CHAPTER ONE
OLIVIA
“PROFESSOR HOTTIE ALERT.”
Allie’s call rises up the stairs of the Wonderland Café. I leave a pile of birthday party bags on one of the tables in the Wicked Witch’s Castle room and peer out the window. My husband is standing across the street, his tall figure a welcome and familiar sight after a long day at work. Just as I start to ease back from the window, he looks up. Our eyes meet with a spark that kindled into life six years ago and still flares sunshine-bright.
Dean lifts a hand in greeting. I wave at him and head downstairs. Allie is in the reception area, fluffing out her curly red hair with one hand as she pulls open the front door with the other.
“He looks like he’s ready for a night out,” she remarks, nodding to where Dean is crossing the street. “I hope he’s taking you somewhere special.”
“Very special.” I shrug into my coat. “We’re going to a childbirth education class.”
Allie gives a little sigh of happiness. “How romantic.”
I smile at her before turning to the door. My heart does a little twirl as Dean climbs the front porch steps. Having just come from the university, he’s wearing a navy suit and striped tie that somehow has remained unwrinkled despite the fact that it’s past six in the evening. With his thick, brown hair burnished by the streetlights, the masculine planes of his face etched with dusky shadows, he looks both gorgeous and somewhat dangerously sexy. Then he smiles, and his dark eyes crinkle at the corners, and he’s my Dean again, all heat and tenderness.
“Hey, beauty.” He brushes his lips across my cheek and slides one hand down to my round belly. “All set?”
“All set.”
Dean lifts his head to glance at Allie. “Hey, Allie. How’s it going?”
“Just fine, thanks.” As usual, Allie blushes a little when Dean talks to her.
“Just let me get my things.” I squeeze Dean’s arm and head to the front counter, where I’d left my satchel.
When I return, Dean is speaking to Allie in a low tone, which—as his voice usually does—has her gazing at him raptly. She says something in response, then glances up at my approach and gives me a bright smile.
“You guys have a great evening, okay?” she says, waving us toward the door. “Remember if it’s a girl, the name Allison would be a perfect fit.”
“And we’ll change our last name to Wonderland,” Dean promises.
Allie grins, and we say our goodbyes before heading outside.
If it’s a girl. We don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl yet. At Dean’s suggestion, we decided to wait until opening night to find out, though that has made my nursery-decorating ideas and baby-stuff purchases varying shades of green and yellow.
Dean takes my satchel as we walk to his car parked halfway down the block. Black-clad witches, grinning jack-o-lanterns, and spooky ghosts cover the windows of the shops lining Avalon Street. October in Mirror Lake is crisp and clear as glass, the trees ablaze with red and gold leaves, the downtown streets bustling with activity. Though the Wonderland Café has built up a steady clientele since our June grand opening, business picked up even more when families returned to town after summer vacations.
After we get into the car, Dean drives to the health office on the campus of King’s University. I’m well into my sixth month, and everything has progressed smoothly on the baby front. My girth has increased, of course, I need to pee a lot, and I had to buy a few new pairs of shoes since my old ones no longer fit. My back hurts, and I have to sleep with four pillows to be comfortable. But the baby is fine, my bloodwork is fine, and there is no reason for me to be worried about anything.
Except, you know, giving birth.
I’m not a fan of the weekly childbirth classes, even if there are free cookies and milk. The instructor, Mary, is a lovely, soft-spoken nurse who has been with Labor and Delivery for over twenty-five years. The woman knows what she’s talking about.
But what she’s talking about are things like dilation and pain management and mucus plugs and the baby descending into the birth canal. Like it’s going to come out as gently as a balloon losing helium.
Truth be told, I really don’t know much about labor and delivery yet. Prior to getting pregnant, I didn’t have a reason to learn about it, and the past six months have been so busy with the café and figuring out what to do with our newly purchased (and badly in need of renovation) Butterfly House that I haven’t exactly had time to peruse all the pregnancy books I’ve checked out from the library.
