Big Girls Do It Pregnant (10 page)

It took three days of clicking needles and unthreading my knots before I got the hang of it and was able to start trying to make something for real. I’d finished
The Walking Dead
and was going through
Spartacus.
The first thing I knitted was an unrecognizable, misshapen thing that vaguely resembled something a Rasta might wear over his dreads, if knitted by a blind and drunk old woman. I had meant it to be…well, I didn’t really have any idea what it was supposed to be. A hat, maybe. Or a pillowcase. It could function as either, really.

By the time I was done with the pillowcase/hat, I had watched through a couple seasons of
Sex and the City.
I’d already seen the entire series—and all the movies—but it was a comfort-food kind of thing. I could quote my favorite lines from the first season to the last, and to rewatch it—for the third or fourth time, possibly—was like hanging out with old friends. I could partially tune it out and try to focus on actually knitting—or crocheting or whatever—something useful.

I managed a scarf, first. It was about four feet long and six inches wide and had holes big enough you could fit your fist through them, but it was recognizably a scarf.
 

#Winning.

Kelly laughed her ass off at my scarf, and then showed me how to tighten my knots or whatever the hell they’re called. Stitches? Loops? They’re knots, fancy knots. So I made another scarf, this one longer and wider and with fewer gaping holes. It was pink and purple, so I gave it to Kelly, who actually wore it, bless her heart. I think she did it to be nice to me, since it was warm out and the scarf was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen. The edges curled and refused to lie flat, the ends were crooked, and the whole thing was just fucking ugly. But Kelly wore the thing to and from work for a solid week before I told her she didn’t have to actually wear it. She looked relieved.

Now that I had more of a hang of it, I decided to make a pair of socks for Chase. Which was stupid, because they’d be more like something Santa Claus would wear over his boots or something, but still. I’d knit the damn things and give them to him, and he’d be grateful, damn it.

I managed one “sock” while I watched the best of John Cusack’s eighties movies. By which I mean
Say Anything, Sixteen Candles,
and
Stand by Me
. I also tossed
High Fidelity
in there even though it’s not technically an ’80s movie, but it’s awesome and has Jack Black in it.
 

Chase walked in at the end of
HiFi
, and I shrieked happily. I also might’ve peed a little.
 

No one told me about that, and I wish they had. I mean, I’ve heard all sorts of stand-up skits by women who have kids, but I thought it was a joke. Like, ha-ha, you pee by accident. So funny.

NO. Not funny. You really do pee by accident. I laughed too hard once watching
Liar, Liar
, and I peed so bad I had to change my panties. For real. I was so embarrassed I started a load of laundry, even though I was alone in the house and not supposed to lift baskets of clothes. So yeah. Pee. I thought about wearing a pad all the time.
 

Chase knelt beside me as I struggled to a sitting position on the couch. “I had a couple days between shows and decided to fly back and see you.” He put a palm on my belly and the other on my cheek, kissing me slowly and deeply. My toes curled.

I pulled away, all too soon. “Don’t get me worked up,” I whispered. “I can’t have sex.”

Chase frowned. “What?”

“Yeah. Apparently orgasms raise your blood pressure or something, and that’s a no-no.” I slid my fingers through his hair, which was now long enough to be spiked in two-inch-tall gel-stiff prickles.
 

“That sucks, baby.” He moved to sit next to me. “Here I was hoping to make you scream for me.”

I moaned and thumped my forehead onto his shoulder. “I’m so mad. I miss you so much. I’m horny, and after I have the baby it’ll be another six weeks before you can put anything into me.”

Chase gripped my T-shirt in his fists, growling. “God. We’re both gonna fucking die before we can make love again.”

I grinned, putting my palms flat on his chest and pushing him backward until he was lying against the arm of the couch. “Just because I can’t come,” I said, unbuttoning his tight blue jeans, “doesn’t mean you can’t.”

Chase sucked in a breath and caught my wrists. “But what about you?”

Ignoring his question, I freed my hands from his grip and unzipped him. “Commando?” I tugged his jeans down under his taut buttocks.
 

He groaned and watched me fist his erection with slow strokes. “I was planning on ravaging you into exhaustion. I thought it might take some of the stress away.”

