There are four more chapters remaining after this one.
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.
Chapter 76—Why So Serious?
I’m pondering our recent discovery over breakfast on Thursday. So now we know where the tits and ass are coming from. Ana’s pregnant! With twins! Hot damn! I can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad. We’re having a baby! Two babies! I can see Mom turning into a tearful ball of mush and crushing Butterfly in her arms. Not too tight, Mom. You don’t want to squish the babies. Dad will give me that manly pat on my back and shake my hand like I really did some hard work. I had the easy part, Dad. All I had to do was make love to the most beautiful woman in the world.
We’ll have one of his gold label cigars and he’ll break out a 50-year-old brandy or something. Uncle Herman will probably join us, and Elliot if he’s there—maybe not Elliot. That last drinking spell seems to have completely soured him to alcohol. Maybe he’ll sit in and chat with us along with Pops, who will undoubtedly start telling me stories about when Dad and Uncle Herman were born. God, I’ll have to change my will and set up trust funds, start looking for schools, screen security that are trained in dealing with children. Twins… that means two car seats, which either means minivans or more custom Audis for when we all travel together.
Custom Audis it is.
I still can’t help wondering about the sex. Are they boys or girls? Little ballerinas or little football players? Little Anas or little Christians? Oh God, I can hardly wait to find out. Is it too early to start planning a nursery?
Shit! This is no place to raise a kid! Two kids! We need a house… like, right now! I haven’t approached Ana about moving to Mercer Island. Maybe I shouldn’t. The idea of being on an island again might give her the creeps. I should probably stick to looking at properties in Medina or Kirkland. I still don’t know how she would feel about moving to Bellevue. Escala is just not…
“You’re a million miles away.” Her voice breaks my inner rambling and she walks through the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she takes out the orange juice and fills a tall glass.
“I was just thinking about our talk in Greece. Now that the twins are coming, maybe we should start looking for a house.” She empties her glass of orange juice and pours another glass. “Slow down, Butterfly. You’re going to choke.” She rolls her eyes at me and puts the carton away before taking a swallow from the second glass of juice.
“Okay, where do you think we should look?” She sits across from me at the breakfast bar. “What about our places now? We each have an apartment and now a house… three places seem like a bit much. Maybe I should start looking to sell my condo.” I frown.
“You love your condo,” I say.
“Yes, I do, but three places in Washington? I’ve lived here for the last year and I’ve only used the condo for Food & Libations…”
“Yeah, about that,” I say adjusting in my seat. “You shouldn’t have to escape to your condo when you want to see your friends, so we’ll work something out with that, okay?” She smiles at me.
“Okay. So, we’re selling the condo?” I shrug.
“That’s completely up to you,” I tell her. “I really don’t think this is a seller’s market just yet and you do still have a mortgage on the property. That’s taken care of easily enough, but have you thought about leasing it out?” Now she frowns.
“I don’t know. I mean, anybody that I would trust to stay in my condo already has a place of their own. Besides, I don’t want to be a landlord.”
“We can hire people for that, Dear. They’re called property management companies.” She shrugs.
“Let’s find a house first,” she says. “Then I’ll decide if I want to sell it or lease it out.” Okay, now the million dollar question.
“Did you want to stay in the city or move to the suburbs?” I ask.
“With two babies on the way? Suburbs! Definitely!” She drinks her juice again.
“Kind of populated, like neighborhoods, or spaced out?” She looks at me sideways.
“You already have somewhere in mind,” she says. Busted!
“I was thinking Medina or Mercer Island, maybe even Bellevue or Kirkland.” She makes that consideration face.
“Medina, with the Gates’ huh?” she asks. I smirk and nod. “Mercer Island would be nice, too.” Bingo! “It’s about the same distance from Kent as Seattle and it’s closer to Bellevue. Medina would be about the same. Both are pretty exclusive, like I know you want. No offense to your parents, but I don’t want to move to Bellevue and I don’t want to be anywhere near where the Pedo-Bitch lived, so Kirkland is out.”
“Okay, so it’s Medina or Mercer Island,” my first two choices! I pull out my blackberry and start taking some notes. “We’ll have to find a real estate agent,” I tell her.
“I’m sure you can do that easily, or ask Grace if she knows someone.” I nod and type some more.
“How many bedrooms?” She twists her lips in thought.
“Four or five?” she says, questioning.
“That’s all?” What about all the space we’re accustomed to?
“I’m not carrying a baseball team here. They’re just twins,” she reminds me. I nod. She’s right. We can have as many other rooms as we like. In fact…”
“Do we want to look at something pre-owned or build from the ground up?” I ask.
“Let’s see what’s out there first. If we can’t find anything, we’ll build. We can always find something that has the bare bones that we like and renovate, as long as we have the land.”
“So we definitely want something with a lot of land… near the water?”
“Oh, yes!” she emphasizes. “Definitely near the water.” I nod and take more notes.
“As long as I have a private en suite with his and her sinks and a full main bath on the first floor, I don’t care how many bathrooms we have.” Makes sense. Wow, this should be pretty easy.
“Okay, so what in terms of bare bones should we be looking for?” She ponders that thought for a moment.
“East facing master bedroom—I want the option to watch the sunrise or block it out. A study for both of us—I don’t want one of the bedrooms to have to be converted. Definitely an eat-in kitchen and formal dining room, family room. I’d love to have an indoor pool and game room, a den…”
“So basically, you want Escala, but in a house on some land near some water,” I clarify. She twists her lips again.
“Basically, yeah. We’ll have to space for playroom, built-out and hidden so our children or guests won’t wander into it.” I nod.
“Very good point,” I say, typing into my blackberry.
“We’ll also need to decide where we will want our connection room—in the back of the house, near the front, hidden away, will natural lighting matter? Will lighting matter at all?” I smile to myself.
“It should be fun putting that room together,” I say with a smile.
“More fun than building the playroom?” she says mischievously.
“I think so,” I reply. “I love when we make love, but when our souls connect…” I’ve lost my words.
“It’s cosmic,” she breathes. “I don’t know what we’ve found here, but I never want it to end.”
“Me either,” I say, taking her hand in mine and bringing it to my lips. I press a gentle kiss on her fingers. “I’ll find an agent by the end of the day.”
“Our home,” she smiles.
“Our home,” I repeat. I take a sip of my coffee. “You know there’s a feed on David’s case.” She doesn’t look surprised. “The jury is sequestered, but you can see what’s going on, even things that happened the day before.” She drops her head.
