Still Into You: A Novel (Better Than Series Book 3) (3 page)

A swirl of colors dance behind my closed eyelids, my whole body shakes and my core and thighs contract and release.  Davis doesn’t stop, he actually sucks my whole clit more intensely. The gripping down low powers up and the sequence of colored lights begins again. I pant wildly, pull at the sheets and then pound on Davis’ back, my actions asking him to stop and NEVER stop at the same time.  As I whimper and try to put together a thought, I open my eyes.  Davis’ incredible smile is right in front of me and he kisses me, with the same skill he did moments ago, but lower.  It’s enough to start the colored lights again. I reach down and stroke his now seriously hard erection.  I don’t know if he can wait any longer, but I can’t, and he has been very patient and attentive to…the Cat. 

Cat Lover.  God, Davis kills me. 

I bring him up and rub the head of his cock over my wet and vibrating core, then I release him as he slides into me and holds still for just a moment.  I contract lightly around him and it’s like a silent signal.  Go time. 

Davis slides in and then back out with measured strokes, until we are both covered in a thin veil of sweat.  There is now no way to control, prevent, delay.  We thrust and rock violently, each urging the other for more.  I know I am close again.  Davis seems to sense it.  I feel him take a huge breath and growling loudly into my hair, he spills into me.  His guttural release opens the floodgates for a third time for me and we drown in one another, shouting unintelligible pleas for mercy.

              Oh yeah, “He told me about it.”

              Three times.

***

I wake up before Davis.  Something I rarely do, but when it happens, it’s a treat.  He looks so relaxed, lying on his stomach, arms up under the pillow, his mussed up hair framing his face, which is turned toward me.  I reach over and with two fingers, rub a piece of his hair near his ear and push it back away from his face.  His hair is not as long as when we first met, but not the shortest it’s been either.  No matter.  He could be bald and I would be in his spell.  But I would miss his hair.

I think back to last night.  The unpleasant things that kept creeping into my thoughts, how I distracted myself and Davis to make us both feel better.  It worked.  I definitely felt,
feel
better, but as I think back through the evening, I’m stopped when I recall the words, ‘No kids’ and how in the moment I thought about us with –no kids, and then with a sigh, while still gazing at Davis, I say it aloud, flatly, “No Kids.”

The contemplation of those two words make me antsy, and as quietly as I can, I find my panties and Davis’ rumpled CAT LOVER t-shirt in the bed, stand up and put them on.  I tiptoe into the kitchen and get a cup of coffee, which thankfully, Davis set up last night to brew automatically.  He’s considerate like that.  The coffee making, it’s his “thing.”  I always make sure to tell him its better when he makes it.  It’s become a family joke.  Family.  Our tiny two-person family.

After pouring myself a cup of coffee and fixing it up just the way I like it, with two sweeteners and lots of milk, I pad back toward the bedroom.  When I get to the open French doors, I lean for a minute against the door jamb and look at my bedroom, my bed and the sexy, generous man lying there.  The sheets are only covering the bottom half of him, leaving his back and just the top of his ass deliciously viewable.  I really am a very lucky girl.  I tell myself that very thing, but still can’t shake the weird, somewhat irritable mood I have this morning.  Not able to go back to bed, as I’m now wide awake, but also not ready to start my day, I make my way into our large walk-in closet. Before I’m even aware, I notice that I’m doing the thing I do when I need to calm and think.  I organize.  It’s a strange meditative process that I will do almost automatically when I’m trying to piece through a challenge.  NOT cleaning, organizing. 

Today, Davis’ sock and t-shirt drawers are the lucky winners of my attention.  Placing my coffee mug on a safe place on the floor of the closet, I pull out the drawers and dump all of their contents out on the floor – socks on the left, t-shirts on the right.  I’m about to make my nest in between, when I stop myself and walk back into the bedroom to retrieve my iPhone and earphones.  Coffee, music, sorting – a strange way to get Zen, but it works for me.  I pause and take another look across the bed at my still-sleeping husband.  I can’t help thinking what a great dad he would be and, if our kids were fortunate, how they would look like him.  It’s so easy to go back to that place, but I shake it off again, knowing that dream will probably never come true. I go back to my nest in the closet.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the closet, surrounded by apparel, I am nearly finished sorting all of Davis’ socks, throwing out the worn ones and pairing up the rest into sock balls, when my nest is disturbed.  I jump slightly as Davis comes up behind me and sits, his front to my back, his legs straddling mine.  He takes one of the earphones out and, I’m guessing, puts it in his ear.  I’m listening to Imagine Dragons, an acoustic version. Davis wraps his arms around my waist and, leaning into me, turns his head and presses his cheek against the back of my left shoulder.  I can feel his hair, his warm skin and a few light kisses.