Somewhat guiltily, I glance over the info sheet Mary gave us for tonight’s lecture. There are seven other couples in the class with us, all parents-to-be for the first time. We arrange our chairs in a semi-circle around Mary as she takes out a plastic model of the pelvis and shows us how the baby, in this case an infant doll, makes its way into the world.
“Dilation and effacement of the cervix happen together for most women,” Mary says. “As we discussed last week, dilation is the opening of the cervix. Who remembers what effacement is?”
Everyone raises their hand except me.
“Dean?” Mary looks at Dean expectantly.
“Thinning of the cervix,” he says. “Which is measured in percentages rather than centimeters.”
“Correct.” Mary beams at him.
Two classes in, and already Professor West is her star student.
“The cervix must soften in order to dilate,” she continues, “and often contractions help the process along. Now let’s discuss what happens when the mother begins to experience contractions.”
I glance at Dean. He’s taking notes. Seriously. The man brought a yellow legal pad to class and has already taken two pages of notes. I nudge him with my elbow.
“There’s no final exam at the end of this,” I whisper.
He looks at me over the tops of his reading glasses. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What? There is an exam? Mary didn’t say anything about that. Is it multiple choice? True or false? Omigod, is it an essay test?”
“Liv.” Dean takes off his glasses. “Birth is the final exam.”
I stare at him. Birth is the final exam.
“Oh.” I sit back. “Right.”
Holy crap. He’s the one taking notes, but I’m the one who actually has to push the little bugger out. And really, if I think about my vagina, and what has been inside it, and the indisputable fact that Dean’s erection is a very tight fit… and a baby’s head is the size of a baby’s head…
My heart starts to beat in a nervous rhythm.
I must look a little panicked because Dean reaches over to squeeze my knee. He’s supposed to be all concerned and loving, but instead amusement lights his eyes.
“You can do this,” he whispers. “We can do this.”
“We?” I hiss. “When your cervix starts dilating and effacing, you can talk about we.”
“Do you have a question, Liv?” Mary asks from the front of the room, where she is standing with a diagram of a uterus.
“Um, no. No, I’m good. Thanks.”
I frown at Dean for getting me in trouble. He winks and returns to his note-taking.
When the class takes a fifteen-minute break, I head for the bathroom with most of the other women. After taking care of business, I dig into the chocolate-chip cookies and milk. Gwen and Marshall, a young couple expecting a girl about a month after my due date, are standing near the table.
“What kind of labor are you planning, Liv?” Gwen asks.
One that results in a healthy baby.
“Just, you know… the usual,” I reply.
“We’re considering a home water birth,” Marshall says.
“A what?”
“It’s when the mother sits in a bath of warm water to give birth,” Gwen says. “It’s a very peaceful, calm way of bringing a baby into the world and it’s supposed to ease the pain of labor. I want to keep things as natural as possible. No drugs or anything stressful.”
Seems to me drugs would keep things from becoming stressful, but I have a feeling that’s not what she wants to hear.
“Well, that’s very… thoughtful,” I finally say.
“I’ve done a lot of research,” Gwen replies. “I’ve heard it also helps the baby’s transition since water resembles the intrauterine environment. You’re due quite a bit sooner than me. Have you done your birth plan yet?”
I don’t even know what a birth plan is.
Before I can respond, Mary calls the class back to attention and launches into a discussion about early labor symptoms.
“We need to write a birth plan,” I tell Dean on the way home.
“I put together a template last week.”
“You have a birth plan template? What is a birth plan?”
I should know this by now. The fact that I don’t makes me feel like I should stay after school for detention.
“Just a list of preferences you want for things like pain management, induction, monitoring,” Dean explains. “You bring it with you to the hospital so the nurses know what your choices are.” He turns into our garage and parks the car. “You can fill it out when you start making decisions. We’ll print out a few copies to put in your suitcase.”
