“My boobs look like watermelons.”
“And I love watermelons. What’s your point?”
“My nipples are the size of dinner plates.”
“And I eat dinner from dinner plates. Come on. You know when you give birth you’re probably going to shit yourself on the table. Watermelon boobs are the least of our worries.”
“Argh,” she moans, throwing the tank top to the ground and grabbing another one from the dresser. “I’m tired of being huge, I’m tired of barely being able to move, I’m tired of my back hurting, I’m tired of my maternity clothes. I’m just plain tired.”
“Look, if you’ll just let me…”
She slips the shirt over her belly and gives me a pointed look. “What? I just had the spicy food. If I eat anymore Thai food, I’ll explode. Not in a good way. I’ve had pineapple every day for breakfast but I haven’t seen any cervix-softening, or whatever it promises.”
“Ah, pineapple. The cervix softener,” I say, imitating a fabric softener commercial.
“I’ve been going for a walk, morning and night,” she goes on, throwing up her hands. “Nothing. I’ve had dates, asparagus. Even the damn bouncy ball.”
“How about I make you another cup of raspberry leaf tea,” I tell her. That’s another baby-ejecting method that’s supposed to work.
“Fine,” she says and we head out into the living room. I help her ease down onto the sofa and put the kettle on, taking a quick look at my phone. A missed call from my brother Bram and a text from our friend Kayla, all the way out in Scotland, asking me if Stephanie’s popped yet. I ignore them for now.
“What about acupuncture?” I ask her.
“Ow, no. I’m getting an epidural, that’s the only needle I want near me.”
“Squats?” I’m just listing off things I’ve found on parenting sites and Google. Trust me, when you’re about to become a dad, you’re soaking up as much advice as you possibly can, from the mundane to the totally crazy.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “I’ll probably throw out my back.”
“Well, there’s always that one thing you keep saying no to.”
“Foot massage?”
“That,” I say. She hates anything to do with feet. “And the evening primrose oil.”
“Did we even get some?”
“I picked some up the other day when you were having a nap,” I tell her. “Even the doctor said it was an option.”
“Okay,” she says. “Although I doubt I can even reach very far.”
“That’s why I’ll do it.”
“Linden,” she whines.
“Stephanie McGregor,” I say sternly. “As your husband and father-to-be of our soon to be born child, I’m not giving you much of a choice here. You’ll let me apply this oil and you’ll let me do it while you have your tea.”
A pause hangs in there. Finally, thankfully, she concedes. “Fine. But no funny business. Just stick the oil up there and get out.”
I can’t help but smirk. You’re supposed to put the oil inside, like a greasy suppository. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Only I’m going to make it feel good.
Once the tea is ready, I give her a cup then head to the washroom to dig out the bottle of pills I bought. When I come back out she’s sipping from the mug and watching me with wary eyes.
I shake the bottle at her. “You’re going to have to take off your leggings, or I’ll do it for you.”
She can’t even reach for her leggings if she tried. She rolls her eyes. “Fine, take them off.”
Is it sad that this will be the closet I’ve gotten to her nether regions in the last for-fucking-ever?
Focus, Linden, it’s not about you.
I get down on my knees, and take off the leggings, rolling them down, only to have her say, “I haven’t shaved my legs. Sorry. I know I’m gross.”
Honestly, I’ve barely noticed. All I do notice is how silky smooth her legs feel under my hands, just the thrill of my palms skirting over her thighs and calves.
I’m hard in seconds.
I don’t want to scare my dear wife off though. I stifle the groan that wants to come out and bite my lip to keep it all in. I’m lucky her stomach is blocking her view of my face because I know I have the look in my eyes and the moment she sees that, she’s going to shut this all down.
After the leggings are off, my fingers go back up and curl over the edge of her panties. I’m pleasantly surprised to discover a wide band of lace, like she’s secretly wanting to keep feeling sexy and feminine, even though she won’t show it.
Her body tenses beneath me as I start to pull them off. Hell, I’m tense too. I have zero idea what I’m doing here or what’s going to happen. I just want the baby to be born, I just want Steph to feel good.
I pull them down over her feet then slowly slide my hands back up.
“The oil, Linden,” she says, though there’s a bit of a tremor in her voice, like she’s afraid that she’s going to like this.
“Just relax,” I tell her soothingly as my fingers gently brush against her skin, my thumbs doing a soft sweep of the delicate area between her thighs and pussy. I’m pressing my luck, but I don’t care. To just be touching her like this is driving me crazy.
Before I get carried away, I take the bottle and shake out two pills. I break open one so that the oil starts to run over my fingers and then take the oil and gently apply it to her clit.
She takes in a sharp breath. “It’s supposed to go inside me,” she nearly gasps and I can see her hands clenching the couch.
“It will, relax,” I tell her. “I read this is the way you’re supposed to do it.”
Sweet little lies.
I slowly rub the oil up and down her until she lets out a breathless groan. I have never heard anything so intoxicating in my life. I’m torn. I
