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Shaw

It’s been exactly ten weeks since I woke up in that hospital bed and learned that not only do I have a husband, no fiancé who I am on the verge of marrying, but that I’m a mother, too.

It feels weird and yet as comfortable as slipping on an old pair of my favorite sweats. I spend my days walking the gardens with Margery, or the ever-present Cameron, or trying to jump-start my memories.

Cameron has cautioned me against that because they don’t want me stressing right now and setting myself further back. It’s also not good to be stressed while I’m breastfeeding and trying to stay sane with the feeding schedule, and the still sore muscles in my stomach that have yet to heal remind me to tell you what a caesarean does to your body. Horror story!

So yeah, I’m trying, really trying, to keep myself from worrying over much and keeping myself on an even keel with everything going on around me.

It’s weird and strangely intoxicating to go to sleep cradled against Cameron’s chest when I don’t remember anything about meeting him or how we fell in love.

God, I would have thought that my life goals would have vetoed even the idea of dating, never mind falling for the guy and moving an ocean away from home, but apparently I loved him so much I’d left it all behind to follow him here. Strange and yet a thrilling love story that I keep filling in with every day that passes.

They won’t tell me anything because the doctors want me to remember it all on my own, but that doesn’t stop me from imaging the scenes and embellishing with a romantic streak that’s, quite frankly, embarrassing in its girlishness.

I imagine him seeing me across a crowded room and falling so madly in love with me that he couldn’t bear another moment without telling me how gorgeous I am. And then I imagine him sweeping me off my feet in an epic love story that makes the Titanic look pale in comparison.

Sometimes I find myself wondering what the sex would be like. Cameron is a very vital, muscular, totally sexy specimen, believe me, I get to sleep on all that hotness, so I sorta think that we must be really hot together if he’s still playing with my boobs while he sleeps.

One time I’d woken hot and bothered with one of his hands rubbing my…bits and another squeezing my breast, his huge erection drilling onto the crack of my ass, and I’d almost given in to the need to turn around and see where this would take us.

Unfortunately, my boob had a mind of its own—anytime it feels stimulation it starts leaking like a freaking geyser—and I’d had no choice but to wiggle out of his arms and go do something about the milk river.

Now I’m just….

Is it okay for me to be super-attracted to a guy I don’t remember? I mean, he is the father of my baby. And my body remembers him, even if my mind doesn’t, and I’m…needy.

I spend as much time fantasizing about his hands and mouth and…other parts as I do anything else. The only thing stopping me from doing anything is debilitating shyness and the fear that my body is so weird after the baby that I’m considering a girdle to keep that hot mess in check.

“You’re looking flushed, Ducky. Come here. Are you feverish? We should get you to the doctor.”

“Stop, Cameron.” I growl, slapping at his hands. “I’m fine. Seriously.”
Just hot in the crotch with nowhere to go
, I think silently, taking in his casual slacks and the tight polo shirt he seems to favor.

“Sorry. I’m just—”

“Being way too attentive right now. I’m eating. The doctor gave me the all clear yesterday and my tummy is only just tender. Everything’s healed okay and I feel good. Only my brain isn’t cooperating, but the thing is so stubborn I’m not surprised.”

I want to ask him a million questions, like how I feel, who was there, and…just general things about our life together. But it’s a waste of breath and just so frustrating that I’m focusing on the here and now instead of stressing him out. The guy gets manic if he thinks I’m upset.

“I’m just concerned. You’ve been absentminded all morning. Talk to me, baby. Please.”

We’re in the sitting room between our room and the nursery, our usual walk having been put on hold with the rain that’s battering the windows. Margery and Victor are out, searching for some elusive antique, and Molly and Kent are back home, planning their wedding.

So it’s just the two of us and Mrs. Tokes, the nanny Cameron insisted on. She’s downstairs waiting for Angel to scream her imperious summons.

“Shaw.”

Oh gosh.

My cheeks heat, and I scrunch my nose, feeling lost and vulnerable as I look at him and his earnest face, his eyes all but begging me for something.

