gradually glides deeper, the muscles of his abdomen arcing over me with the continued effort of his mouth stimulating my now, painfully, stiff peaks. Shifting his mouth to mine, I reach to where we’re joined, tracing circles over my clit while his thick member grazes my ring and pinky fingers with each thrust. His body is heavy on top of mine but becomes lighter with every stroke as my legs spread higher and wider.
“How close?” Randal whispers, his deep blue eyes shining at me in concentration. He always lets me finish first and suddenly I hope that he can’t read my thoughts… I could get use to this... I wish this could last forever…
“Harder...” I bite out and he complies stretching my right leg up and over his shoulder. His pelvis now slamming into my ass with a driving force that makes my entire body inch up the length of my bed. I close my eyes and clench my teeth to dull the scream that escapes my mouth.
“Fuck. Yes…” Randal says, still hard and buried to the hilt. When I open my eyes, the sandy blond eyelashes fluttering over stormy sea blue irises, stare back at me with what can only be described as-- affection? Something that I’m, more than a little, certain has everything to do with my post-orgasmic euphoria.
Wrapping my legs behind his back, Randal tucks his face into the crook of my neck and shoulder, kissing and licking at my collar bone. With long fluid strokes, his hips rock into me, his body impelling mine, with a new found energy.
His chest pins me in place as the coarse curly hairs below his firm belly repeatedly strike at my sexual match. Thrust for thrust, my hips begin to rise and fall of their own accord, meeting him halfway. Watching as sweat begins to bead on the surface of his skin-- I taste him, running the tip of my tongue over the curve of his shoulder, eliciting a dangerous growl from him that sends me, once again, over the edge. Randal’s eyes find and search mine in the final jolts of his release. Leaning down, he kisses me in a way that feels a lot like the first or maybe even the last time, which instantly makes getting caught up the only option...
~~~
It’s Thursday afternoon and out of nowhere a text from Breanna’s come through telling me that she won’t be able to do tonight. The strangest part is that she texted instead of actually calling like she normally would but I do my best to keep my trust issues at bay...
The sad thing? I’m not really sure what I’m suppose to do without her. While I have plenty of food at my disposal-- and two hands, it’s already approaching ten o’clock and I’m standing here in my kitchen, still dressed, eating peanut butter right from the jar. If she were to call and ask if I still wanted to come over, I’d probably go running at the chance to see her tonight... This shit is not cool...
~~~
I’d texted for Jules to come over while I was still parked in the lot of my doctor’s office. I also had to text Randal letting him know that I wouldn’t be able to get together tonight.
“Bree, what is it babe? Here, let me get you some water...” My regular physician was out of the office this week but they were still able to fit me in after work. I'd had a full physical done two months ago so getting some blood work done and having a prescription filled should have been stress free and the least of my worries.
“Is it mama Baker? Is she okay?!” Both of my parents were college professors. My mother of comparative literature-- my father of anthropology. I was a virgin until I was twenty-four years old-- never wanting to disappoint or create an issue where there didn’t have to be one...
“Breanna, babe don’t cry, whatever it is, it’ll be okay.” Will it? Will the guy that I’m suppose to be having a casual fling with be okay with the fact that his fuck buddy, of not even a month, is preg--
“Pregnant?” This is the first time that I'm actually saying the word out loud and while I’m crying, I’m not really sure why...
“You're Pregnant!?! Oh my… Damn…” If it hadn't registered before, Jules loudly re-announcing it to me is confirmation enough.
Naturally, at the age of thirty-three I’ve been invited to more baby showers than I’ve cared to attend and have congratulated other people on countless occasions, but never has the word ever been used in reference to me. I've never even had to utter the words I'm late…
“How could I let this happen...?” I did have a scare about a year before James and I decided to part ways. I was twenty-nine years old and the prospect of being a mother was one that I was open to but one that I knew he wouldn’t all that enthused about.