“Yes, I know,” she says, putting my empty plate and her glass in the sink.
“They don’t show you vomiting,” I tell her. She jerks her head over to me.
“They don’t?” she asks surprised. I shake my head.
“We hear and see your testimony. We hear you ask for a recess four times. Where the incident should be, the camera zeros in on the judge and the sound is silent. We can see the judge talking and looking in your direction, but we can’t hear anything and we can’t see you or the defense attorney. She bangs her gavel and the camera goes immediately to the clock, where it stays for a little over and hour with no sound.” She’s staring at me in stunned silence. “There was no way to keep the media from talking about what happened, but you’re not a sound bite, Baby.” She sighs heavily. It seems that the weight on her shoulders was so heavy that when she released it just now, it was going to cause her to collapse. I am across the room and by her side in a moment.
“I’m okay,” she says. “I just expected the worst and to find out that someone must have been concerned about my dignity is a bit of a surprise right now.”
“Why would you say that?” I say with a frown.
“Did you see the way the jury has been looking at me?” she says, looking up into my eyes, her own threatening to flood with tears. “I don’t know what’s going in their minds when they look at me… when they look at those pictures and see what they did to me. How can there be any doubt what I suffered? How can there be any question that I was wronged?” She shakes her head and fights back the tears. “I was beaten beyond recognition twice, Christian. What in the hell do I do to deserve that? What could I have possibly done to deserve that?” I envelop her in my arms right before she trembles with sobs.
“Nothing, Baby,” I say, kissing her hair. “You didn’t do anything to deserve any of the things that any of those monsters did to you, but don’t you worry. They’re going to pay—all of them are going to pay, starting with that fucker Edward David.” She chuckles through her tears, which I find ironic.
“I wouldn’t count on it, Grey,” she says while wiping her eyes. “I’m the one on trial, here, not him.” I frown at her again.
“You were running out of the witness stand,” I say. “You didn’t see it.”
“Didn’t see what?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowed.
“The jury,” I respond, pulling her away so that I can see her face and wipe her eyes, “when you were making your point about desperately needing someone to listen and believe, I thought a couple of them were going to break down and cry. Then when you dashed out of the witness stand and begged me to get you out of there, the ladies were gasping and the men were looking at the defense attorney like a few of them wouldn’t mind hitting a woman. You looked so small and it was easy to tell that she was bullying you. Whatever she was hoping to accomplish, I would say that it backfired. Since the jury is sequestered, you can’t see their faces on the feed, but if you could, you’d know… she lost that round, with flying colors.”
Butterfly is in stunned silence again, a silence which is broken by the screeching of a bunch of women.
“D-D-D-Doctor-Doctor-Doctor!” followed by the sound of a warbling saxophone, and then “D-D-D-D-Doctor-Doctor Sax!” A baseline and Michael Franks’ voice alerts us that Butterfly’s phone is ringing. She retrieves it from the breakfast bar where she must have put it before she poured her juice. She looks at the number and pauses while the song plays. I wonder who it is and if she plans to answer it before the party on the other line hangs up or goes to voice mail. With a swipe and a few taps on the screen, she puts the phone back on the counter.
“Hello, Ana. It’s Dr. Culley.” Shit! It’s the doctor! I’m all ears now.
“Yes, I know. What news?”
“Can you and Mr. Grey come in?” Ana’s hands fly to her forehead.
“Doctor, it’s been a very trying week for me with the trial and all. I’m sure you’ve seen it by now.”
“Yes, I have. Well, I heard about it,” Dr. Culley confirms.
“And with finding out that I’m pregnant… and with twins!” She sighs heavily and I reach across the bar and take her hand. “Doctor, if I have to wait one more moment to find out what’s going on with me and my babies, I simply won’t make it. If it’s bad news, I don’t want to drive down to your office to get it. If it’s good news, please just put us out of our misery. I can’t take much more.” Her voice is beseeching.
“Very well. I don’t like doing this by phone, but I can understand how difficult the waiting can be. First things first. Based on the ultrasound and your last normal period in May, you are just past 8 weeks pregnant. The ultrasound looks fine and none of the tests we’ve run show anything abnormal. Because you have had a medium to moderate intake of alcohol in the first weeks of your pregnancy, I will be keeping a close eye on you and the babies. I still don’t think there’s anything for you to worry about, but I would rather be safe than sorry. You are in excellent physical health and I feel that you and the babies are going to be just fine.
“I want you to start a regimen of prenatal vitamins and folic acid if you haven’t already. They are both over-the-counter and you can find them at the drug store or wherever you buy vitamins. Pay attention to what you’re eating. A certain level of nausea and vomiting is expected, but if you can’t hold anything down or too many foods cause you sickness or discomfort, you need to let me know. It could be an indication of something more serious.. For now, I’d like to see you pretty regularly to make sure everything is okay, so I’ll see you back here in two weeks. I’m concerned about your stress levels and this trial. How are you holding up?”
“As well as can be expected,” Butterfly answers. “I haven’t been back to the courtroom and I don’t plan to return until the jury returns with a verdict.
“I’m not really learned on this type of thing, but… doesn’t that look bad?” the doctor asks.
“I’m not really concerned with what looks bad anymore,” Butterfly responds. “I’m only concerned about me and my babies right now.” There’s a moment of silence.
“As well you should be,” Dr. Culley states. “Try to keep your stress levels down. It’s definitely not good for the babies. Make sure that you read those pamphlets and books that I gave you. Watch your blood pressure, nothing too strenuous. Call me immediately with questions and I’ll see you in two weeks.” We both pause. We’re waiting for there to be more.
“That’s it?” Butterfly asks, expecting.
“Pretty much, yes,” she says. “I don’t want you to worry, but we do need to keep an eye on the little nuggets to make sure everything is okay. However, preliminary testing and first glance says they’re fine for now.” Butterfly sighs heavily, her shoulders sagging visibly from the weight she’s been carrying.
“Thank you, Dr. Culley,” she says, relief quite evident in her voice.
“You’re welcome. Remember to call me if you have questions.”
“Just a minute,” I interrupt before she has the chance to hang up. “If you don’t mind my asking, why would you ask us to come all the way down to your office if nothing was wrong?”