“Sex. I’ve been thinking about sex,” I squeak, blushing when his eyes drop to my breasts and go lower before coming back up to meet mine. “I mean, we’re engaged, and we have a baby, so I’m assuming we liked, er, doing that, but the thing is I don’t even remember it. I was a virgin and…”

I blush again when he clears his throat and drops his eyes, hiding that deep blue gaze from me.

“Were we…did we like, you know?”

“Very much, baby. In fact, the night you fell, you teased me half to distraction before skipping off on that hunt,” he admits, bringing his hooded gaze back to mine. “We’re great in bed. Fantastic in fact.”

“Then why, um, why don’t you ever touch me? You buss my lips quickly and then…God, this is so embarrassing.”

“It shouldn’t be. Not between us. We belong to each other,” he says with a growl, making me shiver at that commanding tone. “You can tell me anything.”

“Okay. Uh, do you still find me attractive after…?” I wave at my soft belly. “Because I read up about it on the internet and they say that a lot of men struggle to adjust to the changes that their significant other’s body goes through, and I mean, I’ve looked in the mirror.”

“No. That is not a problem you should ever worry about. You’ll always be sexy to me. You brought my child into the world with that body. It will always be perfect to me. Always.”

Phew!

“So then, do you think we could maybe try to be together? I’d really like to know, you know, if you want to do that. With me. Sometime.”

I look up from my clenched hands to see him up and pacing, his tented slacks making a clenching need unfurl deep in my belly. It’s strange, but as unfamiliar as a lot of things are, Cameron and the things I feel when I look at him feel, perfect, as if my body recognizes its mate and wants him back, memory or no memory.

“Christ. I want to, baby, so badly I wake up with my hands on your…but the doctors were clear. I don’t want to take advantage and cause you more pain than you’ve already been through.”

That makes sense. Too much sense. More sense than my bits are willing to see right now, and I tell him so. Screw embarrassment and the fear that I’ve been nursing for days. I want, no need something to stop this drifting feeling that makes me so anxious sometimes I can’t breathe.

He’s my anchor.

I need him to keep me from drifting away.

“I need a connection. Sometimes when you smile a certain way I think I remember seeing that look, but then it all drifts away and I’m left feeling so afraid. And I walk around needing to tell you something, I don’t know what, but it seems so important that when I can’t remember it I start panicking and—”

“It’s alright, love. Ssh, no, don’t fret,” he says with a croon, taking me in his arms and kissing my face tenderly. “I’d never let anyone hurt you. Not ever.”

“No. I know. But it won’t go away, and every time I feel that way, I have this need to just, touch you. You make me feel stable and safe, and I need…I want that all back. I want to share myself with you, too,” I whisper, willing him to understand.

I’m surrounded all the time, never alone, and yet I feel so apart from everyone that it terrifies me. What if I never remember anything? What if I’m destined to go through life with all that time gone, vanished as if it never happened.

“Oh, Ducky.”

“See! I can’t even remember why you all call me that, and it drives me nuts! I want that all back, and I know that there’s a chance that will never happen so, I thought we should start making new memories.”

Maybe then I won’t feel like I’m about to float away.

Cameron’s sighs and pulls me into his arms, his lips pressed firmly to my temple, his body quaking.

“I’ll give you anything you want, baby. Anything.”

“Good. Can I have you?”

He smiles, a wry twist of his lips that shows me how amusing my question is and sets my nerves zinging in that bittersweet way that tugs at the periphery of my memory.

“You already have me, baby. You’ve had me since the moment I laid eyes on you; I just didn’t know it. Now go feed the ravenous beast. Tonight. I’ll make love to you tonight.”

Cam

I’m bloody more nervous than I was the first time a girl let me touch her boobs. My palms are sweating, along with every other part of me, and my breathing is racing as fast as my out of control heart.

I feel like I’m about to go out there and destroy her trust, and yet, even as I try to convince myself that this is wrong, I can’t stop from needing to do this as much as I know she needs me to.

This intimacy is an opportunity to lay the foundation for the emotions I’m striving to build. I want her to love me. I need her to because, despite my very best efforts to the contrary, I now realize that my behavior stemmed from nothing more than jealousy and the rage that Robert had once again had something that I needed.

