Текст книги "Recovery"
Автор книги: L. B. Simmons
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 7 страниц)
“Alex, please, let me help you with that,” Blake huffs at me after asking for what must be the twentieth time today. The clanking of the dishes as I stack them reminds me of the uncharacteristically quiet breakfast I just experienced. Well, not true. We’ve been having a lot of silent meals lately. The girls still have their stories and usual high-pitched banter, but there’s been an unusual lack of conversation between Blake and I.
My brand new, unimproved husband. Brand new sucks.
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing the last plate, I throw the fork on top of it and set it on top of the others. I can tell he just rolled his eyes, but I don’t feel like fighting, so I ignore it.
Grabbing the stack of plates off of our brand new kitchen table, I silently carry them into our brand new kitchen, in our brand new house. While I do, my mind’s bombarded with the same thought over and over. What the hell is his problem?
Rinsing the dishes in our brand new sink, I find myself lost in my own thoughts. As the warm water cascades over them, removing all remnants of our tension loaded first meal of the day, Blake makes his way into the kitchen, setting the glasses of orange juice and milk right beside the sink. He leans against the counter, right next to me, and crosses his arms, staring at me the entire time. I can feel the green lasers being shot at my head and I fight the instinct to punch him.
“What?” I ask, staring into the sink. As the eggs circle around the drain, my thoughts are drawn to our relationship. Circling around and around. Going nowhere.
He continues his unyielding glare. I can feel my blood pressure rising, which isn’t a good sign. It’s been happening a lot lately. He continues to watch me for a couple of seconds before pushing himself off of the counter. “Nothing, Alex.” He forcefully runs his hand through his hair and lets out a deep sigh before walking out of the room without saying another word.
What the hell is going on?
What the hell has been going on?
We had been one of those annoying perfect couples that I love to make fun of up until a month ago. But these last few weeks, something’s changed. I know it’s not the girls, or work, or the house. Blake seems only increasingly agitated at me. And he won’t talk to me about it.
Welcome to my brand new life.
I shake my head in frustration. I want to scream my head off. I want to run up to him, push him, shake him, smack him on the arm…whatever it takes to get him to talk to me. But, I don’t. I just let the frustration simmer in my heart, heating my nerves and raising my blood pressure.
Letting out my own sigh, I finish rinsing off the dishes, and decide to leave them in the sink. I’m just too tired to put them in the dishwasher right now. I’ve been tired a lot lately, which is really weird considering I’m only eighteen weeks pregnant. None of my other pregnancies affected me this way. Wiping my fingers with the dishtowel, I throw it on the sink and move on to my next set of chores. I’m exhausted, but I have to get to them before the girls get home, or they’ll never get done. Resigning to this fact, I head off quickly, hoping to be able to squeeze in a nap afterwards.
Swiping my hands along the top of my yoga pants, the only type of pants I seem to want to wear these days, I shuffle my way across the living room. Harlow’s getting really tired of these babies. She actually told me I couldn’t wear them to work anymore, even after I explained that I’d already bought at least ten pair. So, in an effort to make her happy, I traded up for a pair of baggy sweat pants. Now, I get to wear my trusty ol’ yoga pants to the office as much as I want.
I laugh an evil laugh silently to myself. She’s so easy.
Once I’m inside the laundry room, I raise my hand to flip on the light switch. Nothing happens. I try flipping it again, but still nothing. Shit.
Well, I’m definitely not asking Blake to fix it. I’ll just have to take care of it later. Practically blind, I feel around for the basket. Once it’s located, I grab it off the washer and start on my clothes collecting journey.
Slowly, I approach the one and only thing I hate about this house, well, except my new mute husband. My nemesis…the God awful stairs.
This hate started when we moved into our brand new house, and it grows exponentially every day that I become more pregnant. With a whimper of detest, I place the basket under my arm and start the tedious climb. Once at the top, I take a second to catch my breath and continue on to the girls’ rooms. I really should start working out. Or...
Walking into Nycole’s room, I turn on the light and as my eyes focus, I involuntarily cringe. I do it every single time I breach her living space. Words cannot express how much I hate the animal print patterns she used to decorate her entire room, but, I’m glad she finally has a room of her own. I know it makes her happy, so I’ll let her keep her horrendous zebra print walls, for now anyway.
