We walk into the diner and nothing has changed—still a black-and-white-checkered floor with fifties décor. The aroma of freshly dropped french fries and frying hamburgers hangs in the air. “Want to sit at the bar again?”

  “Probably not a good idea. I don’t think they’ll be very comfortable for my back so I’d rather sit at a booth.”

  We choose one directly behind the spot where we sat a year ago. “I want to put some music on. You already know what I want if the waitress comes by.” She walks toward the jukebox and I watch her bum sway side to side. Even pregnant, my wife is smokin’ hot.

  She isn’t gone long before she returns and I hear a familiar tune playing overhead, although I can’t immediately place it. She’s smiling and I know she wants to play name that tune, a game I can’t win with her. “I know this song but the name hasn’t come to me just yet—hold on a sec.”

  I listen for a moment and then it hits me. “‘I Only Have Eyes For You,’ but I don’t know who sings it.”

  “The Flamingos, silly.”

  “Of course, how could I not remember? Oh yeah, maybe because I’ve never heard of them.” She’s a musical genius. “I can’t believe I married a musical Wikipedia. Is there anything you don’t know about music?”

  “Possibly, but I haven’t found it yet.”

  Our food arrives and L doesn’t hesitate to jump in. She takes a huge bite of her cheeseburger and ketchup drips down, landing right in the center of her swollen, pregnant cleavage. She was already beautifully endowed but the pregnancy has given her a little extra boost. Her tits look even more spectacular.

  She looks down at the ketchup in the cleavage and then back to me. She licks her lips to clean the smear of ketchup from her mouth. “You’d really like to lick that off, wouldn’t you?” My cock immediately awakens at the thought of my tongue running down into that cleft.

  I put my cheeseburger on my plate and lean across the table to look into her eyes so she understands my seriousness. “I haven’t been inside you for three weeks and it doesn’t look as though I will be anytime soon, so you can’t say things like that to me. It’s torturous.”

  Her chewing slows and she puts her cheeseburger down. “Abstinence isn’t going to be all that pleasant for me, either. I enjoy sex too.”

  I hope she doesn’t get mad at me for what I’m about to say. “I sort of have this hysteria that started when we left the doctor’s office. It’s sinking in that it will be months before I’ll have you again.”

  She uses her napkin to wipe the ketchup from her cleavage. “I’m sorry. I thought I was being cute.”

  I don’t want to sour her mood. “You are terribly cute … and that’s the problem. I want you but can’t have you.”

  Her smile returns and I know we’re fine. “I’ll try to keep the cuteness to a minimum, then.”

  “That’s probably best.”

  We change the subject of sex back to music and L tells me about every song playing overhead. “I chose this one because I love it so much, but they made a mistake putting it in the jukebox because it wasn’t released until the early sixties.” I listen and recognize “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley.

  “I really like this song too.” I get up from our booth and put my hand out to her. “Dance with me.”

  She looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “This is a diner. People don’t dance here.”

  “Maybe others don’t but you and I do.”

  She giggles and slides out of the booth. I grasp her hand in mine and place my free one on her lower back. “I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t almost empty in here.”

  The only other customers are an older couple admiring us from the corner booth. “They see how in love we are and it reminds them of how they were once like this too.”

  We sway to the tune of the song and I hold her close. “I couldn’t help falling in love with you.” She smiles and I kiss the top of her head.

  I hum the words I don’t know and whisper-sing the chorus as we sway. I return to humming when it comes to the next part I should know, but don’t. “I’ve never heard you sing before.”

  “It’s not really my forte.”

  “No, it’s not. Your singing sucks,” she laughs.

  “Thank you for breaking it to me gently.”

  “I doubt I’m breaking anything to you.”

  She’s right. I can’t sing worth a damn. “I’ll bow out gracefully from the job of teaching our swarm to sing.”

  She stops swaying and looks up at me. “Sure you still want several after all that’s happened with this pregnancy? This problem with my cervix isn’t going away. I’ll need a stitch every time and will be on pelvic rest for the entire pregnancy.”

