When I thought I might die from the exquisite need, I begged him to take me. He crawled up my body and kissed me, allowing me to taste myself on his lips. “Tonight,” he promised.
I pouted instantly. “Tonight?”
“I don’t want to push it,” he said, his hand cupping my pregnant belly. “I want you to be ready for me.”
I slipped a hand between us, to circle his growing shaft. I was rewarded by a shudder of his own. “I’ve never been more ready,” I swore.
He checked between my legs. There was no blood. I was just wet and warm and waiting.
“God, you’re my undoing” he groaned, pushing my dress further up my body until I sat up to wrench it from my neck. I lay back down, spread out in front of him, naked and throbbing with need.
He was drawn to my full breasts, which had gone up a size. “Tell me when to stop,” he said before he captured one hard peak in his hot mouth. I arched my back against him, crying out. He reveled in how he could control me, just like one of his instruments. He took his time, savoring me. To my very great surprise, with just his mouth against my breasts, he brought me to the brink of orgasm. The minute his hand slipped between my legs; I was orbiting into outer space again.
It hit so hard I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I just lay there powerless to the waves of pleasure as they carried me along. I didn’t even realize he had stopped as I floated back down to earth.
He placed a hand onto my tummy. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded, but still couldn’t speak. Instead I focused on the way my tummy was tightening and releasing. It didn’t hurt, but I could feel each tug from within.
“What is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But you did just make me come harder than I’ve ever come in my life. Three times, if you’re counting.”
He shook his head. “This is different.” He reached for his phone to look it up. “It looks like it might be a contraction,” he said.
“It can’t be a contraction. It’s too early.” I was only 28 weeks along.
We sat and watched my tummy. Sure enough, within minutes my tummy had tightened rock hard, then relaxed again. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I exclaimed.
“It’ll be okay,” he assured as he held my hand. “We’ll time them.”
After about an hour, the irregular contractions began to subside. We deduced that they were likely Braxton-Hicks contractions, since they weren’t increasing in intensity (thank God,) and they would go away if I got up and walked around. We read that they were normal, especially after sex/orgasms, but with my medical complications thus far, it killed the mood. Auggie drew me a bath, which he helped me into. He bathed me gently. The touch of his hand on my skin made my flesh tingle. The release hadn’t helped at all, it only made me a raw nerve. “This kid is turning out to be a real cock-blocker,” I teased, because there was nothing left to do but laugh about it.
“He just wants you to himself,” Auggie said, his hand resting possessively on my tummy. “I can’t say I blame him.”
“So, what do we do?”
He leaned forward for a kiss. “We do what we’ve been doing. We take it slow.”
I felt so bad for him. I was the only one who had had any sexual release. “Let me take care of you,” I begged again. He shook his head.
“It’s inside you or not at all,” he insisted. “Besides, I get to take it out on the stage. I may have blue balls the size of New Jersey, but at least my last concerts will go out with a bang.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
He leaned forward. “Ridiculously in love with you,” he amended with a kiss. He touched my tummy. “In love with both of you.” He bent towards my stomach. “But you and I are going to have a little talk when you get here, Big Guy.”
And so it went. London followed the same pattern as all the other cities. We went sightseeing during the day. We enjoyed platonic, frustrating cuddles at night. We dodged the London outlet of PING, which was even more aggressive than the American variety, if that was even possible. I swore I saw Christopher around every corner. I knew he would turn