“Oh! Well, hello to you, too, Mr. Grey. I didn’t know that you were with us. That’s one of the reasons that I ask parents to come in. I thought you may have already been out for the day and may have wanted to meet your wife here to discuss any questions you may have. Like I said, I don’t like doing this over the phone and expectant parents often have lots of questions for me.” I still want to club her one for putting Butterfly through that stress, but I guess her reasons are solid enough. “Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Grey?” she adds.
“Not at this time, but I’m sure that I will. With Butter… Ana’s permission, I’ll reserve the right to ask them later.”
“Ana?” Dr. Culley says.
“Yes, of course,” she responds.
“I’ll need that in writing. I just have a simple form for you to sign. You can do that on your next visit unless questions arise before then. Good?”
“Good,” Butterfly confirms.
“So I guess that’s all for now. I’ll see you in two weeks, then.”
“Two weeks,” she says before ending the call. She stands there looking at the phone on the counter for a few moments. Without a word, she walks over to the wall of glass and looks out over Seattle. As I begin to make my way over to her, I see her shoulders shaking. She’s crying—quietly, not weeping or sobbing. There’s an occasional sniffle and the whisper crying in her chest. Her arms are wrapped around her body like she is attempting to hold herself together.
I wrap myself around her body, my arms on her belly under her arms, my lips on her shoulders, pulling her into me and trying to absorb her pain. I don’t know why she’s crying. Maybe it’s the fear that something was wrong with the baby. Maybe it’s the fact that we have no idea how this trial is going to go when it seemed so cut-and-dried before. Maybe it’s the fact that we had to cut our honeymoon short. Maybe it’s all of the above, who knows. I don’t try to stop her crying. She needs to get it out.
She doesn’t cry for long, just a few minutes. She stops keening but doesn’t dry her tears and says, “I want my aquarium.” Okay. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Okay,” I answer, uncertain.
“I really want my aquarium,” she says, her voice still thick with tears. “I don’t know what I want yet, but I want it… soon.”
“Okay,” I repeat. “Do you want to look at some designs online or go to a specialist or something?”
“I want a specialist,” she says. “I want something dramatic, I know, but I don’t plan on maintaining it, so we’ll need a specialist.”
“Whatever you want, Butterfly,” I say, kissing her shoulder through her shirt.
“I want healthy babies,” she says softly, her hands rubbing her stomach. “I want the Edward Davids, Carly Madisons, and Cody Whitmores of the world to disappear and never come back. I want to feel safe and not afraid to raise my children in a world where they could be raped or kidnapped or beaten…”
“Sssssshhhh,” say soothe her softly, rocking her in my arms as much as our position will allow. “We will love and protect our babies. We will give them what we didn’t have and more. They will be safe and no harm will come to them. They will be surrounded by joy and they will be the happiest children in Washington. They have a beautiful and brilliant mommy and a dashing and debonair daddy, so they will be exquisite… and they will be loved.”
She spins around in my arms and clutches my neck, holding on for dear life. I’m stunned for a moment, but I quickly recover, splaying my hands over her back and wishing I could protect her from all of the bad in the world.
“Yes, no less than five bedrooms. Mercer Island or Medina,” I tell the real estate agent that evening. Once the word circulated that the Greys were looking for a house, agents basically auditioned to find us a home. Even agents to the “stars” showed up boasting what high-profile clients they’ve had before me. Discretion is key, so this was more important to me than who bought houses from these people in the past. I ended up going with someone my mother recommended and gave her some preliminary instructions on what we were looking for over the phone. I don’t mention that Butterfly is pregnant, but I do tell her that we, of course, plan to start a family. While she’s at work trying to find our “bare bones” in Medina or on Mercer Island, Welch is at work running a background check on her.
Butterfly seems a bit rudderless right now and I can’t help but wonder if maybe she wasn’t quite ready to be a mother. I won’t push her to talk. If she’s having any issues with it, though, I do hope she’ll come and talk to me—or at least talk to Ace. When is the last time she’s spoken to Ace? I know it was before we got married, but when? I have no idea—probably the last time I’ve seen Dr. Baker. I’ve definitely got to get in to see her. I made some pretty dumb decisions that couldn’t have ended my marriage before it started.
I run my hands through my hair and try to shake my thoughts from my stupidity just as I hear the rise and fall of leather across the marble in the great room.
“Boss?” Jason calls out.
“Office,” I respond. A few seconds later, he clears the door with Allen right behind him. They look exhausted. “What happened to you two?”
“Just listening to this stuff. It’s wearing on me,” Jason says. “That lady lawyer is pulling out every trick in the book to get this asshole off. It’s a good thing Ana’s not there to see it.”
“Why? What’s happening?” I ask. He just sighs and shakes his head.
“One of the ways that they are trying to prove mental duress is to prove that Jewel had treated him badly, led him to think that there was hope for them when there wasn’t. To me, he’s just coming off as a scorned lover and had his actions been spontaneous, he might get away with beating a premeditation rap, but that’s not going to happen here. Even though my opinion is biased, the law is still the law and he still took her to a secluded location and held her captive for four days.”
“One of these days, you’ll have to explain to me how someone could possibly be allowed to even go to trial after something like this. Did you see those pictures? Even if you hadn’t been there, those pictures are enough to make the stronger man wince,” I say in disbelief.
“Don’t remind me,” Jason says. I stand and walk over to the window.
“Twice,” I say in disgust. “This happened to her twice. Most people wouldn’t have been able to survive this once. Most people would have completely fallen apart, never went outside again; maybe become promiscuous—turned to drugs or alcohol, even committed suicide, but not Butterfly. She helps other people. She fights her own demons and helps people fight theirs, too. Who else in the world do you know like that?”
“You,” Allen says, without pausing. I whirl around to look at him.
“What?” I ask, again in disbelief.
“You. You have a harrowing tale of your own, Chris, and although you didn’t take the same road as Jewel, you do the same things. I’m your attorney and I see just how many charities you support. You’re quick to help someone that’s down on their luck as long as you feel like they are worthy—the Martins, Luma and the girls, the Whiteheads. You risk exposure with the Faces of Abuse campaign and by helping Shane and Morgan expose that blond child molester for who she really is. You’re the same, Chris.” I shake my head.
