“You think?” Nick grins and glances over at me and then quickly puts his attention back on the road.
“I know.” I rub my hand over my belly once more. “It’s like your dad said: You fall in love hard…you give love deeply…and you give it for life. Our boys will only know love like that.”
Nick lifts my hand and kisses my fingers and then places our hands on top of my belly. “I know you’re going to be a spectacular mom.”
His words choke me up and start the water works once again. Damn hormones. “Why?”
“Baby, your love is endless. For me, my family, our friends. If you give half of that to our children, they’ll be the luckiest kids in the universe. And I know you’re going to do right by them because you already love them.”
I wipe away the tears with my free hand. “I do. I love them so much.”
“Love is all anyone could ever need…and hot sex. And pasta. Let’s not forget the pasta.”
My mouth waters at the thought of Ma’s spaghetti and meatballs. “Ooooh, pasta.”
Then the reminder of Nick taking me from behind while I was up on all fours in our bed this morning. “Ooooh, hot sex.”
Nick burst out laughing.
“Oh, my God! I just thought of the best idea.” It’s like a light bulb flickered on right above my head.
“What’s that, Dove?”
“Hot sex while eating pasta!” I grin and lick my lips.
“Perfect fucking woman, my wife.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back. “Absolutely perfect.”
THE END
Want more of the Lotus House clan?
Continue on with Dara Jackson
and Silas McKnight’s story in…
Book Six in the Lotus House Series
(May 8, 2018)
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Excerpt From Intimate Intuition - A Lotus House Novel (Book 6)
The third eye chakra is the sixth chakra in the body. It is located in the brain at the brow, above the top of the nose. In Sanskrit, it’s called Ajna. This chakra is considered the part of the body that can transcend time.
DARA
Positive. Plus sign. In the modern world, the addition symbol is literally positive. As in more.
More quantity.
More happiness.
The white stick with the pink plus symbol glaring at me evokes the exact opposite of more. Next to the plus is a second window with two lines—in dramatic opposition to the glaring addition symbol I so desperately want to be a subtract symbol.
A negative.
The two lines infuse everything with glaring, unavoidable clarity—and mean only one thing.
Pregnant.
I close my eyes, sigh, and lean back against the bathroom wall. It’s been three weeks since I laid eyes on him. Two weeks since I’d given up hope he’d call and explain himself. One week since I missed my cycle. Now here I am, knocked up with the product of a one-night stand. Only this isn’t just any one-night stand. We have mutual friends. Several of them. Of course, they have no idea we spent a drunken night of carnal delights with one another. No, they are none the wiser.
Technically, my friend Nick did ask how “drinks” went with his buddy. As usual, I played it off like it was just another night. Nothing special. Definitely nothing to talk about.
As if I would discuss the feel of his lips trailing down my neck.
The way his hands curved perfectly around my naked breasts.
Our endless worshipping of one another.
Except how can they all not know?
We couldn’t get enough of each other’s bodies. We were careful, using condoms every single time. Completely on top of it. Literally. Went through a half dozen of them throughout the night. But one round…the condom broke. At the time, it wasn’t a big deal. We were drunk as skunks and feeding on flesh and booze. It took a lot of meditation and thinking back through the haziness to even remember the incident, as inebriated as I was. By the time I recalled the slip, it was too late. The day-after pill wouldn’t have worked. I know—I asked the pharmacist. Three of them. At different locations. And my gynecologist.
Until this moment, I had been banking on my good luck. Except I’ve never been lucky. Not in love and not in life. At least not in my formative years. I started out in foster care and a girls’ home for orphaned kids, no family to speak of, until I was eight years old. Then out of nowhere, a round black woman with big cheeks, dark eyes, and an easy smile picked me out of a lineup of children in my age group to sit and talk with. I knew from the other kids, when one of us was pulled out and talked to, it could mean ending up in a home. It was all any of us ever wanted. Still, one of the scariest days of my life was meeting Darren and Vanessa Jackson.
Until now.
For a week, the Jacksons came back to the home to visit with me. I guess they were making sure we were a good fit. I clung to Mrs. Jackson during our visits. I’d always wanted a mother, someone to look at me with soft eyes and a smile. Once our week was up, the Jacksons both held my hands and asked me if I wanted to come home with them. Live with them. I couldn’t have known then it would be the best thing that ever happened to me.
I distinctly remember looking up into Mrs. Jackson’s eyes and then Mr. Jackson’s, trying to discern the significance of what was happening. All I could do in that moment was ask an awe-filled question.
“You want me?”
They assured me that, yes indeed, they very much wanted me to be their child. They took me to their expansive home in Berkeley, California, and showed me a room painted in a soft yellow with sunflowers scattered throughout. I was in heaven.
