Still (Grip Book 2)(54)

He doesn't answer, just maintains the steady pace, and my body clamps  around him with each withdrawal, afraid he won't come back. I'm a  seaside fire he's methodically building, taking his time with. Soon I'm a  roaring bonfire, flames tossed by the wind and licking high into the  air. My moans and whimpers dance with his grunts and groans in the early  morning quiet.

His lips coast over my nape as his other hand cups my small belly.

"Bris, you have no idea," he whispers into my hair. "The thought of you,  the sight of you pregnant . . . I'm hard all the time. It's the sexiest  thing I've ever seen. I don't want to be rough, but-"

"You can be," I insist, pressing back into him, luring him deeper into  my body. I contract my inner muscles around him, a deliberate  provocation.

"Shit, Bris." His forehead pushes into the base of my skull.

I've pulled a lever within him and he turns fast, his tempo feverish.  Every time I think he must be almost done, he changes the angle, setting  off another constellation of stars behind my eyelids. He's in full  heat, full rut, the instincts of his body dictating every thrust and  moan. Light creeps through the drapes, and the vibrant colors of sunrise  quietly invade our room while sweat runs freely over our skin, adorning  his chest and my back, a wet, sensuous slide that our bodies lap up.  I've lost count of my orgasms. I'm limp, my muscles and bones loose and  liquid even as he still hammers into me.

"Are you okay?" His words are staccato, punctuating between heavy breaths.

"Yes. Baby, don't stop." My words are sloppy in my mouth. I'm pillaged.

"I'm close . . . I'm gonna . . . dammit, Bris."

His growl quakes through my back as he releases. I work my hips,  struggling to keep up with the heavy, frenetic piston of his body until  he stiffens behind me, rigid as pleasure conquers him. Our breaths fill  the air in symphony, his and mine. We come down slowly, his possessive  grip on my hip easing, our heartbeats pounding in unison, neither of us  wanting to stop. Our bodies still rock as the tumult of the waves  gradually gentle. By the time our breathing regulates, light fully  intrudes, introducing another morning.         

     



 

"I really did want to talk," he says with a husky laugh, walking his fingers down my arm to caress my fingers.

"Hmmmm?" The day is fully lit, but my alarm must have another hour left.  Our lovemaking has left me speechless and exhausted before the day has  begun.

"I had something to ask you."

"Ask," I mutter, eyes half-closed.

"Are you nervous?" he asks. "About today, I mean? Finding out."

"Are we finding out?" Even half-dead and listless, I manage a wicked  smile. Grip wouldn't be able to hold out. He told me from the beginning,  even if I didn't want to know if we're having a boy or girl, he would  have to.

"Bris, we already talked about-"

"Just kidding," I cut in with a wisp of a laugh. "No, I'm not nervous. Excited, but not nervous."

He rests his hand on my hip, fingers twined with mine, and presses kisses between my shoulder blades.

"Dwell in possibility," he says between kisses.

"Hmmmm?" I turn my head the slightest bit, not enough to see him, just enough to hear him better.

"That's what I whisper to our baby, to your belly. It's from a poem."

"Neruda?"

"Dickinson. It's a poem called I dwell in Possibility." He pauses,  giving me space to ask questions that I don't pose because I know he'll  keep going. "I want our kids to grow up believing in possibilities, not  because we have money or the advantages that come with it, but because  of themselves. They can chase possibilities with nothing stopping them.  If my mom hadn't made me feel that way, like if I could dream it and  would work hard, it could be mine, there's no telling where I'd be  today. I don't want other people's biases and this country's broken  systems and roadblocks to get in their way."

Passion, conviction, and cynicism mingle in his voice.

"Hell, it didn't get in my way, and I had nothing. I want them to be  way-makers, Bris, people who explore this world, never thinking it can't  be theirs. That's what I tell him . . . or her."

I close my eyes, not to sleep, but to relish this man, this wonderful man who is the epicenter of my world.