  No way we’re giving up on our swarm. “Abstaining for months won’t be fun, but we’ll do what we gotta do for the family we dream of having.”

  “I love you, McLachlan.” I pull her close again and return to humming.

  It’s true. I couldn’t help myself from falling in love with this woman. When she took my hand, I willingly gave her my whole life.

  * * *

  L is no longer on bed rest but that doesn’t mean she can return to doing anything she likes. She needs to take it easy, so I bring her home after our lunch date and encourage her to rest on the couch. She isn’t excited about it but eventually concedes. I can see that she’s tired, although she refuses to admit it, and I’d bet money she’s napping within fifteen minutes once I’m out of the house to scout on the vineyard.

  Harold and I get in a good four hours of scouting over a vast majority of the northwest corner and I’m pleased to find no additional evidence of downy mildew. The vines look quite good for this time of year and that pleases me greatly, but not near as much as returning home to see my wife.

  I enter through the kitchen and Mrs. Porcelli appears to be putting the final touches on dinner. “Smells good in here. What are we having?”

  “Laurelyn said you had a heavy lunch so she asked for a lighter dinner.” I totally agree with her on that. I love cheeseburgers, fries, and shakes but that isn’t a meal that should become a habit, especially not when you have a family history like mine. “I hope salmon with rice and asparagus fits the bill.”

  “Sounds perfect.” I open the fridge and take out a beer. “Did Laurelyn rest after I went to work?”

  “She’s been on the couch most of the afternoon and I’m fairly certain she took a nap.” Good. She needs plenty of rest. “She says the doctor gave her a good report. I’m very happy to hear that. I’ve been quite concerned about her and the baby.”

  “We’re told the danger is behind us and the remainder of the pregnancy should proceed normally with the cerclage in place.”

  “That’s such good news.” She opens the oven door to check the fish and the aroma fills the kitchen. “Will you be eating in the living room again?”

  L’s sentence there is over and I’m guessing she’s as sick of eating on the couch as I am. “No. We’ll dine at the table tonight.”

  “Then dinner will be there for you in ten minutes or so.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let Laurelyn know.”

  L isn’t on the couch and I don’t find her in our bedroom. There’s only one place I assume she’ll be. She’s out in the music studio checking on its progress. She hasn’t seen it in three weeks so she’s going to be surprised at all they’ve accomplished.

  Although I’m quite content with her no longer working, she’s determined to get back to composing. She argues that it isn’t right for her to not work, that she should be bringing in some kind of income, but I disagree. She’s my wife and I make more than enough to support us.

  I’m not wrong—the studio is where I find her. “What do you think of it?”

  She’s looking around, a look of awe plastered on her face. “I’m shocked. I can’t believe how much they’ve done in the last few weeks. It’s almost finished.”

  “I spoke with the contractor this afternoon. He said another week and we should be able to get you in here, songbird.”

  “Songbird,” she repeats. “I like that.”

  “Did you take a tour without me?”

  She looks guilty. “I did. I saw the workers leave and I couldn’t resist coming out for a peek.”

  “It’s okay. Have you seen all you want to see?”

  She takes another glance around the room. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Dinner’s ready. I told Mrs. Porcelli we’d dine at the table tonight.”

  “No argument here. I’m sick of that couch.”

  “Me too.”

  * * *

  We spend the evening on the couch we’ve come to despise. Laurelyn’s sitting on one end reading, probably the only thing that’s kept her sane these past two weeks, while I’m on the other end catching up on missed work. It’s just sales reports, something I could do in my office, but that would mean being away from her. I enjoy this quiet time together, even when we’re not talking. Just her nearness is enough sometimes.

  I look up and notice L has placed her e-reader on top of her belly and has dozed off. I’m not surprised. She sleeps a lot now, much more than she did before she became pregnant. I’m glad because rest is important for her and the baby.