“I’m nowhere near as strong as she is,” I say, my voice sorrowful. “She’s good and kind and she would never deliberately hurt anyone, much less get a kick out of it.” I shake my head. “She’s so beautiful, inside and out.” I turn back to the window. “They beat her beyond recognition… twice… and they still couldn’t steal her beauty. They still couldn’t steal her light…” until now, that is. I think this is the first time I have seen her not know what to do. I quickly brush away a frustrated tear that seems to have found its way onto my face. “I throw money at issues—causes, what have you. Her good comes from within. If she didn’t have a penny, she would still be world’s richer than I am because she’s good at heart.”
“You’re good at heart, too,” Allen says. “I think you sell yourself short because you’ve seen the bad for so long. You’re doing yourself a huge disservice. You really are a good man, Christian. You fuck up sometimes, but then again, we all do. You are a good man. You need to know and remember that so that you can be the best man you can be for yourself… and for Jewel.”
And for my children, I think to myself. I quickly wipe my eyes and turn around to face them.
“What happened in court today?” I ask them. They look at one another.
“The cops testified today,” Jason says, taking a seat on the sofa on the other side of my study. “Grace and Dr. Fischer on Ana’s condition when she got to the hospital. The shrinks are testifying today and tomorrow.”
“Shrinks?” I ask with a frown.
“Yes,” Allen responds. “The state has a shrink that examined David to determine his state of mind and mental capacity now and at the time of the incident. He presented his findings today.”
“He said ‘shrinks,’ plural.” I’m very good at hearing the plural now since I’ve been told that my baby is having my babies.
“The defense has a right to present an expert, too. David has his own shrink to testify on his behalf.”
“What good is it to have experts testify if they’re obviously going to contradict each other? I’m sure that the state wouldn’t have someone testify that David was truly crazy no more than the defense would have someone testify that he’s not. So where does that leave us?” I ask, frustrated.
“In the hands of the jury,” Allen replies. I sigh heavily. I have about as much faith in these 12 people who didn’t seem to have a clue who the participants are after a year of publicity as I do in Green Valley’s ability to actually bring justice to Butterfly. Speaking of which…
“Any word on Madison-Perry?” I ask. Allen’s face falls immediately.
“It looks like she’s going to take the deal,” he says. Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
“Son of a bitch!” I hiss, trying not to let Butterfly hear me. “What’s the fucking deal?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m trying to find out for sure before I say anything to Jewel.”
“But you have an idea what they might have offered her,” I press.
“Chris, I’m not going to guess. I’m not even going to do an estimate, because if I turn out to wrong—high or low—it’ll only cause grief. So I won’t say what I think until I can get it confirmed.” I can’t fault the man for that, so I just nod. I’ll find out, one way or another, because that’s what I do. “Where is Jewel anyway?”
“We had a talk about a few things and she took a nap right after lunch.” I look at my watch. “She should probably get up now if she doesn’t want to be awake all night.”
“Is she decent?” Allen asks.
“Last I checked.” He points towards the door.
“Do you mind?” I shake my head.
“Go ahead, you know where the bedroom is.” He nods and leaves, and I can’t help but think how ironic it is that I am sending another man to my bedroom to wake my wife.
“You didn’t tell him.” Jason breaks my train of thought and I almost forgot that he was in the room with us.
“Tell him what?”
“About the babies.” I shrug.
“You’re my best friend. He’s hers. I want Butterfly to tell him when she’s ready. I won’t take that moment away from her.” I sit behind my desk. “Something’s wrong.” Jason raises his eyebrow at me.
“What, you mean besides the obvious?” he asks.
“Yes, besides the obvious,” I reply. “She’s been somber at best ever since we found out about the babies. I’m wondering if maybe she’s not ready. She’s pretty young, you know.”
“I thought you two had talked about this, decided to get started.”
“We had,” I tell him. “At least I thought we had, but she’s clearly upset and I don’t know why.”
“Do you think it’s just the pregnancy? This has been a pretty big week, Boss.” I rub my face with both of my hands.
“I don’t know. Remember, this is my first time at the dance… the entire dance.” I’m going to be a father. I’m a husband. Someone else’s life means something to me and now, more than one someone else is going to mean something to me. I’m in completely new territory, and Butterfly is floating around in a haze of despair and uncertainty that I can’t figure out.
“Maybe you should go talk to her,” Jason says with a shrug. I sigh.
“I will. I’ll wait until she’s done with her visit with Allen.” Jason smirks at me.
“Hoping he’ll soften her up a bit?” he says, knowingly. Now that he said it…
“I hadn’t thought of that, but I’ll take all the help I can get.”
I tried to sleep, but I was only able to rest for a few minutes. I’ve been lying here for I don’t know how long just thinking–thinking about all of the stuff that scares me about the world. My children will be growing up in the same generation of the children of the monsters that beat me and killed my first child. Have they raised their children to be the same little monsters that they are? At least two of them ended up here in Seattle–Melanie and that guy who bragged to David about who I was. I don’t even remember his name. How many others are here? Where did the rest of them end up? I know these aren’t the only monsters in the world–I’ve encountered many of them personally.
How do I protect my babies from Elena Lincolns of the world?
Who will protect them when they walk the streets if the George Sullivans are more concerned about covering up the crimes and protecting themselves than they are about enforcing the law?
Will I one day become the woman my mother became… more concerned about myself and my happiness than I am about my children?
NO! NEVER! NOT ME… NOT EVER!
I’m sure that Carla never thought she would become the horrible person that she became. Hell, she doesn’t even think she is a horrible person, but she serves as a perfect example of who I don’t want to be. I guess in the end, her horrid behavior had some residual benefits.
The sky looks like it’s giving way to the evening, although the sun hasn’t begun to set just yet. My mind is more than occupied with all the horrible things that have plagued me and can attack my babies. I’m holding myself trying to lose this chill that won’t leave. How much did I drink these last months? Are my babies really going to be okay? Dr. Culley wouldn’t tell me everything was okay if it wasn’t. Oh God, please don’t let anything be wrong with my babies. I’ll never drink again; just don’t let anything be wrong with my babies.
I hear the door open, but I don’t raise my head. A tan suit comes into view and I know that it’s not Christian. I raise my head.
“Hi, Jewel.” My eyes fill with tears immediately. He’s one of the best things in my life and I nearly alienated him a few days ago. He sits on the edge of the bed and strokes my hair. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I say weeping. “Everything! I’m a terrible person for snapping at you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you apologized,” he says with a smile. “I love you and I know you’re going through something right now, but you know that I didn’t deserve your anger.” I nod, tears drenching my pillow. “You’re not a terrible person.”