"You're gonna be an amazing father." I drop my head back to rest in the curve of his neck and shoulder.

"I want to be," he says. "My dad sucked."

I don't hear any pain or bitterness. I've never seen holes in Grip that his father should have filled.

"When I was little, I did wonder sometimes why my father didn't stick  around," he continues, as if answering a question he heard my mind  forming. "But my mom didn't give me time to personalize it. She didn't  keep it a secret or avoid talking about it. She just always made it  about him, not a reflection of me. She used to say, ‘Poor thing. That  damn fool is missing out on you. Oh well, his loss. More Marlon for  me.'"

I lift our hands to my lips, smiling and kissing them.

"She'd say he was gonna look up one day and see a star in the sky that  was so far out of his reach, and he'd know that was his son, that could  have been his. She assumed from the beginning I'd be something great."

His takes our hands, still linked, and rests them over the small protrusion of my belly.

"Dwell in possibility," I whisper, understanding it better now.

Grip's mouth curves into a smile against my neck as he speaks.

"There was never any doubt."





33





Grip





I think I broke her.

Bristol fell asleep almost as soon as she climbed onto this examination  table in the doctor's office, and she hasn't even twitched. Me and my  randy ass, hard before the sun was even up, wanting to have sex instead  of letting her sleep.

We didn't use the main entrance, but arranged to enter through the back  and come in here instead of the waiting room, but we still have to wait  like everybody else for Dr. Wagner, Bristol's OB-GYN, to finish with the  patient before us. While we wait, Bristol sleeps. I'm mentally  lecturing me and my dick on being more considerate in the future when  Darla the ultrasound technician comes in.

She's spreading some kind of clear jelly on our little baby bump.  Bristol's eyes pop open for a second, but then she drifts right back  into deep sleep.

"She's really out, huh?" Darla asks with a smile.

"Yeah." I crook my mouth into a grin. "I've never known her to sleep  this much. She usually works around the clock, but can barely get  through the day without a nap now."

"Not unusual." Darla rolls the wand over Bristol's belly, eyes trained on the screen. "Most mothers . . ."         

     



 

Her words and her smile dissolve, her gaze sharpening on the ultrasound.

"Everything okay?" I ask, unease crawling over my skin.

"Um, sure." Darla blinks a few times and shoots me a farce of a smile.  She reaches up and presses a button that takes the screen dark. "I'll be  right back."

"What's going on?" I demand, keeping my voice low, not wanting to disturb Bristol, but she wakes anyway.

"What'd I miss?" she asks drowsily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up.  Darla gently presses Bristol's shoulder back until she's lying down  again.

"Nothing yet. I just need to check on one thing. I'll be right back."  She stands and crosses over to the door. "We'll wake you when it's  time."

And she's gone.

The hell.

"Is everything okay?" Bristol is now fully alert, her eyes darting from  my face to the door Darla closed behind her. I'm up on my feet and at  the door, too. "Where are you going?"

"Piss break." I glance at her over my shoulder, ordering my face at ease. "I'm gonna drain the snake before Darla gets back."

She rolls her eyes, but her brows bend with lingering concern.

"You sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, babe. I'll be back."

I walk swiftly up the hall, stopping when I see Darla and our doctor  talking outside what I assume is her office or another examining room.

"Hey," I say, walking up on them. "What's going on?"

Two startled faces turn to me.

"Mr. James," Dr. Wagner says, pulling a guard over her eyes, but not  before I see the deep concern. "You should go back to the examination  room. I'll be with you shortly. Sorry for the delay."

"Don't bullshit me." I don't have time to be polite, to apologize for  the shock I put on their faces. "Darla, your face changed when you  looked at that ultrasound. Is something wrong with our baby?"

Darla blinks at me stupidly, a swallow moving her throat.

"Mr. James, I don't-"

"Don't lie to me." My voice cracks like a whip into the tight air of the hallway. "If something . . ."

I draw a calming breath, blowing out anxiety and fear.

"If there's something wrong with our baby, I want to know."