I wanted to be the one to meet her first and fall for all that innocent beauty. I wanted her to see
me
at the bar, and I wanted her to want to be with
me
at that moment.

I wanted it to have been
my
seed growing in her, declaring to the world that I had claimed her for my own and that no other would ever touch something that perfect.

I have that chance now because the slate is clean. I’ll be her first, her last, her everything after this, and I need that more than I need to buckle under the guilt.

I want her to experience this and look at me in wonder and love, as if I’ve hung the moon and sent her to the very stars. And selfish bastard that I am, I will take this, hoping and praying that she never recovers her memory.

Yeah, it’s wrong, but it’s all I have now that I’ve ripped my chest open and given her my heart, bloody and beating only for her.

“Cameron? Are you okay in there?”

I shake myself and take one last look at myself before opening the bathroom door and stepping into the room, my mouth going dry at the sight of her under the sheets, the creamy swells of her naked breasts hinting at the nudity awaiting me.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Her cheeks take on a pink tinge, and I smirk, feeling ten feet tall when she bites her lip and flicks the sheet away to reveal her lush form, glowing, waiting for me and the pleasure I plan to give her.

“So are you,” she whispers nervously.

Her breasts are huge, round globes of blue-veined alabaster, the reddened nipples standing hard and proud, just begging for my mouth. I look lower and gasp at the sight of her slightly splayed legs and the wet heat awaiting me.

My control is slipping even as I try to rein myself in because I want to pounce and devour her, stamp myself on her so deeply and indelibly that even if the worst should happen and she remembers, she will crave me against her mind’s dictates.

I say nothing more, because I can’t speak without letting the animalistic growls trapped in my throat escape, and crawl up onto the bed, my nose skimming her skin, smelling and touching her on the way up to her mouth.

The kiss I give her is a soft melding of closed lips and heated breath, a greeting, a calming caress that soon turns into a gasping, open-mouthed dueling of tongues and scraping of teeth.

She kisses me back urgently, the way she used to, as if the taste of me is addictive, and I feel myself slip another inch into madness.

“Slowly,” I rasp, pulling away from the clutch of her arms and legs, gritting my teeth in pleasure when her nails sink into my back and slide into me, making my already hard dick weep with the need to plunder and thrust.

Claim.

“No. Please. I hurt here,” she says with a gasp, writhing her hips up to grind her wet heat over the crown of my urgent shaft.

To stall her, and myself, since the feel of her need on my dick is enough to send me into a frenzy, I pull away and force myself lower, my mouth bypassing her bountiful breasts in lieu of the heat begging for attention.

Her taste is exactly as I remember it, and I exalt in her cries of pleasure even as I drink her down and lick in a quick rhythm that is sure to set her off sooner than I would like, but quickly, so that I can get into her and do something about the madness clawing at me.

I stop licking and sucking only when she rears up and shoves my face closer, her sex exploding in contractions that I feel to the soles of my feet.

“Oh God, Cameron.”

That’s my cue.

Rearing up, I notch the head to her opening and thrust home, my toes curling with delight when the fullness sets her off again and I feel the heavy, sucking pulses surround my too hard flesh.

“Oh God. Oh God. Too much!” she wails, pulling me closer, biting into my shoulder when I rear back and push in, my body a separate being.

I’m out of control and going way too hard, and I know it, but I’m helpless to stop the punishing rhythm when she grabs onto my arse and pulls me deeper, her writhing grind rubbing her nub against me, prolonging the contractions.

When I can take no more and that burning tingle drills into my spine I let go and fill her empty belly with my seed, praying, begging that it takes root and remains there.

“Oh, wow,” I grunt when my oxygen starved lungs are able to fill again and roll to the side, despising the separation even as I pull her closer and kiss her sweaty brow.

“Cameron?”

“Yes, Ducky?”

“Do you think we can do that again? A lot?” she asks, hiding her blazing face against my neck.

“Definitely.”

Because I know what I’m going to do to ensure that I keep her, and I will do it. No matter how terrible it is. Shaw will be carrying my child before the month is out if I have any say in it.

All I have to do is ensure that I put enough of myself in her that her womb can’t help but take what I give it.