That time, I waited an entire week for my period to come and when it finally did, while we were attending a high-profile charity event, I couldn’t have been any more relieved. I excused myself from the evening-- under the pretense of not feeling well, hailed my own cab-- since James wasn't quite done networking, and I swore that I would never put myself in the position again…
“Seriously, babe it’ll be okay.” This time, the doctor came into the room telling that he had some good news and some not so good news. I’d only suspected that maybe I wouldn’t be able to get my prescription filled like I had intended.
“‘... Doctor told me… ‘The goo--d news is you can have a--ll the unprotected sex you want...’ With a fuckin’ chuckle… Can you believe that?!” The look of confusion on Jules’ face is, I imagine, the exact same one I had on mine when that asshole of a doctor took a seat on the rolling stool beside the examination table.
“‘The perhaps not so good news is that you’re al--ready pregnant…’” The doctor went on to explain to me the miracle of conception and that even though I was over thirty, there was no reason I couldn't have a healthy pregnancy... The disdain now on Jules’ face lets me know that I hadn’t been completely irrational for marching, wordlessly, out of the doctor’s office and crying in my car until there were no more tears left to fall. Or so I thought….
“Isn’t that like-- malpractice or something?” Probably, but...
“Doesn’t matter…” And it truly doesn’t. I’ve experienced a full gamut of emotions in the last two hours... From the excitement of thinking I’d be free to sex up Randal in any and every way I pleased-- to the sadness of knowing that I managed to fuck up a perfectly content life of being single... Absolutely, none of it matters.
“What are you going to do?” I know that I'm not some naive sixteen year old but I'm also not sure if I'm cut out to be a single mother… So, for right now…
“We’re going to keep this to ourselves.”
~~~
Except for the text on Thursday and another she sent on Friday morning, I haven't heard a peep from Breanna. She messaged saying that something had come up at work but that she would see me for dinner on Sunday. It’s now a quarter to four on Sunday afternoon, with Breanna due here by four.
After getting dressed, I head down to see if there’s anything I can help with. Gramps has been dancing around the crock pot since six-thirty this morning and was doing the same thing when I got home from the store this afternoon. Just as I’m coming through the back door, I hear Breanna’s familiar husky laugh and the click of her heels headed my way.
“These are fantastic!” I hear Gramps’ muffled words around what must already be a mouth full of muffin. I tuck my hands in my pockets and rest against the counter to wait for them to enter the kitchen.
“‘Fraid my chili may not stand up next to ‘em, though!” Breanna’s laughter sends chills down my spine. I’d almost forgotten the affect she has on me...
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious. I can’t really take much credit for them, though, they’re my mother’s reci-- pe--...” Gramps comes through the kitchen doorway first with Breanna two steps behind. I grin seeing, and loving, the fact that I’ve caught her off guard. What I don’t like is the smile that fades from her face at the sight of me and the, now, visible look of distress in it’s place.
“Good aft’rnoon...” I say, watching as she carefully schools her features-- no doubt, winding up for pleasantries…
“Seems like it’s been forever...” Breanna says with a subtle smile as she awkwardly holds onto a six pack of something that I can’t quite make out.
“It does.” I say, still leaning against the counter enjoying my view of her. She’s wearing a short-sleeved sweater dress in the same color red as the wine that I picked up for her. It hugs the length of her thighs and has one of those foofy collars that drapes loosely around her neck. Her black suede boots just reach her knees and have heels that make her about three inches taller-- and make me imagine what she’d look like wearing only those and nothing else.
“You just gonna stand there gawkin’ or actually get Breanna here somethin’ to drink?!” Well, Gram is on the move today…
~~~
Randal had warned me that his grandmother had become a bit frail but to see her hunched over, thinner by at least twenty pounds, and walking with a cane was something that I had not been prepared for.
“We have coffee, sweet tea, water, and I picked up some wine-- if you want.” Randal is standing there already holding a wine glass and as much as I could use the liquid courage, wine is obviously not a great idea.
“Water is fine for now. Thank you.” I smile in Randal’s general direction as I greet Gram. I’ve only been here for five minutes but I’m having the hardest time even looking him in the eye.