  I place my work on the coffee table and scoot over to her. “Time for bed.”

  She stirs a little and slowly opens her eyes. “Wow. I was reading a hot sex scene one minute and then bam, I fall into a coma.”

  “Really? You were reading about hot sex?”

  She grins, maybe even blushes a little. “Did I just admit that?”

  “Yes, you did.” I place her e-reader on the table next to my paperwork and grasp her hands to help her up. “Come on, pervert.”

  She goes into the bathroom to do her nightly ritual and I’m already in bed when she comes out. She climbs in next to me, wearing a pink and white cotton gown. It’s lacy around the neck and innocent looking, not intended to be sexy at all, but my cock rouses simply by seeing her get into bed next to me. I know better. I shouldn’t look at her when she leans over to turn off her bedside lamp, but I can’t not look because her gown has gathered around her bum. I catch a glimpse of her pink cotton knickers and I’m immediately sorry. Ugh! I’m going to have to downgrade to jerking off—and soon. It’s not like I haven’t done it before, although it was mostly as an adolescent.

  She leans over to kiss me goodnight and reaches for the back of my head to hold me close. I kiss her back, although I shouldn’t, and she becomes more aggressive. That’s when I realize this is not the same simple goodnight kiss she has given me each night for the past two weeks.

  “This is another example like the ketchup incident today. You can’t do this to me. It’s agony.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be. There’s still plenty we can do.” She slides across the bed and climbs over to kneel between my legs. She puts her fingers in the waistband of my sleep pants and tugs. “My mouth isn’t off limits.”

  Oh fuck. My girl is going to suck me off.

  I lift my hips, beyond excited about what L is going to do to me. I haven’t gotten off in weeks so I’m happier than a camel on Wednesday.

  I’ve wanted to jerk off many times over the last few weeks but it felt wrong to experience any kind of pleasure while L was going through so much, especially while she was in the hospital fighting to save our baby. I couldn’t even consider it then. I thought about it after she was home and the initial danger was behind us, but it still didn’t feel right since she was in such a miserable state.

  This, however, doesn’t feel wrong, so I grab her pillow and prop it with mine behind my head so I can watch her every move.

  She puts her palms on my thighs and glides them upward until her fingertips brush my balls. She teases me for a moment, lightly sweeping her fingers back and forth, and I think I’ll implode from the anticipation.

  Her hand moves up and holds the base of my cock as she circles her tongue around the head. The stiff tip flicks several times at a supersensitive area just below the crown. She alternates these motions several times before taking me fully into her mouth. “That feels so fucking good.” I put my hands in her hair and pull all of it into my fist in a high ponytail because I love watching my cock slide in and out of her mouth. I could almost come just by the sight of it alone.

  She takes me out of her mouth and anchors my cock against my stomach. Then she does something new. Her tongue starts at the base of my balls and she licks the pleasure trail running top to bottom along my scrotum, the seam separating my boys. She draws the loose skin of the seam into her mouth and lightly sucks, bringing the blood, and the pleasure receptors, to the surface. “Fuck!” I groan.

  She smiles and looks up at me. “You like that, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I laugh. “I like that a-fucking-lot. Please don’t let this be the one and only time you do that.”

  “I’ve got plenty more for you, caveman.”

  She takes my cock back into her mouth and massages my balls for a moment before I feel her finger against the skin under my sac. She presses it more firmly and rotates it in a circular motion. Slow, and then fast. Soft, and then hard. I’ve never been harder and what’s building has never felt more powerful. “Ohh …” I tap her on the head, our signal that I’m about to come, but I can’t say the words. I’m speechless aside from the incomprehensible garble leaving my mouth.

  She stops and holds my cock so it’s pointing toward my stomach as she continues pressing that spot under my balls until I have this crazy, powerful explosion, by far the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced. “Holy shit, L. That was …” I can’t even think of a fitting word to describe it.

  “Great?” She looks so hopeful, as if she’s afraid she hasn’t pleased me.