I bend over and swipe her peace and love covered pajama pants and matching cami up from the leopard print rug.
Or is it cheetah?
Jaguar, maybe?
Well, whatever the hell it is, I’m getting out of here ASAP before I’m caught in the middle of a stampede.
Closing the door behind me, my feet instantly become tangled in the pajama trail that Kyndall so lovingly left for fear that I wouldn’t be able to find my way to her room. Leaning over to scoop them up, I laugh to myself. It’s not the location that’s the problem. It’s getting lost upon actual entry. I tend to keep her door closed at all times because her room also freaks me out. Whenever I open it, I feel like I’m looking into Carol Anne’s bedroom from Poltergeist, record playing protractor and all. It’s absolute chaos in there! Honestly, I’m scared I’ll get sucked in through the closet and have to go through that nasty membrane jelly crap in order to get out again.
No thank you.
I glance back down at the puppy and kitten covered pajamas under my feet, letting out another sigh. This is the only bad thing about having Tatum watch the girls. They get so excited that they tend to just spontaneously combust, leaving their clothes right where they stand. She called right after our silent breakfast this morning, offering to take them to the movies, and I was more than happy to oblige. Was being the operative word. Now I kind of feel like I’d rather have them here to buffer the overwhelming tension between Blake and me, but still, I am glad they’re getting their Tatum time. Ever since the wedding they’ve been inseparable on the weekends. She loves them and they love her.
As I deposit Kyndall’s pants into the basket, my eyes make contact with Rylie’s door. The brand new one that has already been decorated with Crayola-colored hearts and smiley faces. I make the decision to skip her room altogether this morning. I don’t have the energy to clean up the tiaras, plastic shoes, wings, wands and anything else she keeps in the trunk that Blake gave her for her birthday. So, like any decent mother, I just pretend it doesn’t exist.
Now finished with my clothing pick-up service—the tips suck by the way—I retrace my steps back down their hallway towards the stairs. At least the descent is easier. I cross back through the living room, snagging a couple of socks on the way and enter our bedroom, where I find Blake excitedly throwing on his black v-neck t-shirt over his faded jeans. I note, before his shirt covers it, the very sexy lines that define his hips. As I metaphorically wipe the drool from my mouth, I glance down at my white “Warning: I Pee When I Laugh” tank top. Harlow gave it to me as a reminder of my hopefully temporary state of incontinence.
Oh, I have so many things planned for her pregnancy.
I sure hope we’re not going anywhere because I plan on wearing this getup all day long. In public or private.
Sliding his boots on, he looks up and smiles. What? Did I get sucked into Kyndall’s closet without knowing it and now reside in a parallel universe where Blake’s actually smiling again?
He looks down at the basket full of clothes. “Need any help?”
“Nope, I’m fine.” I signal to his boots. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”
His face falls a bit before answering. “I have an errand to run. I’ll be back soon. What time are the girls getting back?”
“They went to the noon movie, so probably around two-thirty-ish, I guess.” I narrow my eyes, still wondering where he’s going. Not that he sees me. He’s halfway down the hall already.
“Cool. I’ll be back soon.” I barely hear him over the clanking of his boots on the wood floors.
“Okay?” I ask because, number one, there’s no way he heard me over the front door shutting so why am I even saying it, and number two, I’m still questioning where he’s so eagerly going.
After a few seconds of staring out the doorway, like an idiot, I let out a yawn. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe, I should just go back to sleep. Yes. Excellent plan, Alex.
I sit down on our brand new bed, and lay back, watching the ceiling fan go around and around as I think and sigh. More circles.
Where exactly did Blake and I get off of Loving Couple Road and turn on to Distant Marriage Avenue. I shut my eyes because I feel the tears coming. Damn hormones. I wipe the first tear as it escapes my eye, but after the tenth one, I just let them fall.
After a long while, I manage to emotionally exhaust myself. Feeling myself drifting to sleep, the last thought on my mind is Blake and his arms around me, bringing me the reassuring comfort and peace that my mind and body long for.
I wake to the blissful noise of my cell, dinging over and over again, reminding me that next week Blake and I head to Dr. Young’s office to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. Normally, I’d jump up, smile, and set it to remind me again tomorrow.
But not today.
Today, my heart hurts and I can’t seem find it in me to conjure up one bit of excitement.