“Come let’s sit. They’ll give us a holler when everything’s ready.” I trail Gram to a brightly lit sunroom with plants placed and hanging in nearly every nook. There’s a wicker couch with flowered cushions, along with two matching chairs, set in front of nearly floor to ceiling windows. I help Gram to take a seat in one of the chairs, very much reminding me of when my daddy had begun to take a turn for the worst.
“How have you been feeling?” I ask, hoping that she feels better than she looks.
“I’m gettin’ along, ‘fraid I don’t have much of an appetite, though. I hear you’ve been keeping my grandson well’n good company…” Gram Cummings, for as long as I’ve known her, has been more than a little feisty-- sweet but always one to keep you on your toes.
“Yes… I had some car trouble a few weeks ago. Randal helped me to get towed over to Pete’s.” With a glimmer of suspicion in her eyes, she begins to smile at me just as Randal is bringing in a tray of iced tea and water.
This is the first time that I’ve seen him dressed in anything other than faded jeans-- or his birthday suit… He’s still wearing jeans but these are dark blue and he has on a khaki colored long-sleeved henley that hugs every contour of his broad chest, shoulders and back. He even smells delicious-- like soap and something spicy... Sage maybe.
“Randal tells us you’re quite a good cook-- not only in the kitchen, I imagine.” Gram comments, with her attention focused on her grandson, now grinning from ear to ear.
“You’ll find out soon enough how good of a cook she is when you taste the muffins she made-- and you keep talkin’ like that, we’ll make sure they up your medication…” Randal replies with a tiny smirk handing off a glass of sweet tea to Gram before taking a seat beside me on the couch.
“Not to worry… She loves to get us all riled up if she can.” He says passing me a glass of iced water and sitting close enough that I can feel the heat of his body warm my entire left side.
“Just think, I’ve been married to her for more than fifty-two years, but I wouldn’t change a single second... Table’s all set.” Randal’s grandfather says, coming into the room with only kind eyes for his wife. I watch as he carefully helps her from her seat and wonder if love like Harvey & Elizabeth Cummings’ love, will ever be a part of my reality...
This year, my own parents would have been married for forty years-- so it’s not as if I hadn’t had any good examples to follow. In hindsight, I may have been a little picky but I do know that chemistry can’t be faked. For instance, Randal’s palm on the small of my back as he escorts me to the dining room is almost more than my beating heart can bear and the warmth of his whispered words next to my ear...
“Thank you for this. It really means a lot...” Nearly prove too much for my guilty conscience...
~~~
Supper came and went like a perfect breeze. It’s been a few weeks now since I’ve seen Gram consume anything more than a slice of toast and an Ensure, but today I watched her eat not one but two cornbread muffins and even drink a part of one of the apple ciders that Breanna so thoughtfully chose to bring along-- obviously thinking of Gram’s medication. Conversation was effortless and the afternoon turned into an evening filled with laughter. I only wish it didn’t have to end.
“Will I see you this week?” As much as I hate to ask, the three days that we’d gone without seeing each other seemed to signal that our time together was coming to an end.
“Things have really been-- hectic… I’ll have to check my calendar.” I’m not surprised that she has to check her calendar for me but I am pretty disappointed...
“I get it… Well, if you try to reach me, I’m headed to Ocala on Wednesday for a couple of days. Should be back no later than Friday.” It’s been well over a month since I’ve been up there to check on things. I’ve got a good bunch of guys working for me but, I wouldn’t put it past Alex to be selling his mama’s tamales outta the back of the landscape truck.
“Be safe...” Breanna says and while she really looks like she might be concerned for my safety-- I’ll miss you aren’t the next words on her lips.
“I better get going. I really had a nice time.” I’m not sure why there’s sadness in Breanna’s voice but the brief flash of déjà vu I’m having, as she backs away from me toward the front door, is enough to make my dick twitch. Before I‘m close enough to wrap an arm around her waist, Breanna turns reaching for the knob of the locked door. Mere inches from touching her, I can think of a few things I could say, or do, that might keep this going, but since I’m neither a beggar or saint, I decide against it…
~~~
“Let me get that… Thanks again for the visit. Gram will be talking about this for days.” Randal says, moving in close and reaching around me to unlock the door. I quickly snatch my hand from the latch and sidestep the door-- avoiding the risk of physical contact…
“It was my pleasure...” And it truly was. It’s been months since I’ve had a group activity that wasn’t work related.