I am acutely aware that he’s far more prepared for the whole birthing process than I am. Though I cut myself some slack over the fact that I’ve been busy opening a business and growing a baby, I guess there’s something to be said for taking notes.
That evening, I do a ton of research on home water births (no, thanks) and birth plans. Following all the links brings up a host of other questions: What’s a doula? Do I want one? Hypno-birthing? Walking epidural? Induction options? Do I plan to nurse? How long after giving birth can a woman have sex? How long after giving birth will she want to have sex?.
Finally I write up a list of my questions and bring it with me to my check-up with Dr. Nolan the following day. I suspect Dean already knows all the answers, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of showing off his knowledge.
After Dr. Nolan patiently answers all my questions, I feel much more empowered—or at least, ready for next week’s class. I go into our apartment, dropping my satchel on the front table.
“How’d it go?” Dean calls through the open door of his office.
“Everything’s fine.” I stop in the doorway and pat my round belly. “Heartbeat normal, glucose test fine. I’ve gained twenty pounds, and Dr. Nolan said I should put on one to two pounds a week from now on.”
“Might as well do what the good doctor says.” He looks meaningfully at my breasts, which have grown bigger right along with the rest of me.
“Lecher.”
“Uh huh. Did you tell Dr. Nolan that you’re having hot dreams?”
“I most certainly did not.” I huff a little at the thought, even though it’s true that my dreams have been more erotic than usual lately. “For your information, it’s perfectly natural for a woman’s libido to increase during pregnancy.”
“Oh, I know. Very lucky for me.”
Despite the brewing heat in his expression, which under normal circumstances would light my fire good and hot, I mumble something about needing to start dinner before I head into the kitchen. My body has changed more dramatically in the second trimester than it did in the first, and I’m increasingly—sometimes uncomfortably—aware of that fact.
With a sigh, I get a few things prepped for dinner, then go into the bedroom to change into stretch-pants and a more comfortable shirt. As I pull my sweater over my head, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. I’m wearing a sensible cotton support bra, which is pretty much what I wore pre-pregnancy, except this one is larger and my breasts swell over the top of the cups.
Everything else is larger too. I peel off my jeans and stand in front of the mirror in my underwear. The curve of my belly starts beneath my breasts, so it’s shaped more like a small watermelon standing on end rather than a beach ball. A few veins show through my skin.
I twist around to look at my behind. Wider and rounder too. Can’t say I’m thrilled about that, especially since my ass wasn’t exactly flat to begin with. My hips are wider too, not to mention my thighs…
I reach back to unhook my bra and toss it aside. A reddish line from the elastic mars the skin around my back. Soon I’ll need bigger maternity bras.
I stare at my naked breasts in the mirror. They’re big and pale, also with a few thin veins mapping my skin. Even my nipples are bigger. Darker too.
“You have no idea how sexy you are.”
I jump at the sound of Dean’s voice and turn. He’s standing there with his shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, and a decidedly heated expression.
“Sexy and fat,” I say with a hint of disgruntlement.
“Sexy and round,” he corrects.
“Round is not sexy.”
“Sure it is. Doughnuts are round. And what’s sexier than a doughnut?”
I scowl. “I am not a doughnut.”
“You’re sugary and sweet like a doughnut. Not to mention you have a delicious hole.”
“Dean!”
He grins. “Come here.”
“No.” I grab for my discarded bra but he gets to me before I can slip it back on.
Next thing I know he’s palming my breasts and tugging lightly at my nipples, and then any thoughts of resistance fade into pleasure.
“You are very…” Dean slides his hand over the swell of my belly to my cotton panties. “Very…” his fingers dip below the elastic and apparently he likes what he finds because he groans, “…sexy.”
“I think you have a pregnant woman fetish.”
“The only thing I have is an Olivia West fetish.” He smiles, his eyes darkening with both heat and tenderness.