I miss my husband.
Stretching my arms above my head, I make sure my body is fully awake before hauling my ass off the bed. Finally, when I feel ready to stand, I grab the basket off the floor and open the bedroom door. My eyes immediately make contact with the reason for one of our latest arguments.
Poking my head just barely into the room across from ours, I flip on the light and my chest aches at the barren sight before me. Crib, changing table, dresser…all still in their boxes. Stuffed animals, toys, clothes…still in store bags. Swatches of paint all over the wall. We have been at an outright standoff regarding the color of the baby’s room. He wants light yellow. Puke. I would prefer a darker color because I have serious issues with pastels for some reason. Always have, always will. Blake, however, is obviously very secure in his manhood, because he loves them.
So, I put my foot down. And that’s where it ended.
The subject has not been broached since and, obviously, neither has the room. Shaking my head, I back out. As the door closes, my eardrums are pummeled by the shrieking, squealing, laughing and, of course, arguing of my daughters.
I enter the living room, just barely making out the tops of the girls’ heads over the brand new couches. As they’re excitedly jumping around on their knees, my eyes move to where Blake’s standing with Trace and Tatum, all watching the girls with smiles on their faces. Off in the distance I catch sight of Harlow, who’s also grinning from ear to ear, but when we make eye contact she quickly loses the grin, replacing it with an “Oh, shit” look.
I set the basket down on the brand new end table and turn the corner to find out just what the hell is worth the “Oh, shit” grimace on my friend’s face. As soon as my toes hit the floor rug, my feet stall and I can move no further. Because right in front of me, my giggling children are playing tug-of-war with:
A brand new puppy.
Umm, no. This is unacceptable. When did I agree to this?
This dog better be Harlow and Trace’s dry run at raising a child because I’m pretty sure we don’t have a puppy. Unless I’m still stuck in that damn parallel universe.
I look to Harlow first, praying I’m right. “Yours?”
No words, just wide eyes and the shaking of her head. Next, I turn to Tatum. “Yours?”
She’s giving me the same response as Harlow, but follows it up with a giggle when she reads my shirt. I turn to Trace, but the man’s intelligent enough to shake his head no before I can ask the question. I can tell he’s stifling a wicked grin knowing his best friend’s about to get an ass chewing. A boyish charm fills his light blue eyes as he casts a glance to Blake.
The puppy yips and I break my stare from Trace to see Rylie petting his tummy while the other two rub his ears. He looks up at me, paws in the air, and I swear he’s smiling. Actually, he is kind of cute but, unfortunately for him, I’m immune to cute.
For right now at least.
I tear my eyes from the golden ball of fur, seeking out the only possible person who could be responsible for this.
As soon as my eyes find his, Blake throws his hands up proclaiming his innocence. “What?”
My eyes triple in size. I’m sorry. Is it supposed to be an invisible dog? Am I not supposed to see it?
“That!” I shout. The girls look up at me from the floor, all excitement disappearing from their faces.
Harlow claps her hands together. “Alright girls, let’s go get some ice cream,” she says, grabbing her purse and keys off the couch. Trace and Tatum are nowhere to be found.
Smart.
“Can we bring the puppy, please?” Kyndall pleads. Harlow looks from me to the animal slobbering and shedding all over my rug, assessing the situation, and nods. “Yes, Kyndall. I think that would be best.”
I watch them all scramble out of the living room and race out the door, puppy in tow. Looking back to Blake, I shift my weight and place my hand on my hip, still waiting for my answer. He looks just as pissed as I feel. I can see the blood rushing to his cheeks and feel my face heating as well.
“What the hell, Alex?” My heart rate is increasing to an immeasurable BPM.
“My dear,” I plaster a sugary smile on my face, “I don’t remember being consulted about bringing a puppy into this house. I know I’m pregnant and my brain is shrinking on a daily basis, but I would like to think I would have remembered that conversation.” Or at least I hope so.
“No, you’re right. I didn’t ask you because it would have been pointless. You would’ve shot it down without even listening. Just like you do when I approach you with anything having to do with the girls. They need this, Alex.”
What? I do not. Do I?
And, for the record, I love puppies. Only evil people don’t like puppies and kittens. If he would have bothered to ask me, he would have known this. But I’m much too pissed right now to approach the problem in a civil manner.