Looking back at Randal one last time, I’m not sure if it’s disappointment or relief I feel knowing that he hadn’t tried to make a move or, at the very least, asked me to stay longer. I was expecting, or maybe hoping, that the walk to my car would be one of shame… To have had his erection pressed against my ass while he kissed my neck or to, right now, turn around and have him take me to his loft-- would be the easy thing to do, but it wouldn’t be right…
~~~
I’ve been distracted all week. On Monday and Tuesday, I found myself waiting for the occasion when Breanna would click her way through the door of the Penny General, but that was a moment that never came. I managed the drive to Ocala and back without incident but the only thing on my mind had been Breanna. Thursday, when I called to check in on Gram, since Gramps had to cover the store, I was told something that completely rocked my world…
Turns out, Breanna had been visiting Gram while I was away. On Wednesday she brought around her home baked rolls and yesterday a chicken pot pie. After hearing this, I couldn’t get back to Moony county fast enough. I’m just now locking up, after relieving Gramps for the last few hours at the store and I’m headed straight for Breanna’s place… To thank her.
--
I’m not really sure what I’m doing here, or what I’m planning on saying to her but the fact that she took it upon herself to check in on my grandmother, is owed more than a text or a phone call-- and the truth is, I just want to see her. I never expected us to be a long term thing. Hell, I really hadn’t expected us to get past that one, first, night-- but soulmates or not, there’s no denying it-- Breanna is a good woman.
Walking up her driveway I can already hear music-- classical tonight, streaming in the air from around back. It’s been warmer than usual the past couple of days and even with half of November already gone we’ve had some nearly ninety degrees days.
Lightly hammering the knocker on the front door, I wait for her to answer-- my pulse unmistakably picking up at the thought of seeing her. I stand there for one minute, and then two, before deciding to knock again but this time a little harder. After five minutes, I decide to take a look around back. Knowing that I won’t be able to hear if her shower is running, I do the next best thing… Go peek through her kitchen window…
Now, if I get caught in the act and it turns out that Breanna was simply ignoring my knock, then I’ll officially be the perv of the week... But there’s something-- call it fuckin’ spidey senses if you want, that tells me something’s not right…
Carefully hurdling and, at the same time, admiring her beds of mums and viola, I’m able to get right up to the planter hanging on the ledge of her kitchen window. Seeing that the shade is completely raised I cautiously peek in from one side. Her bedroom door is open and so is the one heading out to the deck. I don’t see anything out of place and figure she’s in the bathroom like I’d originally thought-- probably blow drying her hair… Once I’ve convinced myself that I’m overreacting, I become a bit more bold and move in closer for a better view. What I don’t expect to see is-- Breanna’s bare legs sprawled on her kitchen floor...
--
I immediately dial 911. More concerned with how I’m going to get to her, I don’t even bother to say hello. Yelling out the words ‘send an ambulance’, I run back around the house, trampling the same flowers that I’d been so careful to avoid. The first thing that comes to mind is her deck door and that I may be able to scale her fence-- a fuckin’ six foot high fence… Then it dawns of me. Weeks ago, I’d seen Julia climbing down from a chair holding onto a spare key! But where is it?! I feel around on the molding above the door finding nothing. I do the same above the front window and again come up empty, but at the last second I discover that one of the bricks is loose. Wiggling it free I find a key resting, deliberately, inside.
Taking a deep breath, I unlock Breanna’s front door only to be hindered by the extra security chain firmly in place. Ramming her front door once, twice and a finally a third time I rip the screwed in hardware from the wall. With my heart beating out of my chest, I race to the kitchen to find Breanna on the floor with a raised knot on her temple and vomit beside her head. She's still breathing but it’s shallow and taxed. Calling out her name, I pull her into my arms just as I hear sirens nearby-- the panic coursing through my veins making me light headed…
I was the one that found my daddy unconscious on the bathroom floor. The fifteen year old that called for an ambulance to rescue us. I had to stay in the waiting room while they tried to stop the bleeding in my daddy’s head… So, when the EMT asks what my relationship to Breanna is… Not for a second do I hesitate to say husband.