I get all soft inside like I always do when he smiles at me. But even though his fingers are still doing lovely things between my legs, I wrap my hand around his wrist.
“You don’t want to?” He stops his exploration.
“It’s not that.” Hesitating, I shrug my bathrobe on and fasten the belt. I’ve always been able to tell him anything, but this is weird, not to mention somewhat unexplored territory.
“What then?” Dean asks.
“I just feel sort of… uh, large.”
“Yeah.” He takes my hand and presses it against his crotch, which is bulging with an already impressive erection. “Me too.”
“Dean, I’m serious. Have you seen the size of my ass lately?”
“Seen it, squeezed it, love it.”
I’m skeptical. “Really?”
“Uh huh.” He looks at me and pushes a lock of hair away from my shoulder. “What, you think you don’t turn me on just because you’re getting bigger?”
“I still have over three months to go. It could get… awkward.”
“So we’ll figure it out.” He pulls me to him and works the knot of my bathrobe, then pushes it off my shoulders. “And if you ever again doubt how sexy you are, all you have to do is get naked. The sight of you makes me hard in half a second.”
He slides his hand down into my panties again and teases my folds until my breathing starts to increase. Then he nods toward the mirror.
“Look.”
I blush. “Dean…”
“Come on, beauty. You’re with me.”
It’s a reassuring statement, one he’s said to me before. One that reminds me Dean is the only person I’ve ever not only been entirely comfortable with, but often downright uninhibited. Even raw.
I glance at the mirror. My heart kicks up in pace. It is kind of sexy, the reflection of me wearing nothing but my panties standing next to Dean, who is still fully clothed. My hair is loose and messy around my shoulders, my breasts are heavy, my nipples big and peaked. Dean’s hand smooths over the curves of my belly and hips, the white cotton stretched across my bottom. His hard cock is visible through his trousers, his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.
“See?” He turns me so I’m facing the mirror and palms my breasts in his big hands. “So fucking sexy.”
I shudder. He rubs my belly and tangles his fingers into the elastic of my underpants. His erection presses against me, the heat of his skin rolling off him in waves. Lust bolts through me, and I squirm.
“Dean…”
I turn in his arms, stretching upward a little to curve my hand around the back of his neck. I draw him to me for one of our warm, easy kisses that makes my heart race wildly. He moves his hands down to rub my ass, urging my lips apart with his tongue. I slide into the kiss, my blood warming as if I’m easing between cotton sheets hot from the dryer. I fumble with his belt, then let go so he can unbuckle it. The rasp of leather against fabric sends a shiver down my spine.
Within seconds, I have his cock in my hand and I’m pumping it in the way I know he likes. Arousal coils through me, fierce and tight, and Dean guides us both to the bed. Heat burns in his gaze as he slides his hands over my body, the curves of my breasts and swell of my stomach. He lowers his head to kiss my neck and shoulders, the feather-light touch of his lips causing my tight skin to prickle with sensation.
I want to do the same for him, want to feel his warm, taut skin beneath my lips, so I push him onto his back and move to straddle him. I unfasten his shirt buttons and spread my hands across his chest, tracing the gorgeous muscles with my fingertips. I wiggle a little to rub my bottom against his cock. My sex clenches with growing urgency.
“Turn around.” His voice is low and rough. “Hands and knees.”
Trembling, I climb off him and turn, catching sight of us in the mirror. Dean grabs a couple of pillows and positions them beneath my stomach, then kneels behind me. He rubs his hands over my ass and between my thighs, muttering something about my readiness before he pulls my panties over my hips to expose my bottom.
“Jesus, Liv.” He slides a finger through my folds. “I could fuck you for hours.”
A delicious shiver rocks me. I place my hands flat on the bed and widen my stance as best I can with my panties still twisted around my knees. Cool air brushes against my cleft.
I swallow hard. Dean’s name comes out on a desperate plea. He reaches around with one hand to toy with my nipples and the other to rub my clit. Sensations crash over me—the rasp of his hot breath on my neck, the brush of his hair-roughened thighs against mine, his adept touch.