“Nice, Blake! Is that what you’re teaching my girls? To avoid issues and confrontation? To just do what you want without considering the feelings of anyone else involved?”
Blake balls his fists tightly, as though refraining from punching a hole in our brand new wall. His face turns a deeper shade of red, his jaw muscles working overtime as he clenches his teeth in anger.
“The puppy stays, Alex. End of story.” We stare at each other for at least a minute. No words are said. Just the glares of two very, very angry people. Tears begin pooling in my eyes out of pure fury; my body obviously looking for another outlet since I’m no longer yelling.
I look down at the red and gold corded rug that separates us. The physical distance between us may only be a few feet, but emotionally he might as well be in China. I exhale a defeated breath.
Raising my head to look at Blake, a single tear runs down my cheek while I speak.
“Fine. I have a new house and a new baby and a new husband who just does things on a whim, without even discussing them with me. Sure, I guess I can take care of a new puppy, too. Why not, right? Did you even bother to think, for one minute, about how much time I don’t have for house-training and feeding him four times a day and whatever else it may require?”
Anger overtakes Blake’s face as I watch it turn a lovely shade of purple. His boots pound the floor, anger driving him forward until he’s standing right in front of me.
“Bullshit, Alex. I did think about it, and that’s exactly why I got it. Your girls, as you insist on calling them, need to learn to be accountable for their actions and should have some type of responsibility. They need to have chores. They should be learning how to do things. Not only picking up their rooms, but around the house too. It’s good for them. They need that.” I roll my eyes, releasing more tears.
They do things…kind of.
Blake continues his rant, his expression still saturated with outrage. “So no, it doesn’t fall on you. It falls on them, as the responsibility that I give them since you refuse to give them any at all.”
“Bla—”
“Kyndall is eight years old and you still fucking tie her shoes, Alex!” I wince and take a rather large step away from him. He never swears like that at me. Ever.
“You coddle them. You’re exhausting yourself and it’s completely unnecessary. If you would teach them to clean up their own messes, instead of doing it yourself, something you seem to be dead set on these days, I guarantee you’ll find yourself a lot less worn out.” Rivers are now running down my face, but I hold his stare. Unable to speak, I watch as he turns to leave, but not before he delivers one last heartbreaking revelation.
“You’re so worried about what I’m teaching them?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Maybe you should spend more time worrying about what you’re not teaching them.”
Marching out of the living room towards the front door; his words hit me almost as hard as the door he slams on his way out.
With the house now empty, I’m left alone to cry alone...
In my brand new guest bathroom.
Over the next week, Blake and I say very little to each other. Even our doctor’s appointment, a moment which is supposed to be filled with excitement and joy, is tainted with evident anger and hostility. The only time we speak is when we’re around the girls.
Since it’s Saturday and the girls have left me for Tatum once again, I begin my weekend cleaning ritual. Walking through the kitchen, I see the full stainless steel food and water bowls that the girls stocked for the puppy earlier this morning. I smile at the hand-written feeding schedule on the dry erase board mounted above his eating area. With alternating initials for every day of the week, each girl is responsible for feeding him and giving him water according to what’s on the schedule. Of course, Nycole organized and structured the whole feeding program. It seems to be working out rather well.
Opening the door to the laundry room, I flip the light switch only to be reminded that the light is still burned out. Letting out an aggravated growl, I head back to the kitchen to get a light bulb out of the pantry and a chair from the breakfast table.
Sliding a new bulb in my new, handy dandy storage space…right between my breasts…I smile with self-satisfaction and lug the chair into the laundry room. Setting it down, I climb my very pregnant self onto the seat. Once I’m standing, I grab the bulb and stretch to reach the fixture. The chair wobbles a bit and I place my hand on its back to steady myself.
Scooting the seat a bit, I test the chair which seems to be stable now. In my second attempt, I reach upward standing on my tip toes and try to screw the light bulb into the socket. Just a little mo–
Suddenly, the chair teeters and my balance is thrown backward as it slides out from underneath my feet. I try to grab on as I begin to fall, but it’s just beyond my reach. I’m so screwed.