~~~
I wake to the sound of non-stop beeping and an ache in my head and body that feels like I’ve been hit by several buses. There’s an IV attached to my hand and I reach to feel a tube running across my face, into my nose, and tucked behind both of my ears. When my eyes are finally able to focus, the whiteboard in front of me reads, Today is: Tuesday, November 22-- written in dry erase marker. Tuesday… The last thing I remember was getting ready for bed on Friday evening and feeling overtired… Quickly reaching to my tummy, I wond--
“The baby’s fine...” Randal says in a raspy voice from a chair in the corner of the room. I’m not sure if I’ve turned my head too quickly or am simply pained by the fact that-- he knows... Either way, tears begin to well in my eyes.
“I’m sorry.” I try to say, but my voice cracks when I speak the words... I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you… I’m sorry that I messed up…
“How’s your head?” Standing from the chair, Randal comes toward me never taking his eyes off of me. Sitting on the edge of the bed he takes my hand into his, waiting for me to answer. Even though his clothes seem to be fresh, he’s sporting a sunny blond beard that’s well past a five o’clock shadow and his eyes are a weary and cloudy blue.
“It hurts…” Is all that I venture to say, looking down at our joined hands, observing the distinct difference in our skin tones.
Feeling groggy and parched, I turn my attention to a small plastic pitcher on the rolling bed table. Following my line of sight, Randal moves around the bed, filling a cup for me.
“Your mom went to shower. She should be back in a bit.” Instantly, the strength of my voice returns only to be paired with sheer anxiety.
“You didn’t tell her th--!?” Randal cuts me off before I can finish my question.
“No… I didn’t think it was my place to tell her that she’s gonna be a grandmother…” Randal says matter of factly and even though there’s relief in knowing that he’s okay with this, I don’t-- can’t, hide my reservations.
“Is she..?” I ask, looking to him with unwavering eyes. Returning to his place beside me on the bed, Randal answers my question with equally unwavering conviction.
“Breanna... If it’s up to me, she’ll have no less than three grandbabies...”
Epilogue
It feels like I’ve been pregnant for at least a year. I’m already a week past my July fourth due date and the outside temperature could probably melt a penny on the pavement. Randal is due home in about an hour and I’m relatively certain that he would throw a fit if he were to catch me, down on my hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor…
Six weeks ago I was still wearing heels until Randal up and decided to buy me a pair of yellow Chucks as if he had done something revolutionary. It really had become a bit of a chore carrying around an extra human being on a pair of stilts, so I hadn't complained when he sweetly tied them on my feet. I also suspect that Randal wanted no excuses when it came to getting me past the thirty-seven week mark as my doctor had advised.
After my accident, Randal became a permanent fixture in my life. Even while my mother was still around, he’d stop by everyday, rain or shine, to see how I was doing.
I was released from the hospital on Thanksgiving day and not only did I not have to cook, as I had been planning, but I got to celebrate it with all of my favorite people.
Frenchie brought over homemade sweet potato pies, a skill-- beyond lip syncing Madonna songs, that I never knew he had-- while Jules showed up with a bag of ice and two cans or Reddi Wip. My mom and I had insisted that the Cummings show up empty handed but Gram managed to put together the best-- even if it was the only, green bean casserole that I had ever tasted.
As the weeks passed, Gram seemed to be gaining strength but I was completely heartbroken on that dreary day back in February when Randal came to tell me that she hadn't woken up that morning.
“You ‘bout done?” Startled to near incontinence, which is an easy task these days, I turn to find Randal leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen. He’s barefoot, having left his shoes in their usual place by the front door, and is already down to his jeans and tank while still holding onto his polo shirt.