“Yes, I am,” I say. “I was all sensitive and I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.” I wipe my eyes. “I know why my boobs look bigger… are bigger.” I look over at Al who is silent while he waits for my answer. Still waiting, he examines my silence… “a pregnant pause” as he would call it. His eyes widen and his mouth falls open.
“No?” he says in a growling whisper. “Really?” His voice is soft and squeaky now. “Jewel is going to have a little jewelette?” I nod.
“Jewelettes,” I correct him. “Twins.” His eyes widen more, as if they could.
“You’re kidding!” he breathes. “No wonder you’re so damn moody! You have every right. Com’ere, Girl!” He opens his arms to me and I crawl into his embrace. I feel like shit. I should be happy, but I feel like shit. I lay on his shoulder and take comfort in his closeness. I really want Christian right now, but I’m glad my best friend is here. “Does Chris know?”
“Of course he knows,” I tell him. “We found out at the same time… about the twins anyway. I took a home pregnancy test, three actually, and they all came out positive. So I went to the doctor and voila! Twins.” Al takes my hands and examines me closely.
“You don’t look happy about it, Jewel,” he says. I sigh.
“I’m terrified!” I say, my voice shaking. “We had wine and champagne all during the honeymoon. The wedding toast, a champagne tasting in Paris… I’m eight weeks pregnant, Al.” I say dropping my face in my hands.
“Eight weeks,” he says, his voice giving away that he’s pondering. “Well, what did the doctor say?”
“She said that everything looks okay for now, but that we have to keep an eye on things to be sure.”
“You know what that sounds like?” he says. I raise my head to him. “It sounds like you’re having a couple of babies.”
Oh, we have a smart ass.
“Jewel, they say that to every expectant mother—we have to keep an eye on things. I’ve never had a baby, I know, but I’ve known a few. Let me guess… no amount of alcohol is deemed healthy, but as long as you didn’t get drunk you and the babies should be okay. Am I right?”
I know I must be looking at him like some strange alien creature because that is exactly what she said.
“It has something to do with how fast you absorb alcohol, correct? I bet you told her you couldn’t handle your liquor.” I nod, completely bewildered by how much he knows about this situation… and me. “When is the last time you consumed anything alcoholic?” I have to think hard on that one.
“Um, I think it was last weekend. No… weekend before last, maybe. Something in me just wouldn’t let me drink that much over the last few weeks.”
“Not something, someone… someones to be more specific. Think hard, what’s the hardest thing you had to drink since late May?” I really have to think hard. End of May… the original wine tasting was in April. I had a couple of cocktails at the hen party. That had to be the hardest thing… but quantity. I’ve had more wine than I would like.
“Cocktails at the bachelorette party,” I tell him, “but I’ve had more wine than I can keep up with.”
“Okay, fair enough. I know for sure that you had two of those watered-down ass drinks at the McElvoy. I’m so glad that you didn’t listen to me and do Patron shots. I would bet my inheritance those drinks were harmless…”
“Allen, why are you always betting something that you don’t have?” I ask him.
“Because I can’t lose!” he says. “You had a couple of drinks with maybe an 8th of a glass of 80 proof vodka with—what, 30 or 35% alcohol content and a whole lot of fruit juice that was most likely burned off with the dreaded dollar dances. You didn’t feel a thing and you even asked for a harder drink when you got out the bathroom. The fates were working in your favor again. Trust me, those little beans you’re carrying didn’t even do a flip-flop. You’re the doctor, you know this. Wine… every night?”
He’s right about the cocktails. They’re weak as fuck and I didn’t feel a thing. Most likely, it didn’t get to my babies. Now, about the wine.
“Often enough,” I say. “No, I didn’t drink it every night, but I can’t tell you how often I drank it.”
“Your beloved Cabernet?” he asks, I nod. He starts tapping something into his phone. “I’m a vodka connoisseur. I have to look up your precious Cabernet.” He turns the phone around to me—14.5% on the high-end. Even a good Sauvignon Blanc is less at 12-13%.
“I’m assuming that you had your wine with dinner and not as the main course.” I look at him.
“You assume correctly.”
“Which means that most of your wine—probably a quarter to a half-glass for you—was probably soaked up by your dinner, and the beans didn’t even get to smell it.” He puts his arm around me. “Jewel, if I felt like you had anything to be concerned about, I wouldn’t bullshit you. I would tell you to go to your doctor, do everything that you are supposed to do, and pray for the best. Do you know what I’m going to tell you to do? I’m going to tell you to go to your doctor, do everything that you’re supposed to do… and stop. Worrying. I’m sure she would have told you if you had anything to worry about, and the stress can’t be good for the beans. So please, stop stressing my godchildren, and relax.”
He’s right. I know he is. Dr. Culley says the initial testing shows there’s nothing wrong with my babies, and it’s not like I drank in excess. The worst truly was the wine tasting and the cocktails at McElvoy, and they weren’t that bad. It really doesn’t do me any good to worry unless the doctor gives me reason to worry, right? So why do I still feel impending doom?
“I don’t see that rush of relief I was expecting to see, Jewel. What’s wrong?”
“I’m very happy that it appears that I managed not to damage my babies with my careless actions, but I just don’t have faith in the world that I’m bringing them into,” I say honestly. “I’m going to nurture them in my body for nine months, feel them grow and progress inside of me, just to bring them into this world of pedophiles and murderers, liars and cheats, snares and traps ready to eat my babies alive. How do I protect them from that?” Al takes one of my hands in both of his.
“I wish I had an answer for you there, Jewel, but I don’t. You can only give them all of the love and protection that you can. Teach them to look out for those snares and make sure that there are no gaps in their lives that can be filled by predators or unwholesome temptations. You already know that Chris will have them so protected that dust dare not fall on them.” He laughs and I follow with a nervous chuckle. “You didn’t get a fair shake, Jewel. You’ll make sure this doesn’t happen to your babies.”
“What about Christian? He had a rough start, but he had parents who loved him later and he still fell prey to that wretched blond bitch.”
“If he’d had the love and protection that the beans have from this moment on, I know that he wouldn’t have fallen into the hands of that woman. He was looking for an escape, Jewel. He was looking for a way to deal with his own personal hell and, right or wrong, that’s what she offered him—a way of coping that he could understand. Granted, for a 15-year-old boy to be introduced to this lifestyle by a woman twice his age, it wasn’t healthy, but it was a way to fill in one of his gaps. You won’t allow those gaps with your children. You not only know how to spot them before they become an issue, but you’re going to be a fantastic mother, showering those babies with all the love their hearts can hold.”