Just as I anticipate hitting the floor, a set of large familiar arms break my fall, catching me mid-flail. Realizing that he’s there, I throw my arms around his neck and let out a cry, both from fear and relief. I’m shaking so badly, I can barely keep my arms secured around him. After a long while, I manage to finally speak. “I’m alright, Blake. You can put me down.” I stick my nose in his neck and take a long whiff, his scent calming me instantly.
Once he sets me on my feet, I release my death grip and step back to look at my knight in shining armor. One look at his face tells me the only thing I need to know. He is definitely not pleased.
“Goddamn it, Alex! What the hell were you doing up there? You could’ve killed yourself! Jesus Christ!” he shouts, blue veins raised everywhere from the top of his forehead clear down to his neck.
I step back because I have never in my life seen him this angry. Ever. The puppy argument had nothing on this.
“I was…um, I…” I stumble over my words. “The light was, um, burned out. So, I was changing it?” I ask, hoping he finds my answer acceptable. I watch the puppy scamper out from underneath the couch and hightail it to, I’m assuming, his crate in the kitchen. As he runs to safety, I find myself second guessing my explanation.
“Wrong. Answer.” He turns and starts pacing wildly around the living room.
With him a little further away, I feel more comfortable speaking out loud. “I didn’t want to ask you for he—”
“You NEVER ask me for help!” he roars, throwing his hands in the air. He turns to me, his face so contorted with anger that I have no choice but to back up into the wall directly behind me.
“You don’t need me! You never need me! I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing here!” He swipes his arm across the end table, taking out our brand new lamp. As it crashes to the ground, and breaks into a million pieces, I can’t help but think of how perfectly metaphorical that is for our relationship right about now.
“Your girls! Your house! Your baby! What happened to our life, Alex? Those are supposed to be our girls! This is supposed to be our house! You are carrying our son!” I flinch at his words, not because he’s yelling, but because they pierce my heart.
I continue to watch him from a distance, walking back and forth, reeling over whatever’s going on in his mind. I don’t dare speak. I just watch as the anger works its way through his mind and body.
After a long while, he seems to finally calm down a bit and stops pacing, ending up at the window. Pressing his forearm against the pane, he leans in and blankly stares at the swing set in our backyard.
“We’re supposed to be partners in this, Alex, but instead, we’re two strangers, living two separate lives, inhabiting the same living space. I sold my house and bought a new one with you, and while it’s technically our house, it’s still only your home. I have absolutely no say so in anything, including the baby’s room. Even when it comes to the girls, when I try to help you raise them as I should be doing, you won’t let me.” He shakes his head, defeated. “Hell, I can’t even help you screw in a goddamn light bulb.”
He turns to face me, hurt and pain etched into his features. Obviously frustrated, he raises his hands to his face, and after scrubbing it fiercely, rakes them through his hair. He takes a small step towards me, most likely testing my fight or flight response. When I stay in place, he continues, moving towards me while he speaks.
“You know, when you came to Colorado, I was so happy. That was one of the best days of my life because after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, you were finally mine. And that day you did let me into your heart, but when do you actually let me into your life, Alex?” His pleading eyes fill with tears. My heart aches for him.
Taking a brief moment to reflect, I come to a realization. I knew being married again would be an adjustment; being married the first time was hard enough. But, instead of trying to include him, I just went on with my daily routine because during the last few years, I fought to be able to do that. To do for my children what I feared the loss of Derek would render me incapable of doing. So, instead of asking him to help, I went on with the only way I knew how to live, and that was completely unfair to him. He’s absolutely right.
But, if he would have just told me how he felt…
No insinuations, no under the breath after thoughts during an argument, but a pull me aside, “You’re being an asshole” conversation, I would have understood how he felt and this situation could’ve been completely avoided.
So much wasted time.
“How long have you felt this way?” I take a step towards him, encouraging him to speak.
“For a while.”
With a sympathetic smile, I reach forward and take his hand. He laces his fingers with mine and squeezes tightly. Stepping into him, I wrap my arms around his waist and place my ear against his chest; the rapid beating of his heart begins to slow and the sound comforts me. I take in a deep breath, his intoxicating scent washing away every ounce of apprehension.