In a not-quite-awake voice he asks, “Whatcha doin’ in here? I woke up and you were gone.”

“Organizing” I reply.  Davis already knows what “organizing” means.  When he first met me, I used to chant a mantra and put myself in a self imposed “time-out” when I was anxious or panicky.  I don’t need to do that very often any more, thanks to my work with my counselor, Dr. Matt.  I manage my anxiety more proactively now.  Oh, I still chant when needed, but less often. Now I find more useful outlets – like organizing.  Or as Dr. Matt puts it…

Davis finishes my thought by saying, “Using your anxiety for good, instead of evil?”

I laugh softly and relax into his firm, warm chest, resting my head back on his shoulder. “Yes,” I answer quietly.  Davis’ presence is as calming as organizing, at times.  “I’m whipping your socks and t-shirts into shape.”

“Thank god,” Davis says with low chuckle, “They were getting unruly.”

“Well, the socks are done.  Look through these t-shirts with me.  Some of them are looking a little threadbare and shabby.”

I can feel Davis shaking his head against my back. “You do know this is a weird couple activity, right?”

“It’s not weird, it’s normal, everyday…I like it.”

I hold up Davis’ t-shirt that says, “It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Posts the Video.”  I thought it was funny the first time I saw it, but it always gave me an uneasy feeling at the same time.  Now I know why.

I must have frowned because Davis snatches it from my hands, “We’re getting rid of this one right now.  It’s not even funny.”  Davis balls it up and throws it in the trash.  “No shirts that don’t make you smile. That’s the rule.”  I can’t argue with his new rule. I simply nod my head in agreement.

I’m rifling through the rest of his shirts, folding and piling, when I come across a green t-shirt I never really noticed before.  I wonder why? 

“What’s this?” I flatten the shirt out to read the text scrawled artistically across the top of the shirt, very close to the neckline.

I read it out loud, “An Awkward Morning Beats a Boring Night.”  I chuckle, but don’t smile.  I’ve probably mindlessly folded it a dozens of times, but I’ve never seen Davis wear it.

Davis explains, “God, that shirt is so old.  I stopped wearing it after we met.  Like, the day after we met.  I was done with awkward mornings.”  Davis must have picked up on my lack of smile.

I confess, “You know, before, I would have laughed my ass off at that shirt.  I hope I’m not losing my sense of humor.”

Davis treats the green shirt the same as the ‘video’ shirt, balling it up and trashing it.  “You still have it.  You still like innuendo.  Look at all the shirts you’ve let me keep.”  He indicates the large pile of shirts with all of his funny, slightly dirty sayings.  “These two just don’t work anymore.”

“Yeah, I still like ‘Google’ and ‘Cat Lover.’”

Davis pulls me back toward him and rains kisses in my hair. “See?  How about ‘Protect Your Nuts.’”  It’s the shirt with a squirrel holding up a big stick on it.

“That one, too, “ I admit and turn my face to kiss his lips.

“Yeah, it reminds me of your chatter.”

My mood lightens as we make out like teenagers on the closet floor.

***

“You didn’t tell me what caused to you to attack my sock and t-shirt drawers so violently,” Davis queries me, without directly asking a question.  He’s not looking at me.  I’m sitting at the bar in our kitchen and he’s cooking breakfast.  I can’t see his whole face, only his profile.

“I was thinking about something I told you last night about Jake.”

Davis’ expression doesn’t change, he still focuses on his pancake making and asks, “What’s that?”

“No Kids.”  I just bluntly put it out there.  “Just like us.”

Davis scoops two pancakes onto a plate, turns off the burner and puts down his spatula.  He places it in front of me.

Davis fixes onto me with his sparkling green eyes, “I was wondering if that’s what you were thinking about.  You were unusually nonchalant when you said that last night.  I know you don’t take it lightly.”

“I… I really thought I was fine.  Like I’d cried my last tear about us not being able to get pregnant, but… it still hurts.  I don’t think it will ever not hurt.  You’d be such a great dad.  I feel like I’m robbing you of that chance.”

Davis walks around the bar, spins me on my barstool to face him and pulls me close, wrapping my legs around his waist.  “Lizard, I. Love. You. You!  I married you for you, not any other reason.  I’m a very happy man.  Would I love to have a kid? Sure.  Only because he or she would be half you. YOU!  Am I making it clear enough?  I don’t want a kid, just to have a kid.  I’d only want one with you, ever.”  That “last” tear I thought I’d cried?  I hadn’t.  Davis’ sweetness has them rolling down my cheeks again.  He keeps going, “I’m okay with no kids as long as I have you – and it would be hard to make out on the floor of the closet if we had kids.”

