That he had wrecked me for any other man.
To this day I still don’t know how I knew—I just did. Maybe no one I had been with before had ever made me feel the way he did. Then again, it could have been our intense chemistry. Perhaps our strong connection. Or simply that we were two lost puzzle pieces who had found each other.
Being in love has even made me poetic. And yes, that makes me roll my eyes at myself.
It’s just everything about him—every touch, caress, word, and whisper—makes my body come alive in an instant.
And now, even though my belly is swollen beyond belief, I want him more than ever.
That is why while Makayla was perusing the pregnancy section of the bookstore for me yet again, I was looking for a book on sexual positions for pregnant women. Sadly, there are none that I could find.
“Come on,” she says, setting the book down, “we need to finish the list.”
Yes, the list. The list of things every baby needs. All of which, mind you, I’m pretty certain are already in the nursery.
Yet, to put my best friend’s mind at ease, I play along with her that yes, I need five pacifiers because four just won’t do, and that seven baby blankets might not be enough in case I don’t get to the laundry during the week.
Something tells me Makayla will be driving from Laguna to West Hollywood and doing the baby’s laundry if that ever happens.
Amidst the twinkling white lights of the Christmas tree that I can’t believe is already up when Thanksgiving isn’t even until next week, I manage to sneak back and take another peek at the book titled Sex Masters. Hey, it’s our last name, so why not? It has 365 different positions. Although not specifically for pregnancy, it can’t hurt to have.
At this point not much can hurt anything.
Besides, I’m pissy, moody, and hormonal, and right now I want what I want.
Believe it or not, Keen has dealt with my mood swings quite well. In fact, he’s been happy to indulge my every need, and without smart-ass comments, too.
Who would have thought?
Not me.
In fact, whether it’s a pint of double fudge brownie non-dairy ice cream at midnight I crave, or plain spaghetti with no sauce at 6 a.m., or my constant state of arousal that needs satisfying, he’s there ready, willing, and able. Of course he’s not complaining about all the sex.
It’s kind of like he’s at my beck and call. But I’m not even going to think that way for long because if he knew I was, well . . . let’s just say . . . I’d probably be at his beck and call.
That alpha in him has an ego—and luckily I’ve learned to stroke it, instead of fighting it. This way, in the end, I usually get my way.
Some things, though, are out of both of our abilities to conquer. Like sex. Now that my body has changed, certain sexual positions have grown uncomfortable and some aren’t even feasible. This has become a daily challenge, hence why I put the book into the cart while Makayla’s back was turned.
She’s worried that I shouldn’t be having so much sex. She says she read somewhere that it can cause early labor. I’ve read at least a dozen pregnancy books, and have yet to read that.
After shopping all morning, I can’t wait to get home and put my feet up. Even in my Converse, they are hurting from all the walking she made me do.
Since Keen is out at the rock-climbing gym with Cam and Brooklyn, as soon as I step foot in the door, I decide to take a long, soothing bath.
Unable to bear the warm water, I get out much too soon.
Graceland, the oversized basset hound we brought home one Saturday when we stopped by the animal shelter and her big brown eyes screamed she belonged to us, starts barking, and I know immediately what that means.
He’s home.
Smiling, I walk into our bedroom in nothing but my oversized T-shirt. Watching the doorway, I tug the towel off my head and let my hair dangle down my back. Just then I hear the jingle of the dog collar, and I know Gracie, short for Graceland, is following Keen down the hallway of what used to be my mother’s house, which now belongs to Keen and me.
As silly as it sounds, knowing I’m going to see him in mere seconds makes my heart skip a beat.
“Maggie?” he calls.
“In our bedroom,” I answer.
With that huge smile that I love to see, Keen strides into the room freshly showered from the gym and looking like a million dollars, and as suspected, Gracie, the hound dog that she is, is right on his heels. Like me, she can’t seem to stay away from him.
Long and lean in a pair of jeans that should be outlawed for men, he crosses the room, plants a kiss on my lips, and then bends and places another on my stomach. “How was shopping?”
My nipples tighten at his simple touch, and I hate that I get wet every single time I see him. “Not as bad as I thought it would be. We checked everything off the list, and I got something for us, too.”