“Blake,” my head remains against him as I speak, “I love you so, so much. I hope you know that. I hope you believe me when I tell you this. Because as sure as my heart beats, you have given me life again…in more ways than one.” When he says nothing, I release my hold on him and take a step back, raising my head to meet those gorgeous green eyes that have healed me so many times before.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I guess,” I add with a shrug of my shoulders, “I’ve just grown accustomed to a certain way of living my life, but, you’re right, Blake. I should have made more of an effort to change when you came into ours.” He looks away and I place my finger under his chin, bringing him back into my line of sight. “But, that’s my issue. It has nothing to do with you or the way I feel about you. You are my family.” His eyes search for anything but mine, and it kills me. He needs to understand this.
“Blake, please baby, listen to me. Look at me.” When his eyes finally meet mine, I peer into them, willing him to understand. “You. Are. My. Family. Too.” I watch a lone tear as it falls down his cheek. Reaching up, I lightly graze my fingers across his forehead, and when he looks back at me, I swipe the hair away from his eyes and cup my palm against his moist face. I lock eyes with him so that he understands the importance of my next statement.
“That being said, you can’t keep these kinds of feelings bottled up. You have to talk to me because I can’t help fix something that I don’t know is broken. And we have been very, very broken these last few weeks, Blake.” He tries to break my gaze, but my hand keeps his eyes on mine.
“If you would have just said something, it would have saved us a lot of heartache.” I pause, giving him a half-smile. “And our new lamp,” I add with a small laugh. He lightly chuckles, and relief and hope flood my heart.
“Look, we both know I’ve made plenty of mistakes,” I tilt my head down and look at him from underneath my lashes to further emphasize my point. “But I also know that the key to a successful marriage is communication. You have to be able to talk to me, Blake. I. Am. Your. Wife.”
Without breaking eye contact, Blake slowly lifts his hand to gently tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, then softly runs his knuckles down my cheek. A shiver spreads throughout my entire body in response to his touch. “I know, Alex. I know. And I’m sorry, too. I should’ve never raised my voice like that. It’s just…Jesus, Alex…You could’ve been seriously hurt. I don’t know what I would do if–”
Pushing onto my tiptoes, I crush my lips to his before he can finish his sentence.
No more wasted time.
Deepening the kiss with my tongue, I force him back until his shoulders hit the wall. He grips the back of my neck with one hand, threading his fingers through my hair while the other tightens on my lower back; our kiss becoming more and more frenzied. His breath becomes my breath, his tongue dipping into my mouth, possessively stroking mine and making me feverish. My hands move hastily over his body, tugging at his clothes, desperate to be as close to him as possible. As he slowly moves his hand from my waist to cup me between my legs, a gasp of pleasure escapes from my throat, making me bite down on his lower lip and grind myself against his hand. He groans and suddenly his mouth is no longer on mine. We stare at each other, breathless, our bodies humming with anticipation. As his thumb gently brushes over my jaw, he whispers, “My Alex…”
He slowly moves his hand upwards from between my legs, stopping at my belly. For an extended moment, I feel his silent desperation, his fear of losing what we created as his eyes burn into mine. Moving his hand around my waist, he runs it up and down the curve of my spine almost reverently, but never loosening his grip at my nape, never breaking eye contact. His hand gradually moving lower and lower with each gentle down stroke, he growls lowly as he grabs hold of my backside and pulls me into him. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” he moans.
Taking my mouth again, his tongue furiously grazes every inch of my mouth and I match his movements. There is a sense of urgency and need in his kiss, as though his body is making up for lost time. In that moment, I need him to own me and he needs to know that I am his. “I need you inside me, Blake,” I say panting and pushing my body even more into his. There can’t be any space between us; I’m desperate for our bodies to join, for our skin to touch everywhere.
Looping my arms under his, my nails dig into the skin of his upper back before he breaks the kiss again. “I’m right here, baby. Always,” he mutters, pressing soft kisses down my neck.
When his mouth stops in the crook of my neck and his teeth graze the area gently, I dig my nails even further into his skin. He lets out a throaty groan and the area between my legs begins to throb in response. Breaking away from him briefly, I raise his shirt over his head, but his eyes never leave mine. My heavy breaths and my racing pulse are all I can hear as his mouth curves into that sexy, crooked smile, a familiar mischief filling his eyes. He holds my stare and slowly kneels to the ground, his hands grazing lightly over my tummy as he makes his descent. When he lifts the bottom of my tank and presses his soft lips to my growing stomach, my hands fall helplessly to my sides.
