The evenings were mostly spent on the porch taking turns listening to each other. Doctor's orders. Malcolm and Becca gave us our space, but they were always nearby as our silent chaperones.
Drake and I seemed to talk more than we ever had. We mostly discussed our pasts. He explained his experiences as a Dominant prior to meeting me. I admitted what Jimmy had done both that night at dinner and back when I had been dating him. We'd had a good cry together after that conversation.
We also shared our hopes for the future. Our dreams. Our baby.
He admitted more than once that he was scared about being a father. One night, I said that I agreed, I was scared for him, too, which made him chuckle. I'd missed that sound, and I told him as much. His smile warmed me inside as the sun set and a cool breeze blew in off the water. He tucked my hair behind my ear, staring into my eyes. I tried to read in his own expression what he was thinking, but he sat back and changed the topic.
It was the first intimate—yet non-sexual—moment we'd shared in weeks. A reminder that there was more to us than carnal desire. I saw it as a sign that we were definitely moving in the right direction.
My morning sickness was completely gone by October. I was also starting to show. Becca thought it was a great opportunity to go shopping. I agreed to buy some maternity clothes, but I put my foot down on getting anything for the baby. The more I bought now, the more I would eventually have to pack up and move later.
The longer I stayed with Malcolm and Becca, the more I realized I wanted to return home. The problem was, that word seemed foreign to me. I felt displaced. Those who I now considered my family were no longer in Chicago, the place I swore would always be where I would return to no matter where life took me. And I hadn't felt completely comfortable in California.
So where did I belong? And did I still belong with Drake? Our sessions with the psychologist always went well, and we were making great strides in repairing what I though may have been broken forever. But it was still too soon to tell if we were completely salvageable. Becca said to have faith. I was sticking with keeping my expectations low.
It was the first week of November when fate intervened again.
Drake had flown back to California for a big meeting Monday morning to present his findings on the possible expansion, and he would be gone all week. I had a counseling session on Tuesday and was feeling a little lightheaded when I got out of the car back at the house. I was used to my sister-in-law pampering me, so I didn't argue when Becca led me upstairs to my room on the second floor and helped me into bed. She shut the blinds and tucked the blankets around me before closing the door and casting the room into welcoming darkness.
I dreamt I was floating on a raft in a calm pool. The sun was warm on my face, my fingers dangling in the cool water. Suddenly, Drake was standing beside me. He was smiling down at me, and I felt him trickle water up my leg, giving me goosebumps.
I held my breath as his hand inched upwards, his wet fingers smoothing over my flat stomach. Brushing the underside of my breast in the bikini top. Reaching up to caress my cheek.
I turned into his touch. Felt his hand guiding mine beneath the skimpy bottoms of my bathing suit. Between my legs where I was hot and wet.
The dream faded away, and in a partial daze, I realized I was stroking myself through my shorts. I had touched myself quite frequently since my relocation to the East Coast, usually as a result of a dream. I missed the touch of my husband. The extreme intimacy we'd shared. I didn't think twice about achieving orgasm while we were apart. While we'd agreed Drake and I wouldn't have sex for now, it was never mentioned that we would abstain when we were alone, too. I wondered if Drake thought of me. If he masturbated as well.
I maneuvered so I could unzip my shorts and slide my hand into my panties. Biting my lower lip to muffle the noises eager to escape, I stroked my fingers through my pussy, trying to remember the dream. Thinking about how turned on I seemed to have gotten this time. My hand felt so wet. There was a slight discomfort in my back, but I adjusted and spread my legs wider, willing myself to reach climax.
Once the convulsions ceased and my muscles relaxed, I groaned, feeling the need to pee. And clean myself up. I must have squirted. I'd never been able to do that on my own, although Drake was able to coax it out of me at times. I felt I'd reached a milestone. I couldn't wait to tell him this weekend...to find out what he would say when I admitted what I'd been doing in his absence.
I padded across the shadow-laden room and stepped into the hallway. It was brighter out there, reminding me that it was still daylight. I stumbled a little, not fully recovered from my nap or orgasm.
I put my right hand out to catch myself against the wall. Then I blinked at the red marks I left behind. I glanced down and saw the dark streak on my leg. I stumbled again and fell to the floor, holding my red-stained fingertips before my face. My vision blurred, my mouth went dry.
It took several
