CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Olive
“Does it hurt?” Hamish asks, his eyes glued to my bare stomach as he softly rubs lotions into my skin. The chemist told me it was a good way to prevent stretch marks, but I think they were lying to get a sale. It seems every time I lift my shirt, I’m seeing a new fine, silvery line appear.
“Not really. It’s uncomfortable because it’s so damn tight, but I wouldn’t say it’s painful.”
“It looks sore as fuck,” he whispers low, squirting some more cream near my belly button.
“If he kicks my ribs or my bladder, it bloody hurts,” I grimace. “I just can’t wait until he or she is born and I can finally have my body back. I haven’t seen my feet or my vagina in forever.”
He curls his finger inside the waistband of my shorts and pulls the elastic out. Giving me a cheeky grin and a wink, he says, “Trust me, baby, your pussy looks edible.”
“Tease,” I mouth.
“I know,” he mouths back.
When all the lotion is rubbed into my stomach, Hamish pushes my shirt up higher, exposing my breasts. I’m not wearing a bra, so I’m on full display.
“Close your eyes and relax,” he tells me. I cross my arms over my eyes and do as I’m told without so much as a rebuttal.
The past week has gone by really fast, but now there’s only two weeks until my due date and it suddenly feels like the day will never come. Why is it when something awful is coming, time goes by quickly, but when you’re looking forward to an event, time drags on? I swear I’ve been pregnant for ninety months, not nine.
Hamish’s warm hands rub the cool lotion over my breasts, making sure to go up near my armpits as well. According to the chemist, stretch marks can start there and move down your breasts.
My breath catches in my throat when I feel the warm rush of air skate over my pebbled nipple before the slick wet from his tongue tracing a circle around the area. Tingles instantly shoot through my body and I bite down on my bottom lip.
“Fuck, your tits are insane,” he whispers appreciatively before taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking. My boobs have exploded from a B cup to a D in the last few months, and I’m sure it’s Hamish’s favourite thing about my pregnant body. His mouth moves to my other breast and he gives it the same attention before moving up away. I’m about to open my eyes and protest, but I feel him straddle my body carefully. Then he’s pushing my boobs together and thrusting his cock between them. The hiss of air that escapes his mouth has me opening my eyes to watch the glorious sight above me. His eyes are locked on my chest, watching as my breasts squeeze his shaft. I tilt my chin down and stick my tongue out, licking his head as he thrusts forward, and he growls in pleasure, encouraging me to do it again and again.
“Enough,” he rasps, pulling away. Then he’s bending down and lifting me up, carrying me into the bedroom.
When Hamish plants my feet on the carpeted floor, I immediately push my shorts down my legs and tug my shirt over my head.
“In a hurry?” he asks through a chuckle.
“Yes, so get naked, Mister Tyler, or I’ll be starting without you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He strips and falls back on the bed, his hard, naked body just waiting for me. God, he’s sexy. All athletic, toned, muscular physique. Long, thick, hard cock jutting toward the ceiling. Eyes melty with arousal, aimed on me. Damn, I’m one lucky girl.
I straddle his thighs and grip his shaft before sinking down on him. We both let out a satisfied groan and my eyes roll back at the fullness. I grind down until he grips my hips and squeezes.
“Move, babe,” he orders huskily.
“Okay,” I moan, as I start to ride him. My boobs bounce and his eyes can’t move away from them. My hands go to his thighs and I’m rocking back and forth. His thumb is on my clit, rubbing in smooth circles while his other hand pinches and twists my nipple with just the right amount of pressure to have me mewling.
That’s when I hear the pop. For a split second, I think I’ve broken his cock. I tense up and my eyes snap to his face. He’s not in pain so I begin to rock again and that’s when the gush of fluid escapes me. My panicked eyes lock on his and he gives me a slow, lazy satisfied smirk.
“Oh, my god,” I whisper, horrified.
“It’s okay, baby. Don’t stop.” He looks incredibly proud of himself.
“Hamish,” I squeak, mortified as I move to lift myself off him. At the same time, he thrusts up into me rapidly and then groans as he comes. It all happens so quick, and before he’s even finished spurting inside me, I’m scrambling off him and slapping at the wall for the light switch.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” he chants. I look over his body, his cock is at half-mast, covered in the milky white evidence of our arousal, but there’s a huge wet patch all around him on the bed.
“I didn’t come,” I whisper.
“Babe, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I guess you squirted,” he says gently with a shrug. “Fucking beautiful.”