“It would have,” I said, loving the blissful expression on his face as I worked his shaft with both hands, “and you’re so sweet for thinking of me.”

Chase lifted his head to quirk an eyebrow at me. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“You’re a sad, strange little man,” I said.
 

Chase laughed and let his head thump back again as I wrapped my palm around his thick mushroom head and twisted gently with a slight pumping motion, rolling my palm over his head and then twisting again. I thumbed the clear pearl of pre-come around his tip until he was slick under my hand, and then resumed the twisting, pumping motion, increasing in tempo until he was arching his back off the couch. I curled my other hand around his base and pumped him swiftly. The motions of each hand were hard to keep separate, but I made a challenge of it, twist and roll and pump. Chase groaned deep in his chest, and I felt him tense. I stopped all motion, just holding his cock in my fist and letting him back away from the edge.
 

Chase slammed his head against the arm of the couch. “Damn it, Jay. God, I was right there.”

I slid off the couch to kneel on a pillow on the hardwood floor next to him. I leaned over him and ran my tongue up his throbbing length, then took him into my mouth and sucked once, twice, three times, just enough to get him moving, and then spitting him out and kissing back down his length. He tangled his fingers in my hair, holding the wayward strands away from my mouth, brushing my cheeks and my forehead, cupping my face, each touch tender. I planted kisses all the way down his shaft, then opened my mouth to take his sack between my lips, careful to cover my teeth. He hissed and cursed under his breath as I massaged his tender skin with my lips and tongue, holding his rigid cock in both hands.
 

When I thought he’d backed far enough away from the edge of climax, I resumed moving my hands up and down his length, tugging upward and sliding down to plunge my fingers against his base. He lifted his hips to meet each downward thrust of my hands, and now I lowered my mouth to him, taking his tip between my lips at each thrust.

The upward crush of hips grew desperate and his breathing ragged. “God, Jay. So fucking good. Feels…so good.”

“Fuck my mouth, Chase.” I whispered the words and then took him deep into my mouth.
 

He sucked in a raspy breath and let himself go, thrusting hard into me. I gripped his length with one hand, wrapping my lips around his tip and sucking hard as he thrust. When he pumped toward my throat, I sucked hard, and when he pulled away, I released the suction; when he thrust, I pumped his length. I cupped his balls in my other hand and massaged them, letting my middle finger extend back toward his taint and rubbing gently.
 

He buried both hands in my hair and held tight, not pushing me down, just holding, fisting his fingers in my curls. “God…
damn
. Oh, god, I’m close. So close. Don’t tease me, baby. Let me come, please.” I slowed my rhythm on him, just to tease him. “No, fuck no…” He wanted to pull me onto him, but didn’t.
 

I laughed with my mouth still latched around his soft salty skin, and the buzz of my voice drove him wild. I let him thrust deep, relaxed my throat and took him deeper, clenching him with my fist and lips and my throat muscles, working him into a frenzy. His hips lifted off the couch, and he fluttered his cock in shallow, desperate thrusts. I didn’t relent then but worked him faster, fingering his taint and fisting his base with a blurring hand, my grip loose so I was barely brushing his skin.
 

I felt him tense in my hands, heard him groan, curse, and gasp. He fell down onto the couch, then thrust again, and this time he did pull me against him, just a little, just enough to let me know he was about to explode. I hummed in my throat as I swallowed his tip as deep as I could, fisting him furiously.

“Oh, god…” Chase’s fingers tightened in my hair. “I’m coming…”

He detonated with a groan. I felt his balls tense, and then hot liquid splashed down my throat. I backed away and took him deep again, setting a bobbing rhythm as he came again, and then again, spurting hard each time, groaning and cursing nonstop.

The payoff for him was almost as much of one for me. I loved watching him lose control, completely sated, eyes rolled back in blissed-out ecstasy. I continued to suck and stroke him as he softened, milking every last drop of pleasure from him.

Eventually I released him and sat next to him on the couch.
 

“Fuck, Jay,” he said, pulling his jeans back on. “I think that may have been the best blow job you’ve ever given me.”

I pushed his hands away and fastened his pants for him, enjoying the fact that he was panting, out of breath and sweating. “Good,” I said. “That’s the goal. Each BJ should be the best one yet.”

