Conflicted Love

“Ompf,” I smirked and bit her shoulder again whispering against her skin, “You know I like it when you get all rough.”



“Who would like to try the belly first?” the teacher called out snapping me back to what was going on around us. There she stood holding up some kind of contraption trying to make eye contact with some poor asshole.



“Trip would love to go first. Wouldn’t you, honey?” Teeny turned just enough for me to see the sweet-as-pie smile on her face; the one that meant she was getting me back.



“I can’t stand up right now, Princess. Unless, you want everyone to get a good look at the constant state you’ve got me in,” I grumbled quietly so only she could hear.



“How nice! Come on up here, Trip, and I’ll set you up. You’re such a good sport!” The teacher smiled looking right at me, daring me to say no.



“You’ll pay for this, Teeny. That’s a promise,” I growled into Teeny’s ear as I stood up counting backward from a hundred.



“Okay, class, this here is a belly simulator. It lets you know what it feels like to be pregnant! It is a weighted suit that replicates the weight that your significant other is carrying around day in and day out. It’s heavy and very uncomfortable.” She reached forward and slipped the backward vest with a huge bump in the front onto my shoulders.



“Ompf. Holy shit.” The room snickered as I tried to right myself. The added weight almost had me face planting the floor.



“Now this is a useful tool to help you gain empathy for your partner. Remember, you’re lucky enough to be able to remove it in a few moments. A pregnant woman on the other hand…not so lucky”.



An hour later than planned, we were pulling up at home. Teeny drove with a huge smile plastered on her face. Me? I was sulking. “Stop smiling. It’s not fucking funny.”



Teeny burst out laughing, turned the car off and climbed down; I watched, annoyed at myself for not being able to help her. I threw open the passenger door and hopped out before she could try to baby me and my bruised ego any further.



“You know the doctor said plenty of guys puke and pass out when they watch that movie, so it isn’t like I’m the only one.”



Stupid movie. Who wants to see that happen to a happy place? Nothing so traumatic should ever be shown to a dude. It’s just not right. I shuddered at the thought of the images now forever burned into my mind. “It’s not meant to stretch that much. It’s not natural”.



“Come on, honey. You need to lay down for a while.” She was being a smartass of course, laughing at my misfortune. I mean, I couldn’t have been the only person to make a fool of myself in one of those classes.



“I don’t need to lay down. I’m fine,” I grumbled stomping in the house.



“Yeah, sure. Would you like me to run you a shower? You really need to wash the vomit smell off,” she asked wrinkling her nose up like a skunk had crawled up there.



“Hrmph, I have to anyway. I gotta get into the parlor. I have appointments this afternoon,” I grumbled stomping toward the stairs.



“Oh, I um…no, you don’t. I already called Scar and told her what happened.”



“You what? Now, next time I see her, she’s gonna give me so much crap about it! Shit, Teeny. I’m never going to live this down,” I grumbled, padded down the hall shutting myself in the bathroom and took a deep breath. The whole morning was traumatizing. If I could offer a soon-to-be dad one piece of advice, I would gladly tell them to skip the movie. Nobody needs to see that. Ever.



I was now entirely sympathetic to Teeny and her extreme mood swings though; she was about to have her lady junk stretched nine ways from Sunday. I know if I was a chick, I would be unreceptive to the idea of having something the size of a watermelon claw its way out of there. Damn, I wasn’t a woman and I wasn’t real stoked at the idea of my fun house turning into an escape hatch. I felt like I needed to do something special for her to show my appreciation. It wasn’t like Hallmark had a card that read ‘Thanks for destroying your vag with my spawn’ so I had to come up with something else. I had the perfect idea too. I just had to hope she’d get the gesture behind it.



Chapter Nineteen



Teeny



“Honey, I’m home,” Trip called out as he shut the front door.



“Very funny, smartass. I’m in the kitchen,” I called back smiling to myself. It was a little scary how quickly we’d fallen back into a routine.



I’d been working for Scarlett for a few weeks and I was so damn close to finishing my license. Trip and I seemed to work really well together. We drove in to Needle’s Kiss when I was on, which was only three days a week for the time being. I knew I had a full time spot at the parlor when I was ready to go back to work after the baby arrived, but for the time being, I had been ordered by Trip and Scarlet to take it easy. Apparently, my waddling around with a big belly looking every part the thirty-one weeks huge I was, provided hours of entertainment for them.



“Favorite thing, ever.” I turned around wiping my hands on a dishtowel to find Trip leaning back against the counter, legs crossed out in front of him, his piercing blue eyes hooded. He let his bottom lip out from between his teeth and pinned me with a look that was sure to set any woman’s cootch on fire.



“What?” I all but panted, my heartbeat picking up and my nipples standing to attention. One of his hands left the countertop he was gripping and traveled down to the bulge in the front of his pants.



“You, in the kitchen, barefoot, pregnant and bent over. Fuckin hot, babe.” He grabbed his junk and squeezed, his eyes taking a slow purposeful trip down my body kicking the temperature in the room up a few notches.