I shudder at the thought of my children falling into the hands of someone like Elena Lincoln. Pedophilia is bad enough in and of itself, but BDSM on a child? That’s just more than my soul can take.
“Logically, I know that you’re right. I know that we will do everything in our power to love these babies and protect them and make sure that no hurt, harm, or unhappiness comes to them.” I drop my head. “Emotionally, I can’t get past it. It only takes a moment for something horrible to happen, only a moment. With all my heart, I want to believe that if we do everything that we’re supposed to do, our babies will be fine. I know that we can’t protect them from everything little thing—it’s truly unrealistic to even think that we can prevent the bad things of life from happening to them, but Al, I didn’t go looking for trouble. I didn’t go to the bad parts of town, making bad decisions and doing careless things. Horrible things happened to me while I was just minding my own damn business. I wasn’t bothering anybody. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. What do you do about that? This isn’t paranoia like hypochondria—I get a splinter in my finger and I’m worried about cancer. No… I get in the car with the most popular boy in school that everybody knows and I get raped. I’m walking home from school one day and I get attacked, end up in the hospital in a coma. I go to the aquarium—the aquarium—you know, that place where kids go on field trips? I get drugged and kidnapped and chained to a bed for four days! Christian was 15… 15, Al, and this woman targeted him. She was his mother’s friend, someone Grace confided in and trusted, and all this time she was grooming Grace’s sons. Grace will never be able to shake the feeling that she delivered her son right to this bitch’s hand, because she didn’t see it coming.”
I cover my face when I remember the horror in Grace’s expression, how she shrieked in agony when she realized what had happened to Christian at Elena’s hands. It was heart-breaking.
“She did everything she could to save him from that monster that abused him as a toddler, only to turn him over to another monster as a teenager. She thought she was doing what was best for him. She only had his very best interests at heart. She loves him with her whole soul, like she bore him into this world herself, and she still wasn’t able to protect him from the devil in a pleasing form. What hope do we have, Al? What hope do my babies have?” I hear my voice cracking. I am lost and as much as I want to be happy that mine and Christian’s life is finally beginning like we want, that we are finally starting a family, I am terrified down to my very soul to bring two precious little lives into this cruel and horrible world.
I raise my eyes and Al is looking sorrowful at me. He no more has the answers to those questions than I do. I don’t know if the questions are rhetorical or if I really do want an answer. I just want to know how do I protect my babies. I can’t stop the tears that fall as I consider all of the snares awaiting my precious little beans. Al slides up to the head of the bed and puts his arm around me. I lean into his shirt and cry, wishing that the world wasn’t such a horrible place.
“We can only do our best, Jewel,” he says, softly. “We can’t stop the world from being a horrible place, but we can’t stop living either. Love them, Jewel. Love them like I know you can. That’s all you can do. Don’t be Carla. Don’t be Elena. Be Ana. Be the remarkable woman and mother that I know you can be, and while I can’t make you any guarantees, I can tell you that I believe with my whole heart that those beans will grow up to be two of the luckiest and happiest human beings alive. You have to believe that too, Jewel. You have to believe it and want it and do everything in your power to make it come to pass. I have no idea why these horrible things happened to you and I wish that wasn’t your legacy, but you just have to trust fate sometimes even if you get dealt a shitty hand.”
I cry a little more in his arms. My mind wanders a bit and I wonder if Christian knows there’s another man in his bed with his arms around me while I’m lying here in a camisole and panties. Good God, that’s something to think about.
“Where’s Christian?” I’m finally able to mutter through my sniffles.
“He’s in the study with Agent T,” Al says, eliciting a small laugh from me.
“Does anybody around here call anybody by a real name?” I chuckle.
“What fun is that?” he asks, handing me some tissue from the nightstand. “Clean your mug, Beloved.” I wipe my eyes and blow my nose, attempting to pull myself together. “James and I did our first scene last night.” I eyes grow large and I gasp.
“Really?” I ask. “How did it go?”
“Awkward at first,” he admits, “but it was better once we relaxed into it. Then it was really hot!” I cover my mouth. My best friend and his boyfriend have tried BDSM.
“Do you mind if I ask what you did?” The suspense is killing me.
“He bound me to that cross thing,” he says. I gasp.
“Holy cow!” I whisper. “You went straight to the St. Andrews??” Al nods.
“I was… nervous,” he says. “We’re both new at this and I didn’t know what he was going to do. He blindfolded me and…”
Oh, shit, don’t stop now!
“We had… assistance, someone to help us along—you know, give us pointers.”
“In the room with you?” I ask. He nods.
“A woman. A very beautiful woman, but we didn’t want anyone to take part or touch either of us, just guide us along.”
“What did you use?” I ask.
“Feathers, nipple clamps, butt plugs, cock rings, some other things… he was gentle. He took his time. It was explosive, for both of us.” I smile.
“So, it’s safe to say that you will be exploring that avenue again?” He nods.
“It’s very exciting and arousing. Most of all, I love giving complete control over to James. I had no idea that it could be so satisfying to just turn total control over to someone else. All day long, I have to be this mountain of strength, this impenetrable fortress—I can’t show a moment’s weakness. I must be invincible, even when I’m not, but when he takes control, I don’t have to be. All I have to do is follow directions, let him guide me… let him take me wherever he wants me to go.” He sighs heavily. “It’s the most liberating thing I’ve ever done. When I wake up in the morning, I can rule the world, take on any opponent. When I come home at night, I can be whatever he wants me to be. Oh, and the orgasms! Oh, God!” he exclaims. So it’s not just me.
“The joy of submission,” I say softly. He raises his eyes to me and nods.
“Yes. That’s exactly right. I want to do this for him. He’s a wonderful Dominant. He knows my limits, what I can and can’t take. He’ll test me only as far as I want him to. We both get so hard when we play, and the orgasms are massive—and we’ve only done this once! I can’t wait to do it again.” His voice is wistful, slightly aroused, but more like anticipation than arousal.
“Olive oil,” I tell him. He frowns.
“Olive oil. It has a thick coating texture and it’s edible.” He smiles at me.
We talk a little longer and it’s enough to momentarily make me forget my lamenting about my babies. I’m still so concerned about bringing them into this world, and if David gets off, I’m going to completely lose faith in mankind forever. Screw Christian keeping our children in cages—I’ll never let them out of my sight!