“I think you succeeded, if that’s your goal.” He leaned in and kissed me, as he always did after I went down on him. “So how can I make you feel good?”

“You just did,” I told him, sliding into the nook of his shoulder.

He snorted. “No, sweetheart. That was you making
me
feel good. You’re getting things backward.”

I laughed. “I get pleasure from that. Not sexual pleasure, like, it doesn’t give me an ‘O,’ but I enjoy your reactions, making you feel good. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” he said, stroking my arm with his thumb. “But I still don’t entirely believe you when you say you like it.”

“Do you like going down on me?” I asked him.

“Yeah, for the same reasons you said. I like giving you pleasure, making you feel good.”

“Well, there you go.”
 

“So can I do that to you, then?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Sadly, no. There’s nothing I’d love more than to have you munch my rug until I can’t breathe, believe me. But at this point, it’s not penetration that’s the problem. It’s my blood pressure. It’s why I’m not supposed to exert myself. I have to stay off my feet so the effort of walking doesn’t become too much. In which case, I’m pretty sure your expert skills in cunnilingus would make my blood pressure spike through the fucking roof.”

Chase laughed. “Expert cunnilingus skills, huh?”

I nodded, patting his chest. “Yep. Masterful. You’re an artisan of pussy-licking. A connoisseur of oral orgasm administration.”

Chase laughed so hard my head bounced on his chest. “Good to know you enjoy it.” He met my eyes. “I feel bad that you gave me that, and I can’t do anything for you back.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m keeping score, you know. I did it because I wanted to. You came to visit me, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I know you’re insane with this tour, so I know how much it took to take the time away.” I smirked at him. “But if you’re that worried, you can just keep a tally of how many orgasms I give you, and when I’m cleared for sex, you can pay me back.”

Chase nodded seriously. “Okay, then. A tally system it is.” He dug his phone out of his hip pocket, swiped it open, and tapped the yellow
notepad
app.
 

I laughed as he wrote “Orgasm Tally Card” on the top line. He spaced down a line and wrote the numeral
1
on the next. “I was actually joking, Chase. It’s not a who’s-come-the-most competition, babe.”

“It is now.” He pushed his phone back into his pocket. “So how have you been passing the time, my love?”

I laughed again, this time more in deprecation. “Poorly. I’m bored out of my fucking skull, Chase. I’m restless. Antsy. I’ve never spent this much time being lazy in my life.”

“It’s not laziness, Jay.” Chase squeezed me against his side. “It’s doctor-ordered bed rest. You’re the least lazy woman I know.”
 

“Nice try, babe, but that’s not how it feels to me.” I sighed. “All I do is sit on my ass, watching Netflix and knitting.”

Chase guffawed. “Knitting? You? Since when do you
knit
?”

I frowned at him. “Why couldn’t I knit? Maybe you just didn’t know I did.”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t knit, Jay. You just don’t. No more than I do.”

I glared at him, more offended than I had a right to be, since my reaction when Kelly first suggested it wasn’t too far from Chase’s. “I do too knit. Now, at least.” I reached over the side of the couch and set my knitting bag on his lap.
 

A stunned expression on his face, he rummaged in the bag, pulling out my pillow/case hat, the holey scarf of shitty knitting, and my latest project, one sock out of the pair for Chase. “Damn, Jay, you
have
been knitting.” He held up the pillowcase/hat, clearing his throat in an effort to not laugh. “Um…honey? What is this?”

I snatched it from him. “Shut up, you. It’s a hat. Or a pillowcase. It can be both, if it wants to.”

Chase took it back and set it on his head. His entire face was obscured by the multicolored yarn. “A hat?”

I snatched it off his head. “For a Rasta. To cover his dreads.”

Chase laughed harder. “Do you even know any Rastas? And he’d have to have, like, the biggest, longest, thickest dreads ever for this thing to fit.”

I smashed it onto his head and pulled it down over his face. “Shut up. It was the first thing I tried making. I’ve only been doing this for, like, a week.” I grabbed a square throw pillow and stuffed it into the hat; it fit, barely, and the corners poked through the holes, stretching it to ridiculous proportions. “It’s harder than you might think.”