I slap his chest teasingly, my sniffling slowing down.  I shake my head in agreement.  “We’d have to get a lock on the closet door.”

Davis, still holding me, my sobbing over, kisses my forehead, then stares into my eyes and winks, “If we ever get pregnant, I’m calling the locksmith, immediately.”

I don’t think we’ll need to call the locksmith.

Chapter 3-Past:  6 months ago

“I wish I could tell you why you aren’t getting pregnant, Biz, but I really don’t know,” my OB, Dr. Shaner says flatly. “I’m a bit frustrated with your case to be honest.  There’s really no reason you shouldn’t be.”

Those are not the words I thought I’d be hearing two and a half years after I first proposed to Davis that we get pregnant.

“You think
you’re
frustrated?”  I reply purposefully snarkily.

I thought I’d be hearing things along the lines of, “Oh, she is so adorable,” and “It looks like she’ll be having a little brother or sister soon,” from strangers as they met me and looked at my first beautiful child and growing belly holding my second.  Evidently, I won’t be hearing any of that. 

I’m a medical mystery it seems.

Davis and I have both been examined thoroughly, repeatedly.  There is nothing wrong with us physically.  Davis sperm count is normal.  Thanks to medicine like Clomid and Ovidril I’m ovulating more regularly than my usual super-long cycles that resulted in only five periods a year.  I actually thought of that as a blessing until now.  Even intrauterine insemination failed.  Our doctors can’t figure it out, other than to tell us to relax.  We’ve talked about in-vitro and adoption, but neither of us have pushed it past the talking stage.  I don’t know if we’ve given up or are refusing to give up.  What started as an adventure, an exciting new turn in our relationship, has become a topic of sadness and frustration.

So we are putting it on hold, after almost three years of trying.  Being parents isn’t completely off the table, but it was starting to put pressure on our marriage.  A marriage that started out with lots of challenges.  If I’m honest, I have to admit, I won’t miss the oral meds and shots. They were making me sort of, well… a bitch.  I don’t know how Davis survived my mood swings.  It was Davis’ idea to take a break.  We are still young, both under 30.  Part of me feels like I’ve given up… failed.  Another part of me is… relieved.

As unsuccessful as we have been in the baby-making arena, even though we’ve tried (lord knows, we are very good at trying,) Davis and I have both been amazingly successful in our respective careers.  In the four years we’ve been married, Davis has become a well-known set and lighting designer, locally and regionally.  It all may blow up big, soon, since he is also the lighting designer for Charlie’s band, Boxwood, which is about to go on a national tour opening for the very popular, award-winning band, Lawnmower.

After Neil’s trial, I gave the interview I promised Gail, my producer at KTTA.  I could never have imagined the response I received afterward.  I, suddenly, became the face of victims standing up for their rights, especially victims of sex crimes.  We were able to start the foundation I mentioned to Davis right after the trial.  When I say we, I mean, Davis and me, with financial assistance from his parents, and Jules, my best friend.  Jules runs the Brandon-Connelly Foundation for us.  I always knew she was good at organizing and would do something big.  She is good, really good.  I have never seen anyone with so much natural fundraising acumen.  So, Jules runs the foundation and Davis and I give lectures – he about mental illness and families, I about how to avoid becoming a victim of a sexual predator and what to do if you are.  

If you had asked me in college what my life was going to be like in the years ahead, I could never have guessed this.  I don’t do the lectures for a living, only to support the work of the foundation.  My real job is still at KTTA, but I’m no longer a production assistant.  I’m a producer, well, an associate producer, but still a producer.  I’m in charge of the day-to-day on “Happening in the STL,” along with my colleague, Henry.  Gail has been moved up to executive producer and basically oversees us.  I like being a producer.  I prefer being behind the scenes, but due to my notoriety, shall we say, because of the Ireland case, I’m occasionally asked to be on-camera or sit on a panel.  I’m still not super comfortable getting recognized when Davis and I go out, but I’m almost used to it.  The people in this city are pretty respectful to their local public figures and athletes.

So, I’m taking a break from the pursuit of “baby” and focusing on Davis and work… and my godchild, Kitten.  Yep, Jules and Charlie have a little girl named Kitten.  Kitten Boxwood.  Unlike Davis and me, they got pregnant immediately, like on the first try, after deciding.  Kitten was born around the time of Davis and my second wedding anniversary, so she’ll be three in the fall.  I have never been as crazy about any other human being in the world, other than Davis, as I am about Kitten.  She’s what makes me want to have a baby AND what makes it okay if I don’t.  I really don’t know how Jules does it all, wrangling a rock star husband, a very busy little girl and a foundation all at once.  I’m just glad she does.