After Al leaves, I Google the trial to see what I can see. I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess. I can only find yesterday’s testimony. I also found my testimony from the day before. I looked pretty pathetic running out of the courtroom in my stocking feet. All I knew is that I wanted to get out of there. I didn’t care who was looking or what the jury thought at that point. They probably thought I threw up on the defense on purpose, who knows?
I listened to the police talk about how they got to the house on Vashon Island. They split up not knowing what to expect and the lady cop says that Harris ran out the back door. She told him to freeze and instead, he pulls his gun and starts shooting as he’s running for the car. He hit her in the leg and she took him down, literally filled his ass with lead. By the time her partner had gotten around to the back of the house, the whole scene was over. It happened just that fast. I remember hearing those gunshots and Harris telling me that he was going to shoot Christian. I remember it like it was yesterday, sitting there for those agonizing seconds, minutes, I don’t know, waiting to see if my love was dead—if that monster had made good on his promise and shot Christian between the eyes.
I remember seeing him walk into that room and thinking that I was seeing a ghost. I remember the first time that he touched me while I was still in the cuffs. I thought I was hallucinating. I wanted to die thinking I had lost him. I remember him trying to get me from the bed before Jason had even released the second cuff. I remember feeling the pure rage seep through my body and wanting to kill David with my bare hands. I remember Christian’s arms around me and then… nothing. I remember waking up in the helicopter and thinking the whole thing was a dream, that I was dying and that Christian’s love and determination just had me thinking of Prince Charming rescuing the princess from the tower and the fire-breathing dragon.
I remember the moment that I felt true hope and that I wasn’t dreaming was when I saw the hospital lights whizzing past me and I knew that I was going to be alright, that somehow Christian had found me and gotten me to safety. I don’t know what I said, but I knew that I had to tell someone that I was just really hungry and thirsty or they would have a full night ahead of them trying to find out what was wrong with me.
All of this because some jackass couldn’t take “no” for an answer.
The psychiatrist for the state is a man. David couldn’t put anything past him, it seems. He actually seemed disgusted that he had to testify in this case that David was completely sane and suffering from no diminished capacity or mental duress that he could see.
“He’s desperate, broken-hearted, and delusional. He can’t let go and he wants her to know it,” the doctor says
“That description in and of itself indicates a bit of borderline insanity, doesn’t it?” Lady Smug asks
“No, it indicates that he’s broken-hearted and he needs to get over it,” the doctor says smugly. “Are you married, Counselor?”
“This has nothing to do with me,” she replies. She says that a lot. He nods.
“Mmm. Divorced.” Lady Smug is affronted. “By your logic, Counselor, every jilted lover and divorcee has the right to go out and kidnap their once significant other and hold them hostage until they fall in love again.” The jury laughs a bit at his response. “Edward David has all of his faculties about him. My analysis is that his only issue is that he wanted a woman that he couldn’t have and he wanted to change her mind. I’ve spoken to him in depth and this man is not now, nor has he ever been insane. He just couldn’t take ‘no’ for any answer.”
“Objection, Your Honor. Conclusions.”
“Isn’t that why I’m here?” the doctor says, shrugging.
“Sustained. Dr. Reed, yes, you are here to give direction to Mr. David’s current state of mind. However, you cannot state that he has never been insane, because you don’t know that,” the judge directs. Unfortunately, she’s right. He can’t make those kind of generalities.
“May I rephrase, Your Honor?” he asks. Oh, this is not his first time at the dance.
“Yes, you may.” The doctor turns back to the defense.
Mr. David shows no signs of suffering from any traumatic experience that would normally indicate that he was operating under diminished capacity or under any kind of duress. There are no signs of PTSD, no residual Stockholm’s Syndrome, no nightmares, no antisocial behavior. I have corresponded in depth with the infirmary, the mental health staff, and the religious staff at the prison. He began weekly visits with a therapist when he got there and then he stopped after five visits. You should have these findings in your records.”
“Um, I beg to differ. I have a report here that Mr. David is still under psychiatric care as a result of this incident,” Lady Smug protests.
“Well, then someone is lying and it’s not me. I have several patients in the prison and I see several inmates by court order. It’s my job to know what’s in those records before I sit down on this stand, and I’m telling you that at the risk of being charged with contempt of court and perjury and losing my license, that man has not had approved psychiatric care in the prison since September of 2012.” I can see Lady Smug turn pale even on camera.
“Define ‘approved psychiatric care,’ Dr. Reed,” she asks. She’s on the ropes and I can tell.
“Approved psychiatric care can only be provided by a professional licensed in the State of Washington and approved by the Washington Department of Corrections to provide mental health assistance and psychiatric care to inmates. You know this… don’t you?”
She didn’t know. It’s written all over her face.
“So, are you saying that no other psychiatrist can speak to Mr. David’s mental capacity?” she says, trying to contradict what the good doctor is saying.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Dr. Reed corrects her. “What I’m saying is that no doctor can present into evidence his or her findings on an inmate’s current mental capacity if he or she has not gone through the proper channels of the penal system to treat this inmate. To date, I and the current chaplain are the only two people who have that clearance. Anyone else is nothing more than a visitor. In addition, if the prisoner is receiving mental treatment outside of the guidelines of the penal system, that professional can’t act as ‘treater’ and as ‘expert witness.’ They have a relationship that dictates that they act in the best interest of their patient. An expert witness must be objective and impartial and this is effectively impossible if they have been treating the prisoner as a patient. ”
“Fuck!” I hear David hiss the word and he’s not even wearing a microphone.
“A moment with my client, Your Honor?” Lady Smug says.
“Yes, and see that he minds his language.” Lady Smug nods and goes over to David.
“How did you not know this?” he asks Lady Smug before she gets a chance to cover her mic. Finally, a visible breakdown in his defense. This can only mean that his psychiatrist that will most likely come in and spit lies about him being crazy as a loony bird is not approved to present evidence to the court. Looking at the current length of the feed, I can tell that we won’t get to his shrink’s testimony in this recording, meaning that quack probably testified today.
As expected, the judge called the proceedings to a close for the day. Dr. Reed will testify more tomorrow—which is today—and the prosecution is expected to rest. I personally think they presented a good case, but the defense did everything in her power to pick it apart. It all just depends on who the jury believes. I close my tablet and stare back out at the evening sky.
