A Perfect Love (4 page)

Switching the dishwasher on like the domestic god I was—I knew what would get Jo hot and happy—I headed to our room, shedding my clothes as I went. When I opened the door, I heard the water running followed by the splashing of a body entering the tub, and embraced the scent of heaven. My dick sprang happily from my boxers.

Stripping completely, I stepped into the en-suite. Jo lay in the bath, eyes closed, with a towel behind her head. One of the other awesome things about the oil was there were no damn bubbles to block the view of her naked body.

When I touched her arm and inclined my head, she smiled and moved forward, giving me room behind her. I scooted in, rested my back against the tub, stretched my legs around Jo and pulled her back flush to my stomach. A sigh escaped her lips when she pressed against me, and I leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

Laying her head against my chest, she spoke, “How were things at the office?”

I groaned. I would love to keep the stress of the bullcrap of my day from her, but I’d learned long ago that only total disclosure worked. I’d
paid for that mistake on a couple of occasions, and vowed never again
. “I spoke with Sutton.” I didn’t try to hold back the frustration or exhaustion from my voice. She turned her head and looked up at me, my signal to continue. “McKenny’s caught up with him.”

“That freakin’ mongrel turd. Shit. What happened?”

A small laugh erupted from my chest at Jo’s description, so I leaned down and kissed her when she turned her head to look at me. I parted her lips and licked the bottom one before pulling it lightly into my mouth. She sighed when I leaned away, a smile lighting up her eyes. “He tried to put the pressure on, made Sutton double-think the plans and us, but we’re all good now. We’re back on track.”

“You sure?” A gentle frown formed between her brows.

Leaning down, I kissed it away. “I’m sure.”

She nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I need to look over the final-stage prints for the office spaces.” I returned her nod, distracted by her pert nipples poking out of the water. Moving my hand from where it was resting on her stomach, I stroked upwards and caressed one of her peaks. My other hand, feeling lonely, travelled the same direction, eliciting a moan from her parted lips. “Liam…”

“Yes, baby?” God, I loved it when her voice turned husky and she gasped my name. She turned her head and exposed her neck to me. I eagerly kissed down it, enjoying the scent of the oil. Each kiss pushed her further against my rock-hard dick, causing me to tug firmly on her nipples.

She groaned again and sat forward. I hoped her movement and groan indicated she was getting on her knees for me; she knew how much I loved that. Pummelling into her, while being able to caress her breasts and admire her gorgeous arse at the same time, was always one hell of a turn-on. “Fuck,” she groaned.

Hell, yes!
Jo only kept her dirty mouth during sex for special occasions. I had no idea what I did to deserve her asking me to fuck her, but I was not foolish enough to question her. Just as I was manoeuvring to my knees, desperate to sink into her, she swore again, but immediately retched at the same time. “What the hell? Jo?”

She scrambled out the tub and raced to the toilet bowl, pulled up the lid and continued to heave. Before I even had a chance to stand, the dreaded smell of tomato sauce-laced vomit mingled with my sacred blackcurrant and vanilla, turning it into a completely new smell. There was nothing like the smell of puke and the sound of retching to cure me immediately of my raging boner.
Damn.
Pulling my head out of my arse, I stopped thinking about Jo’s peachy arse and stepped out of the bath to hold her hair.

I had no idea if this was what she wanted, but I’d watched it in a chick flick once. I was only used to hosing her down after she’d downed too many tequila shots with Ella. Somehow, I’d always managed to miss this stage, even after all these years. “You okay, baby?”

She vomited again, the contents of her stomach hitting the water of the toilet. I desperately tried not to look. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but just like rubbernecking at the scene of an accident, I felt compelled to. I leaned over a little to take a squinty look. “What the hell are you doing? Seriously! Are you looking at my sick? What the hell is wrong with you?” She flushed the toilet and turned to glare at me.

I had the good grace to look shifty and shrugged. “Just checking you hadn’t digested an alien life form or something.” I couldn’t help the grin forming on my face.

“You do realise my head is right next to your dick, right?” I placed my hands in front of my nuts. She quirked a brow. “One solid bite and this is the last baby you’ll ever be making, moron.”

I reached behind me and grabbed a towel. Opening it up, I placed it over her shoulders and helped her stand. I pulled her close to me. “You better?” She nodded against my chest. “What do you need from me? I did go by the shop on the way home and bought you a gingerbread man.”

Jo pulled away from me and smiled. “More reading?”

“There was a whole load of information about weird-arse things to stop you being sick. The only thing I could find made of ginger was a gingerbread man. It’s one you can decorate yourself.” I’d been damn proud of myself, too. I was really getting the hang of this pregnancy stuff.

A beautiful smile lifted her tired eyes. “Thank you, Liam.” She stood on her toes.

“Erm, teeth?” I loved Jo, more than anything in fact, but there was no way I could be kissing her after she just threw up.

“Shit, right.” Securing the towel around her body, she brushed her teeth while I went to get her cookie and a glass of water, wrapped in my own towel.

A few moments later, I had her newly decorated gingerbread man sporting a huge icing-sugar cock. I looked down at my artwork, feeling pretty impressed with myself.

“What are you grinning for?” Jo was sitting on the bed, pouring a whole heap of lotion onto her naked body.

I shrugged and handed her the cookie, setting her lotion to the side. She burst out laughing. “What have you done?”

I sat next to her, still grinning. “What?”

She looked from the icing penis to me and then back again. “Have you modelled this on anyone I know?” she teased.

“I may have. It’s pretty huge and impressive. Much like my own specimen.” I placed my hands behind me and leaned back on them, allowing my towel to fall open.