I can’t stop looking at our reflection. Me on my hands and knees, my breasts dangling like ripe fruits, and Dean kneeling behind me, his shirt half open and his big cock sticking straight out… I moan, squeezing my legs together, aching.
“Dean, please.”
He gives a muffled laugh and fists his cock, stroking it up and down with that smooth, rhythmic movement I love so much. I thrust backward, urgency coiling in me like an overwound clock. He grips my ass, sliding his cock slowly into my slit before pushing forward and filling me with one, delicious thrust.
I gasp. He tightens his hand on my bottom and starts to pump, the smack of flesh against flesh filling the air. Need spirals through my blood. Through a veil of hair that’s fallen over my face, I stare at our reflection in the mirror—Dean’s taut muscularity behind me, the sway of my breasts and jostle of my body as he thrusts harder and faster…
I close my eyes and sink into it, letting the arousal build by slow degrees. His thrusts are delicious, hard and measured, creating a sensual friction that has me clenching around him. I rub my breasts against the bedcover to ease the ache in my nipples. Because of my panties in a tangle around my knees, I can’t widen my stance, and the friction is even tighter, more intense. Our skin grows shiny with sweat and exertion. My heartbeat pounds inside my head.
“Dean, I can’t… oh, please… touch me…”
He slides a hand beneath me to find my clit. A few strokes, and I come with a shriek, convulsing around his shaft. He curses, his fingers still working until he’s sure my pleasure has ebbed, and then he grabs my ass again and thrusts deep in a drive toward his own release.
Gasping, I watch in the mirror as our bodies work together one final time before he pulls out and takes his cock in his hand. With a groan, he comes over my bottom and lower back, his chest heaving. I collapse, my body limp and my breathing raspy.
“Damn.” Dean lowers himself beside me and reaches out to fondle one of my breasts. “Never again doubt your own sex appeal.”
“Fuck me like that regularly and I won’t.”
“Such language from the pregnant lady?” Amusement flashes behind the satisfaction in his eyes. “Haven’t I been fucking you good for the past six years?”
“Yeah, you do all right.” I shift to smile at him, then reach out to stroke a hand over his damp, muscled chest. Astonishingly, a new spark of arousal courses through me. “Glad you can still keep up with me, professor.”
“I can’t keep my hands off you.” He drags his gaze down my body. “I’ve never been able to.”
I roll over to curl against him as we catch our breath, but I don’t stay long because these days more than ever I have to attend to certain bodily functions. Especially after sex. I kiss Dean’s shoulder and ease away to head into the guest bathroom.
The second I close the door, a tight pain spreads across my stomach.
What the—?
I clutch the doorknob. Dean’s name stops in my throat.
I close my eyes for a second and breathe. My heart is still beating hard, and a trickle of sweat runs down my temple. The pain lasts for about a minute and begins to subside. I suck in a lungful of air and splay a hand across my belly.
Latent terror crackles through me—the horror of my miscarriage earlier this year, the knife-sharp pain of loss. I don’t move until the cramping stops completely. I take a few breaths, then use the bathroom and splash water on my face.
When I come out of the bathroom, Dean has gone into his office. I turn on my laptop and do a quick internet search about pain during sex while pregnant. Several websites say muscle cramping after an orgasm isn’t all that unusual, but I’m supposed to contact my doctor if the pain is particularly bad or doesn’t ease. I’m somewhat reassured after learning this, especially since the pain is gone, but the shadow remains.
To banish the lingering fear, I go to the closet and pull out a small box of baby clothes I’ve already bought—identical onesies and hats in shades of both blue and pink. I sink my hands into the cotton layers, soft as clouds. My tension eases, as if thoughts of the baby are like waves washing gently against the sand, smoothing out all the rough patches.
If it’s a girl…
If it’s a boy…
…we are so blessed.