It’s late, and I know it. I just don’t know how late it is. I don’t bother looking at the clock as I have slipped back into my melancholy while watching the moon rise in the sky. The door opens quietly and Christian steps in with a tray of food. The scents are making my mouth water. I forgot that I hadn’t eaten and now that he has come in with sustenance, I feel like I could eat a horse.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he says, softly.
“I am, thank you,” I tell him, sitting up slightly to see what he has brought for me. There are several grilled chicken and vegetable skewers, a mountain of rice pilaf, a large bowl of fruit salad, several cut pieces of pita bread, and a pitcher of what looks like my cranberry spritzer. The two glasses on the tray indicate that he plans to eat with me. Thank God! I’m hungry, but I’m not that hungry. He begins to feed me and himself from every plate and my stomach responds with immense gratitude. About halfway into the meal, he asks a crucial question.
“Butterfly, are you happy about this pregnancy?”
I stop mid-chew. I don’t know how to answer that question. Suddenly, my appetite is gone and I can’t stomach another bite. I push the tray away, indicating that I’ve had enough. He gives me a drink of my spritzer and I lay back down after I have swallowed it. I cover my stomach with both of my hands and say nothing.
“You’re not… are you?” His voice sounds broken. I look over at him and he looks utterly crestfallen.
“I’m thrilled to be having your children, Christian,” I say softly. “I’m just terrified to bring them into this horrible world.” He frowns for a moment, pondering what I’m telling him. I fight back the tears as I don’t want to go through the entire conversation that I just had with Al all over again.
“I look around and I have a hard time seeing any good in the world, Christian,” I tell him. “Everywhere I turn, there’s some kind of snare or trap or monster waiting to gobble you up. No one is immune to it, and it seems like no one can really protect you from it. What could have prevented the things that happened to me? To you? We were at the mercy—or lack thereof—of others, and look what happened to us.” He puts his hand on my cheek.
“That won’t be our kids,” he says with conviction. I shake my head slightly.
“You can’t predict that…”
“Anastasia,” he says, interrupting my protest, “that won’t be our kids.” His words are laced with determination and urgency, and when he said my name, it’s not because he was scolding me. It’s because he needs my attention. He needs me to listen, to believe him… and I do. I do believe him. Though I’m still afraid and a bit forlorn, I believe that he will move heaven and earth to ensure that our children will never see the same fate we did. He will do everything in his power to make sure that our children will not be a repeat of us. I always knew that he would protect them, protect us, but for some reason, his declaration makes me feel a lot better.
I release a heavy sigh, still covering my stomach over my camisole. I would keep my little beans protected inside of me forever if I could, but I know that they will have to make their debut sometime. They will have to sneeze and fall down, get tummy aches and skins their knees, fail and experience heartbreak just like the rest of us—and the thought terrifies the shit out of me. I close my eyes and nod that I understand, trying hard and failing miserably not to weep. Dear God, please protect my babies… please…
I feel his lips on my eyes, gently kissing the tears away, and then my cheek. I let out a shuddering breath and lay my hands on the bed. He touches my stomach gently as his fingertips travel under the hem of my camisole. My stomach flutters and not because of the babies inside. He does this to me—makes my skin yearn for his touch. His hand travels up my stomach until his fingers gently caress the meat at the bottom of my breast. I gasp as his lips brush tender kisses against mine—a sensual stroke, not probing, but teasing… exploring just a bit as he lies next to me and hovers over me at the same time. Then his tongue glides softly over my lips, just inside… soft… taking my breath away…
She’s afraid. I can feel it. She doesn’t know what to do or think or feel.
It’s going to be okay, Butterfly. I promise, it’s going to be okay.
My lips travel over hers, tasting her, her fear and uncertainty, and her need. She trembles when my fingers reach her breast. I want to go slowly, gently, until I can reassure her that everything will be alright. She allows me to kiss her everywhere—everywhere—until her breathing becomes deep, heavy pants. I have her naked underneath me while I have shed my pants—still wearing my cotton shirt, buttons open, and my boxer briefs.
She groans deeply as I grind into her through my underwear. The feeling is exquisite—her hot, wet core pushing against my briefs, leaving them moist with her wetness. I push them down with my free hand and allow the skin to rub against her wetness. Oh God, it’s heavenly! She’s enjoying the skin-to-skin contact as much as I am, rubbing in small strokes against my erection. I use my knees to wiggle out of my boxer briefs.
With her left hand trapped under me, I take her right hand and put it over her head. Leaning on my right elbow, I lock her wrist in my right hand around her head, leaving my left hand free to caress her body. Spreading her legs with my hips, I nestle myself between her thighs, lifting her leg and bending her knee over my hip.
We both gasp as I enter her, and I lock my lips over hers, tasting her passion, yearning, and longing. I’m rubbing her on all sides and she allows my tongue to massage her mouth, an occasional moan betraying her lust. I stroke her slowly, deeply, repeatedly, kissing and caressing her the entire time. I feel the sweat against her skin as our abdomens adulate and rub against each other, her sensual keening causing the fire in my loins to grow larger and wilder.
“You’re perfect,” I say to her as I love her. “I can’t believe that you chose me… That you love me.” Her leg wraps around mine and I bend my knee to push into her, slow and deep. I bury my face in her neck, biting and licking the tender skin there. She gasps as I slide in and out of her, deeply penetrating her sweet spot over and over again.
“Oooo, Christian,” she keens, satisfaction oozing from her pores as she slowly and gently matches my strokes.
“So perfect,” I breathe as my orgasm starts to creep into my legs and thighs.
“Christian,” she whispers.
“Yes, baby…” Her voice causes a twinge in my back that is sure to be my undoing.
“I love you.” She squeaks the last word as her body stiffens and erupts into orgasm. That did it. I am completely useless as my release captures me and causes me to sink into her. We cling to each other as wave after wave attacks our bodies, causing her to clinch powerfully around my helplessly emptying penis. I can feel every muscle contracting in ecstasy as my sex thumps wildly inside of her.
“Oh, Baby,” I groan. “Mmmm!” My nose is smashed into her cheek as I know that I am making horrendous sex faces. I’m coming so hard that I feel her shudder beneath me and I squirt inside her once more. “Oh God, I love you, too,” I breathe. My lips search hungrily and clumsily for hers and as I taste the sweetness of her mouth, then breath slowly creeps back into my body.
A/N: Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc. can be found at http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/mending-dr-steele/
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Love and Handcuffs!