  Calling it great would be an insult. “Mind-blowing is a better word, but even that doesn’t do it justice. Don’t get me wrong. You’ve given me some fantastic head in the past but that was the best ever. What was that you were doing with your finger?”

  I think she’s blushing. “It was my knuckle and I was stimulating your prostate.”

  I look at how much cum is on my stomach. “You stimulated me, all right. I think you milked me dry.”

  “I’ve heard there’s more semen when you press the prostate so I was afraid to swallow.” She shakes her head. “This pregnancy still has my gag reflex working overtime.” She slides to the edge of the bed. “I’m gonna grab a towel.”

  She returns and wipes me clean. She rolls the towel up, tossing it out of the way, and then slides in next to me. I pull her close and kiss her as I slide my hand under her gown, but she grabs my wrist. “No.”

  “I’m only going to touch on the outside.”

  She moves my hand away. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “I know anything on the inside is off limits, but I want to make you feel good too.”

  She shakes her head. “Lying next you after giving you a mind-blowing orgasm makes me feel good.”

  “I can do much better than that.”

  “I’m afraid to have an orgasm even if nothing goes inside me. Maybe we can try later when the baby is far enough along to survive, in case it puts me into labor or something.”

  She’s right. It isn’t worth the risk just to feel good. “Okay.”

  She puts her head on my chest and traces an infinity on my stomach around my belly button with her finger. “Don’t be mad.”

  I could never be upset with her over something like this. “Baby, I’m not mad. You’re thinking of our child’s safety. I could never be upset with you over that.”

  “Pleasing you pleases me, so I’m fine with getting you off and not having the favor returned. You can make up for it later.”

  I will definitely make this up to her. “I know you don’t mind but I love making you come. It’s quite satisfying for me to watch your face when you squeeze your eyes shut and scrunch your cute little nose as you open your mouth and pant.”

  “That’s what I look like when I come?”

  “Almost every time.”

  She turns and props her chin on my chest. “What do I look like the other times?”

  “Sometimes you bite your bottom lip. Both of your come faces are really hot. Lets me know I’m doing something right.”

  “Everything you do is perfect. You always make me feel great.” She lifts her face and stretches to kiss me. “Never doubt that, McLachlan.”

  She lowers her head to my chest and settles in as though she might be ready for sleep. Again.

  We lie there for a brief moment when I hear her sharp intake of breath. “What is it? Are you having a pain?”

  She lifts her head to look at me and grins. “No. The baby is moving.” I’ve yet to feel a single movement. Every time I try, the baby either stills or I simply can’t detect it. It may seem silly, but I think I’m a little jealous that L’s feeling it and I can’t. “This little stinker is turning flips tonight so I bet you’ll feel it this time. Give me your hand.”

  L turns to her back and lifts her gown. She takes my hand and places at the top of her small bump. “It’s more on the left side.” We’re silent, waiting, as if the absence of sound will help my sense of feel.

  And then it happens. I feel a gentle nudge beneath my hand. “I felt that.” And I feel something else as well. Love—the true and real kind.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Laurelyn McLachlan

  I got into my music studio a few weeks ago and I’ve been banging out the tunes like crazy. It’s weird—maybe like the break I had from the time I left Southern Ophelia to now was what I really needed to make this transition from performer to composer a successful one. Or maybe I’m just happy with my life and it’s finding its way into my music.

  I’ve conferenced with Charlie and the gang a few times and they’re really excited about the material I’m working on. Randy wants first pick and that totally works for me. I have no problem selling my songs minus the pain of marketing them.

  Kim, my female lead replacement for Southern Ophelia, says she loves my lyrics because they speak to her. She’s like me in a lot of ways. She only sings songs that touch her so we’ve been working on a special single together. The guys don’t know about it—and she’s asked me to not tell them—and I think I know why. This song is her story and the way she feels about a man. I happen to believe the song is about Charlie. I guess it could be anyone, but the lyrics she’s contributed tell me she’s in deep.