I watched Jo as her eyes instantly lowered to my groin. She nibbled on her bottom lip, and her tongue peeped out a moment, which made my soft dick stir. “But,” her eyes flicked to mine, “does it taste as sweet?”

Holy Christ.
Jo always knew how to make me come apart. A look, a touch, a gesture, or the hot words coming out of her sweet mouth would unravel me. They’d also usually make me want to throw myself at her, offering her a taste of the pleasure she gave me. There was nothing more I wanted than to tease her and possibly challenge her to a taste test, and give her the chance to find out which cock tasted best. Hell, I’d even offer to smother the icing all over my dick if it added to the sweetness, but my mouth on her in that moment was a taste I needed first.

“You going to eat that?” My voice was strained and gruff.

Her eyes dilated and then turned to the cookie with the huge penis. Sticking her tongue out, she brought it to her mouth and licked the icing clean off. I swallowed, knowing just how wonderful her tongue felt. Looking at me once again, she grinned and then bit the head clean off. She attempted to chew between her laughter as I shot down to my knees in front of her, spread her legs open, and mimicked the lick she’d just demonstrated.

“Fuck.” I looked up, ensuring the word this time was in pleasure and not an indication she was going to be sick. Her head had fallen back, her arms propping her up.

“Rest, baby. Lie down.” She smiled, and I was sure her eyes mirrored my own love and need. As she lay back, I cupped her arse and pulled her toward my face. I released a satisfied growl when I tasted blackcurrant and vanilla, probing further and needing to push her over the edge. Spending the night between Jo’s legs was what I had set out to do, and I had every intention of doing it every damn night.

Chapter Three

Jo

I had yet to make an appointment with anyone, or actually find out whom I was supposed to make a damn one with. This pregnancy stuff was so confusing; I had no bloody idea where to start. One thing was for sure, though: the whole pregnancy gig was exhausting.

I was never one to sit back and let life dictate its terms. Too much mayhem had happened in my life for that. A long time ago, life thought it had me beat, but that dick called life hadn’t known who it was messing with. Since then, I was something of a bulldozer. Perhaps not the most articulate description, or even the best way to handle life, but for the last few years, it had worked for me.

Until recently.

After three days in the office finalising contracts and blueprints, working past ten o’clock, I was well and truly beat. I was so relieved it was the weekend. My plan was to sleep. There would be no pushing through, no ignoring my achy limbs and rolling eyes, and most definitely no ignoring the nugget growing in my belly. I was dirt-tired.

Liam was feeling the general exhaustion, too, but he wasn’t being wrecked by dry heaving and being drained of nutrients. That was certainly my excuse when I forced him out of bed to make me a mug of tea and some toast. He’d grumbled the whole time, but he relented as soon as he took in my death glare.

Our only plan for the weekend was to have lunch with my folks on Sunday. Ella and Preston would be there for support, because I’d demanded they be there when I told my folks about the baby. Somehow, Ella had managed to convince Preston not to rat me out and tell my mum and dad they were going to be grandparents. In fact, I really didn’t want to know exactly how she’d sweet-talked him into it.

I needed them there as back-up. I was hoping with Ella’s presence, they wouldn’t pull out the birthing videos—yep, plural—and insist on talking me through every painful step as they went. The worst thing—and somehow, it really was worse—was that they weren’t even theirs, as in my mum giving birth to Preston and me. They were a few random videos, as in VHS tapes. (They had refused to get rid of their ‘trusty’ VHS player, I think for the sole purpose of these videos.) They’d bought them from a charity shop close to eighteen or so years ago.
Sick, right?
It begged the question, who in their right mind bought homemade birthing movies from a charity shop, or indeed donated them? It was impossible not to shudder at the thought.

I’d borne witness to the offending tapes, three in total, when I was in my teens, as had Preston. Somehow, Ella, despite our family home being her second home, had managed to evade them. Ella was my only shield, my only chance at protection. I just hoped it worked. If not, I think Liam may be pushed over the edge and into the realm of contacting the authorities to get my entire damn family sanctioned.

We’d been together long enough for him to be used to their specialness, their uniqueness, but the sharing of the videos may blow the quirky into the deranged.

“What are you shaking your head at?” Liam walked into the bedroom balancing two plates in one hand and grasping two cups of tea in the other. I sat up to remove the mugs from their precarious position.

“Just thinking about our visit to Mum and Dad’s tomorrow.”

“Nervous?” He set a plate on my lap. Picking up a slice of toast, I took a small bite, warming my stomach up to accepting sustenance. Not immediately gagging was a small success, so I leaned back against the headboard and took a larger bite.

Settling next to me, Liam munched happily away on his toast, almost inhaling one slice in three bites. “Not really,” I answered. He looked at me with a raised brow, and I sighed. “Okay, sort of. I know they’re going to be happy. Crazy happy, in fact. It just makes everything even more real, you know?” He nodded. “Plus, you know how excited they get. I’m just worried they’re going to get too much and lay it on too thick.”

I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I loved my parents, wholly so, and I was damn grateful for their support and their love. They would do everything in their power to make me happy. At times, though, it was a bit too much. It would be nice for them to take a step back and think about themselves for once.

Worrying about Preston after his accident a few years back and fussing over me after my shit had taken its toll. I was sure of it. They were looking tired. I hoped since I was ‘married off’, as my dad had so eloquently described it, and that Preston and Ella were crazy in love, they would finally stop worrying about us. They seemed to always be waiting for a relapse of some kind. I saw it at our wedding even. Through the smiles and happy tears, every now and then, I saw my folks share a look. I had no idea what the look meant. I couldn’t even begin to describe it or mimic it, but it was a look I’d been seeing for the last few years. All I knew for sure was that it meant there was an element of worry there, always for us, Preston and me.