“You could be down here helping me instead of sneakin’ up on me like that!” I do my best to keep my resolve of being upset with him-- for being forty-five minutes early, but just the sight of him is enough to warm me, even when, in my pregnant state, I have the thermostat set to a cool seventy.
“You’n I both know that’s not what you’d have me do.” Randal says, walking toward me and tossing his shirt to the counter before kneeling down to help me stand.
Moments like these… Over the past several months Randal has proven that he’s in this for the long haul. Even when I had my doubts about becoming a mother, never once did he seem unsure about the turn our lives had taken. When it comes right down to it, Randal is a far better man than he’ll ever give himself credit for, so I do any and everything I can to reassure him of that.
On my first day back to work I arrived to find a large arrangement of yellow azaleas, tulips and daisies resting on my desk when I got there. There was no question who they were from, even before seeing the card that was attached: I know a guy. ;) See you tonight. Yours, R. At the time, all that I could think was ‘if this is him try trying to woo me, it’s working…’ Little did I know, that very night, I would arrive home to a house filled with flowers and the man of my dreams waiting for me on bended knee…
“Now, if you’re done givin’ me a hard time you can join me in the bedroom and lem’me give you one.” With his hand over my medicine ball of a belly, the gleam in Randal’s eyes, as always, hold nothing but promise.
~~~
So, it turns out that the faulty condom had been mine-- a result of a faulty relationship and the two expired condoms in my wallet that I hadn’t thought I needed, until Breanna came along.
I had her ring in my pocket on Thanksgiving day, but I couldn’t risk her not saying yes in front of a room full of people. I needed her to know that I loved her beyond the child that we would share...
I'd thought there was nothing more staggering than watching the woman you love laid up in a hospital bed, while attached to a ventilator meant to keep her breathing-- only to find out hours later that she was pregnant your child... It was, however, when I saw that same woman’s belly begin to grow with a seed that 'I' had planted, that I knew my world would be forever changed.
In the past nine months, I’ve watched her nipples grow darker and her breasts swell larger to now have their honey-toned flesh spill from my hands as she rocks back and forth in my lap. I’ve witnessed the spread of her hips and the extra sway in her stride when she enters or leaves any room and up until, maybe, a month ago she’d been doing it wearing one of probably two-hundred pairs of come-fuck-me heels. So, for nine long months, there hasn’t been a single time when Breanna’s clicked her way into the store that I haven’t considered taking her in the back storeroom and fuckin’ her until she’d have to teeter her way back to the car. Those fuckin’ Chucks? Were for my sanity…
We’re now down to two positions and unless I wake in the middle of the night to find myself planted between her cheeks, we can both agree that Breanna’s place is sitting, rightfully, on top of my dick. I can still remember the first time I got to feel her grip me bare…
--
When I hear Breanna’s car pull into her drive I immediately second guess whether or not keeping and actually using her spare key is gonna be frowned upon. I’m wearing a suit that more than a few people had to convince me to buy and I’ve covered every table and countertop with any and every white, yellow, and purple flower that my supplier could find in bloom.
While planning this all out I made sure to do my research. Breanna’s mama was so excited when I asked her if it’d be alright if her daughter and I got married, you’da thought I was asking her. We’d become fast friends, under the circumstances, and she was even able to tip me off that red roses were a no go, which I was grateful for. Mama Baker had also told me that she’d never seen Breanna any happier than when she was around me. So, going into tonight, I feel confident if not certain that Breanna will say yes to the question I’ve been champin’ at the bit to ask her.
Just as I hear the key slide into the lock, I stoop to one knee, holding open the crimson and gold embellished box that I’d driven overnight to Jacksonville to get. I dusted the front porch with white rose petals, with the hope of not scaring the livin’ shit out of her, so I’m not surprised by her slow and hesitant entrance through the front door. When she finally sets eyes on me they instantly fill with unshed tears. Stepping further into the room she lets her work bag and pocketbook fall from her shoulder, right along with her tears. I’m thinkin’ I should let her close the door before I begin to speak, but I want nothing more than to hear her say yes...
