Chapter 72
Sadly, after getting the opinion of several top-tier doctors (who probably had underwear woven with golden thread and diamonds), I was put on bedrest for the foreseeable future. No work, no school…and no dancing.
Reuben, in his best attempt to make me feel as comfortable as possible, moved everything in my tiny apartment into the guestroom in his house. He even spent the time consulting with stress specialists (yes, there is such a thing) to change the room from top to bottom, along with the rest of his house, to optimize relaxation and the sensation of safety. My world became Zen mania.
Even after all that time, money, and degrees, though, nothing killed my anxiety or stress more than one of his shirts after a long day of work. I started building quite a collection about my room, though the moment his smell wore off, I’d return it to the dirty laundry. I thought Reuben would be creeped out by my odd habit, but instead, he seemed deeply pleased, so I just decided he was the weird one, not me. Especially when I finally broke it to him that I stole his shirt that one time and he full-on beamed as though I had admitted to writing a love poem to him instead.
I expected to be left mostly on my own for three months in his jungle-like villa, lounging about my room, eating snacks, and doing my best not to go insane. But, to my chagrin, and LeFevre’s dismay, Reuben made it a point to only work seven to three (since I’d often sleep in late due to preggy hormones) and never on weekends, and if he could squeeze a day off, he did. I assumed it was because he didn’t trust me to actually rest. But that warm, tender thing of a smile he always wore for me on walking through the door made it hard for me to believe he had ulterior motives.
When it became apparent that resting in one place was beginning to put more stress on me than actual working, I got the okay by the doctors to use the pool, as long as I didn’t push myself. Needless to say, I’m moderately certain I became the world’s best swimmer and made internal plans to swim the English Channel one day. Swimming had a lot of the same feeling of weightlessness that dancing had, which I was longing for more and more the bigger and heavier I got.
When Reuben was home, he mostly just sat and talked with me. He enjoyed reading so sometimes he brought a book for us to read together, which I found more enjoyable than I would have originally thought, never being much of a reader. When not entertaining me with games, books, movies, and bangles, he’d end up slyly pulling my legs onto his lap and massaging them, which was usually how I ended up passing out for the night. All those legends of back and leg pain during pregnancy had little on me, not with an attentive man looking for every excuse to touch me as platonically as possible.
For platonic Reuben did his best to keep it, touch-wise, that is. Though he never stopped spouting his cheesy love lines, he didn’t push any boundaries. At first, I was grateful and felt that he was being thoughtful enough to not pressure me more than I already was in this unexpected situation. But, then, as the seventh month swung in, and I’d spent a month living with this man, which was officially longer than I had lived with my own fiancé, combined with the hormones and getting bored and lonely…I got impatient. And maybe a bit hormonally horny.
It was much longer after then, near the end of my eighth month, that I finally gave in and demanded he at least kiss me. He took five seconds to be surprised before I found myself, not kissed, but thrown onto the bed, half smothered between huge man and baby belly, with my mouth being devoured by his. I didn’t even have the time to verify that he didn’t think me disgusting and huge and fat, as his hands were already up my shirt, stroking every curve, hooking about the band of my maternity pants and flying back up to tease the band of my bra.
At some point, I worried if he had forgotten to breathe.
Somewhere in the midst of the fervor, covered only enough to be legally dressed by the barest line, he dragged the front of his hips between my legs.
“I want more,” he’d gasped. “I want to have as many children as you’ll give me. As many times as I can—”
He’d clamped his mouth around my shoulder to muffle a moan that made the bottom of my stomach hot and everything part of me feel like it was melting.
“That’s not a proposal,” I’d said back, breathless myself. “And not very romantic.”
He bit down on my shoulder, but only enough to make it thump from my own heartbeat before pulling back. His lips were swollen and red and his dark eyes bright. His dark hair was mussed and sticking to his temples.
“I love you. I love you.” He suckled my neck. “Let me in you, let me marry you, please. I think I might die if I can’t, please.” He turned back to peppering kisses down my collarbone to the line of my shirt, which was being chased down more and more.
I pinched my knees together.
“Please,” he kept whispering. “Let me…I’ll do anything…Alaina…”
His scent, headier and sweeter with his arousal, made my head spin. I couldn’t think. The heat of my body left me open to get drunk on his words.
Maybe…just maybe…just right now, right here…
I brushed my hands across the sides of his face and brought his eyes up to me. Faint stubble tickled my palms. Black shivered on blue.
“You won’t hurt me?” It was hardly even a whisper.
“Never,” he breathed back.
I trembled hard, hot, needy, weak, and so very, very vulnerable.
What had this man not done to let me into his life? There wasn’t even anything in his house that he had left password protected from me. He’d even left all his bank information, all his cards, his phone—I hadn’t even asked, but he’d bared it all to me as though we were already married all in the name of ‘in case you need it.’
The only one holding back anymore was me.
So I kissed him back, just as hungrily, and hooked my thumbs on the waistband of his jeans.
This time, I would remember why my sheets smelled of him in the morning.