My body was on fire; he was doing nothing short of eye fucking me right there in the middle of the kitchen. Pushing off the counter, he took a predatory stride toward me, reminding me of a lion on the prowl. “Casserole,” I blurted backing up a step; my brain had short-circuited. His smirk dropped when I licked my very dry lips. His gaze zoned in and he growled low in his throat.



“Trip, dinner’ll burn.” I watched as his pupils dilated further and he took another stride toward me. I was pinned between the oven and a very turned-on hunk of muscle oozing sex.



“You want it,” he rumbled deep from his fast rising chest. I did. I so badly wanted it. All of it, over and over again.



I smiled coyly and sidestepped him. I wasn’t fast enough though; he grabbed me and kissed the ever-loving hell out of me. At some point during the brain-scattering onslaught of his talented tongue in my mouth, he’d turned us around and backed me up against the kitchen table. Trip broke the kiss, leaned past me and pushed the silverware, placemats and napkins to the floor before effortlessly lifting my ass onto the bare table. He tore my sundress over my head. I locked my legs around his waist grinding my hips and taking pleasure in his rock-hard cock. I rubbed the perfect spot, which sent delicious tingles right through me.



He ripped his cotton t-shirt over his head while I fumbled with his jeans’ buttons—not able to get him naked fast enough. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in my panty-clad crotch alternating between pulling at the thin scrap of material with his teeth and sucking on my clit. I fell back, my arms barely holding me upright on the tabletop as he worked me over until I could do nothing but scream his name.



Good Lord have mercy. The image of Trip standing before me breathing hard and wiping my cum from his mouth in a pair of undone jeans, boots and nothing but ink and leather wristbands, had me ready to mount him and ride the shit out of him until I couldn’t move.



With no patience left, he pulled my underwear to the side, freed his angry-looking cock from his jeans and slammed into me balls deep. Both of us moaning in unison as he took me right back to the edge of bliss.



“I messed up the cute table. Shit, I’m sorry,” he mumbled against my sweaty skin. Still breathing heavily after a mind shattering orgasm, I couldn’t even form words to tell him I didn’t give a damn about the table. I was pretty much limp from head-to-toe and I had no intention of moving even if I could.



“Dinner,” I mumbled out when the oven timer buzzed signaling dinner was ready.



“I’ll get it, Princess. You go clean up and we’ll eat in the living room.” He kissed me sweetly, pulled out and did his pants up. I, however, laid in a boneless heap on the kitchen table, not caring in the slightest that it was more than a little unhygienic.



“I think I like being a house bitch,” I mused once I’d managed to get myself standing.



Trip laughed and handed me my clothes. As I shuffled from the kitchen, I heard him say, “Love that woman.” This of course made me smile in a giddy-girly kind of way.



I came back downstairs a few minutes later to see he’d set the coffee table with our dinner, fresh cutlery and a sad looking candle. The sweet gesture had my stomach erupting with butterflies. He told me once he wasn’t good at being romantic. He’d lied. He was good and it’d get him lucky on more than one occasion.



“You choose,” he said passing me the remote. A list of movies was up on the television screen. I must have been looking at him like he’d just landed from Mars ‘cause he laughed and nodded to my hand. “Don’t think about it, just pick one, Princess, and hurry up or dinner will get cold.” It didn’t end there. He then proceeded to pass me my bowl filled with steaming hot casserole and a fork, and then he pulled my feet up onto his lap. I just sat there looking like a moron gaping like a fish out of water. He was being ridiculously sweet. “Eat, stop looking at me like I’m weird,” he smirked when I snapped back to reality. I was going to lap it all up. God only knew when I’d see this awesome side of Trip again. I clicked on the cheesiest chick flick I could find and waited for the smartass comments to begin, but alas, I got nothing more than a smile as he shoveled food into his mouth and moaned.



“I think I’ll keep you. This is the shit, Princess,” he mumbled around a mouthful of casserole. Smiling to myself, I got comfortable with my bowl resting on top of my very round stomach and enjoyed the peace of being where I was. Right there with Trip, feeling all of the things I was feeling, rather than a pang of jealously that I usually felt, I was instead filled with contentment.



Not twenty minutes later, he started rubbing slow circles on my feet. My eyes snapped up from the movie to see him concentrating on his task looking a little angry. I pulled my feet away to signal he didn’t have to rub them figuring he was annoyed at having to play with my fat-assed ankles; they were less than appealing.



“You don’t have to,” I said quietly looking down at the monstrosity that was my hulk feet. Trip gently tugged them back into his lap and kept rubbing as I tried to stop my eyes rolling into the back of my head from the heavenly pressure of his fingers working deep in the muscle.



“They look sore. You shouldn’t be on them so much,” he grumbled. “I should be keeping an eye on this sort of crap to make sure you aren’t overdoing it. I’m not taking care of you properly.” I laughed at his expression; he was mad because he thought he could stop my feet from swelling. Not because they looked gross. That warmth enveloped me again as I sat ignoring the movie and just taking in the shirtless muscle of sexy doting on me.