“No.” The first pain tremors through my stomach and I clutch the area. “My waters broke,” I admit on a sob. The tears fall quick and free. I’m ashamed. Mortified. So humiliated.
“Ah, fuck,” he grunts as he rolls off the bed. “Shit, babe. Fuck. Did I hurt you? God dammit, I thought… Fuck!” he explodes before regathering himself and leading me into the shower.
“I’m so sorry,” I chant repeatedly as he constantly tells me it’s okay.
“Everything’s going to be all right.” He makes sure the water temperature is good before putting us both under the stream. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll head into the hospital,” he says gently as he begins to wash me with my frangipani and vanilla shower gel.
I can’t even look him in the eye.
Fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes later, my dignity is long gone, I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been in my life, my stomach is deflating, and I’m pretty sure my vagina has been ripped in half and will never be the same again. But none of that matters because I’m holding the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen in my arms.
Hamish never left my side. After we got out of the shower, he dried me off and dressed me, before walking me to the car and helping me inside. Then he called my mum as we sped toward the hospital. The pains were strong from the beginning but not so close together, so I had time between contractions to actually talk to the people around me.
That all changed after about ten hours. They were coming thick and fast and I was beyond tired. I had an epidural and managed to get a few hours’ sleep before it was time to start pushing. I never knew I possessed that kind of strength, but Hamish did, because every time I cried that I wanted to give up, he pressed his forehead against mine and told me I could do it.
Turns out, he was right. I could do it. I did do it. The proof was bundled in my arms in a hospital-issued blanket. Only her face and a shock of dark hair was visible, but I knew she had ten tiny toes, ten long fingers, and scrawny little legs because I had already checked her over. Twice.
“What are you going to name her?” Mum asked. With her on my left and Hamish on my right, I had conquered labour and delivery.
I looked to Hamish and his eyes moved from the baby to mine. His were filled with unshed tears. My tears were overflowing, trickling silently down my cheeks. I looked back at Mum.
“I think she looks like an Arabella. Arabella Eden Henley,” I whisper.
Mum’s hand flew to her mouth as she tried to contain the sob that broke free.
“Oh, Olive,” she choked out. “Oh,” she cried again before hugging me tight around my neck. “Oh, my gosh.”
Hamish gave me an indulgent smile before kissing me softly on the lips while Mum rushed out of the room. No doubt she was going to tell Dad—and the rest of my, no doubt impatiently waiting, family and friends—the good news. I know a bunch of them are in the waiting room, but I didn’t have time to message Aubree any updates once things started progressing, so I snap a few fresh pictures of Arabella and type out a message with one hand. I’m already good at this mother deal, multi-tasking and all.
Without thinking too much about it, I also decide to send a picture through to Dek. Biologically, she is his daughter and he has a right to know about her. If he chooses to ignore my message, then at least I know I can go the rest of my life knowing that I tried.
Arabella Henley. Born today at 7.54am. 6lb 10oz. 19 inches long. She’s healthy and happy. Olive.
I hit send and it doesn’t surprise me when he doesn’t reply. Aubree does, though, and she lets me know she’s on her way to visit.
“So, Mum seems pretty happy,” I say, as I set my phone down. Hamish was texting his family, too, and when he finishes he places his phone next to mine and reaches over to stroke his finger down Arabella’s podgy cheek.
“She sure does. I love her name, baby. Prettiest name for the prettiest girl,” he says softly. My heart skitters in my chest as an overwhelming surge of love for him races through my veins. Of course I know I love him, but it seems different now. As if him being by my side and experiencing this life-changing event has somehow deepened the love I have for him.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I couldn’t love you more if I tried,” he replies before clearing his throat. “I… I got you something. A present,” he explains, looking somewhat pale. A line of sweat is quickly beading across his top lip, and he looks more nervous now than when the anaesthesiologist administered the epidural into my spine.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I admonish. Who needs presents when I’ve got the two greatest gifts in the world already?
“Actually, I kind of did,” he says sheepishly, before digging into his pocket and falling to one knee.
“Holy shit,” I gasp.
“Olive, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m the best man for the job of being your husband and Arabella’s father. I think I loved you from the moment I saw you across the room at the debutante ball, and I know that I fell in love with her the first time I felt her kick against my palm. Nothing would make me happier in this world than knowing I’ve got you two girls beside me every step of the way. Will you marry me?”
I opened my mouth to sob out a yes, but before the word could work its way past the lump of emotion in my throat, all hell broke loose.