“Breanna… I knew I loved you, the moment I realized I couldn’t get enough of you… When I couldn’t see you... Kiss you-- or just... Talk to you...” Back when I’d watched her lying, unresponsive, in that hospital bed, I was completely shattered knowing I’d wasted even a single second without telling her how I felt…
“When you got… After your accident… I vowed-- even before I knew you were pregnant… I vowed to love you for the rest of my life… You don’t have to believe me bu--...” Before I can finish my declaration, Breanna rushes to me throwing her arms around my neck and collides her body with mine, just short of tipping us both over.
I close and slip the ring box in my pocket, to keep from dropping it, and stand while lifting and kissing her as if my life depends on it. It’s been two days since her mama left and this is the first real opportunity we’ve had to be alone. When we finally break for air, Breanna smiles up at me-- her face still wet with tears, while the palms of her hands press flatly against the lapels of my suit.
“You sure clean up nicely… And the flowers are beautiful. Thank-- you... ” Breanna says in a wavering voice. Dashing away tears she raises to her tippy toes kissing me once more. Spinning on her heels she swings the front door shut. I watch as she locks up, securing the new chain I’d installed on her first afternoon home. Grabbing her bags from the floor Breanna attempts to walk past me towards the kitchen but I hook an arm around her waist to keep her near me. Did she not understand?
“Breanna…?” I speak her name with question, willing her to be mine...
“Randal...” She says with a grin resting a hand on my chest for balance as she reaches behind her to remove one highheel and then the other. Continuing to move past me Breanna casually places her bags on one of the kitchen stools and gently reaches out to smell the flowers I’ve place on her center island.
“I’ve always loved daffodils. They make me want to drink tea in the garden… Be serenaded by violins…” Seemingly lost in thought, she moves to her bedroom door setting her shoes just inside.
In a navy blue dress that wraps around her body and ties to one side she walks to the refrigerator on bare stockinged feet. I’ve seen this a couple of times before. On nights that she’s had to work late, we ordered chinese and fucked-- making it a game, seeing if we could finish before it arrived... Breanna is currently drinking a glass of water and studying the chinese takeout menu tacked to the inside of her pantry door. Supposing that there’s no place else I need to be, I pat the ring box in the pocket of my suit jacket before shedding it and walking to the counter to grab the glass of water she’s poured for me.
“I wan’na number 7-- no peas or carrots and an extra egg roll.” Breanna looks over at me with another bright smile and clicks a few buttons on the remote of her bluetooth player.
“We’ll order in a bit but-- tonight… I want to take my time with you…” With the sound of soft jazz floating through the air Breanna moves to unlock the patio door and crooks a finger at me while backing her way out onto the deck-- obviously, expecting me to follow… And well, you know what they say about wild fuckin’ horses…
Directing me to the single chaise lounger in the corner of the deck, she grabs a cushion from the storage chest. Hooking fingers into my belt loops she guides me to take a seat. With some urgency, she pulls at the heel of one of my shoes only to realize that she needs to untie it first. I chuckle at how eager she seems but the awkward angle of my growing erection sobers me pretty quickly. Once the final shoe drops, Breanna pushes at my shoulders, leaning my back against the cushion while straddling me and reaching to undo my belt buckle. When she finally tugs at my boxers I, literally, spring free-- my dick slapping me in the belly. Crawling higher with her knees on either side of my waist, she loosens and unloops the ties of her dress spreading the fabric like an eagle’s wings right before my eyes. My focus instantly homes in on her lacy black bra with white trim-- reminiscent of a French maid’s costume. My eyes roam lower and are drawn to the lace of her garter belt that snuggly hugs her waist. My gaze travels over the straps that curve over her thighs and meet with the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings but to my utter amazement, I’m presented, head on, with her bare-- pantiless, landing strip. My eyes immediately shoot to her’s, wordlessly asking ‘where the hell are your panties?’
“I knew you’d be over tonight… Breanna says leaning forward and tugging at my earlobe with her teeth. “I tossed them in my purse before I left work…” My naughty fuckin’ girl…
With a growl, I tug and raise each of her thighs until her heated core is hovering over my pulsing head. Briefly teasing her, I brush my already leaking tip against her slick clit before plunging her body down onto my dick. Breanna moves slowly at first. Soft whimpers accompanying each fluid descent of her hips. She quickly finds her rhythm but my mind is lost to the scorching depths of her-- my dick frustrated by every cooling upstroke. I begin to feel the telltale signs of Breanna’s climax but I’m not ready. I need more. I need answers. Clutching her ass, I still her thrusts-- her breasts heaving above me-- her walls contracting involuntarily around me.
“Tell me.” Am I not good enough? Not polished enough? I can live with that... If I have to…
“Tell? What…?” Breanna asks, still short of breath. Did I not just ask this woman to marry me?-- Oh, shit…
“... So, you’ll marry me?” I finally ask, realizing that I never got around to the actual question to begin with… The expression on Breanna’s face morphs from ecstasy to something that very closely resembles pity. Still buried to the hilt inside of her, I steel myself for the possibility of rejection.
“Randal, of course… How could you thi--?” Overcome with relief and pure love for this woman, I pull her body flush with mine, melding my lips with hers. Together we surge forward, our tongues playing a game of cat and mouse, each of us chasing an inevitable release. I slide the cups of her bra down revealing bulbous chocolate nipples that I roll between my thumbs and forefingers, witnessing as every ounce of Breanna’s inhibition slips away.
Reaching for the top of the chaise, with a now persistent tempo in her hips, Breanna begins to ride me hard-- working just the head, with the vigor of a stripper out to earn next month’s rent. Ass bouncing, tits swaying-- my dick is engulfed in a perfect haven of heat and friction.
“Say it... Lem’me hear it...” I strain out, speaking through gritted teeth. Breanna begins to take me deeper-- forcefully planting her hips in my lap, her ass clapping firmly against the top of my slacks.
“ Yes... Randal. Ye-sss.” Breanna says in a whisper with a hiss, her walls suddenly tightening and locking around my dick like a Chinese finger trap. When my climax strikes, I black out for a moment-- my release jetting, unrestricted, from my body into hers... And if it hadn’t already accomplished, I’d wish for nothing more than to impregnate my future wife tonight…
--
Our engagement only lasted through the month of December. Breanna had been adamant about not having a bump, or baby, present in any of the wedding photos. So, after calling in a favor at one of the botanical gardens, we were married in a breezy but warm ceremony on New Year’s Eve. Breanna walked a flagstone path, to the sound of a two violinist playing Canon in D, meeting me under a white Victorian gazebo.
I’d always heard it said, but I never thought it possible to love someone increasingly more each day. For my entire life I’d been convinced that the way Gramps loved Gram, had everything to do with them being high school sweethearts and having known each other from the time they ten years old. Breanna and I have yet to see our first wedding anniversary, but I can hardly remember what my life was like without her in it. We’ve had our share of disagreements, usually over money-- and who's paying for what, but I find myself doing everything in my power to please her.
“Huhhh… Randal…” With the palms of her hands planted on my chest, I feel the orgasm take hold of her body-- her wetness spilling over me, reaching my perineum and probably soaking the bed sheet beneath me.
“Sweetheart-- just ride it out.” I cup her tight belly as a contraction accompanies the rigid rise and fall of her hips. Braxton Hick’s my ass... I swear she’s already in labor and has been for more than a week now but Breanna wants everything to happen naturally… And naturally I just want her to be safe.
“I love you-- you know that?...” Breanna says, in a pant. There was a time when I thought that the exponential amount of love I felt for this woman would never be reciprocated… That I would find myself tied to and tugging at the sleeve of a woman who would never truly love me in return, but the striking affection I, now, see in Breanna’s chestnut eyes is almost paralyzing. So, speaking the only word I'm able to mutter past the lump in my throat, I simply say...
“Yes.”
~~~
Ryen Elizabeth Cummings
Born July 11th ~ To Proud Parents
Randal & Breanna Cummings
~~~