Lex (Unconventional Hearts) (53 page)

“I’m sorry, okay let’s take a bath.” My
libido has gone from rock solid to sleepy. I wish I could discuss
this with Lex. Talk to her about how I’m feeling, both physically
and emotionally. I can’t though. I don’t want to worry her.

Sliding into the tub, I grab her foot into my
lap and massage it, while we sit in silence, just watching each
other. My beautiful woman, damn she’s sexy.

“I love you.” I state. I can never say it
enough.

“I love you more.”

I shake my head, there is no way she loves me
more.

“Do you forgive me about earlier?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about Emma calling you…”

“Mommy?”

“Yeah.”

“I love it. Maybe I shouldn’t, and I hope
it’s okay, but I feel like a mom.”

“You are.”

“So that doesn’t bother you?”

“No. Why would it? The woman I want to spend
my life with and my daughter, our daughter, wanting to call you
mommy after a short time. It’s like a dream come true.”

Lex lovingly smiles at me. “
You
are my
dream come true.”

That’s it. It’s official. Lex knows she’s my
soul mate and realizes I’m hers. I need to get this date tattooed
on my body. The day the love of my life met my family, they love
her and Emma calls her mommy. The day that my life is sailing in
the right direction, never to turn back.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Monday

Lex

“Daddy says he hopes you’re being a good
princess.” I tell my princess who’s in her own toy corner in the
living room, sitting crisscross applesauce. That’s the new
politically correct term for Indian style. Emma recently taught it
to me.

This morning Emma helped me carry in a wooden
kid’s desk, a chocolate toy box with her name engraved in the lid
and a small whiteboard from the garage. I bought the stuff for her
toy corner online last week when I was at work. The same day I
ordered Gage’s tie and cufflinks. Her stuff was delivered on
Thursday and Roni made sure it was stored in the garage until I had
time to get to it. Guess she loves it because as soon as we set it
up, she’s not left her own personal corner. I thought about making
her use her bedroom as a toy space. Then I quickly nixed that idea.
I want her where I can see her and watch her play, not stuffed in a
bedroom. No matter how much she seems to love it.

“Nuh-uh, Mommy.” Emma giggles, placing a
sparkly pink pony wearing a frilly tutu on the top of her closed
toy box, still wearing her own pink princess pj’s and slippers. I’m
relaxing on the couch, Sherpa blanket strewn over my legs, my feet
resting on the edge of the coffee table. Leaving my legs bent at
the right angle to hold my laptop. I’m working from home today.
Which means I get to do the pajama thing too. Blue silky shorts and
a matching floral print top. My hair pulled up into a messy bun,
making me look more and more like my mother. Not that, that’s a bad
thing.

“What do you mean, nuh-uh? Silly Princess.” I
spurt a brief laugh, smiling ear-to-ear. I’ve been doing that since
I woke up this morning. It’s hard not to smile when you’re
sublimely happy.

“Daddy doesn’t call me Princess. You do.”

“Ah, well, ya caught me. Daddy just texted
and is checking in. So is Lincoln.”

Apparently, when my hot boyfriend got himself
to work today, he decided to contact Lincoln about Chelsea and what
happened yesterday in regards to her, not sure why it is any of
Lincoln’s business, unless I’m the one informing him. Especially
since, he’s been pestering me all morning, in the sweet,
unobtrusive, Lincoln sort of way. If I had told him myself, this
wouldn’t be happening. Now he’s immoderately worried and checking
on me every ten minutes. No joke.

Speaking of the devil, my phone is buzzing in
my hand. I’ve hardly had a moment to sit it down. Between Gage and
Lincoln, it’s been incessantly buzzing nonstop. It’s nice to be
loved. What it isn’t is productive, not when I’m already behind on
the workload I plan to trudge through today.

Lincoln:
I’m out with the dog, keeping an
ear to the ground. Trying to pick up on anything Chelsea might have
gossiped about during her breakfast this morning at McDonalds with
her girlfriends.

The fact that he knows where she’s having
breakfast is disturbing enough. I love him, dearly, but he has to
let me live my life and stop worrying himself sick.

Me:
Stop worrying Lincoln. If it gets out,
it gets out. It’s my fault I blabbed in front of her. Not
yours.

Lincoln:
You should be allowed to speak
about it with anyone and they not bat a damn eyelash.

Sweet, naïve, handsome, Lincoln. In a perfect
world that would be true. In a perfect world, no one would go
hungry. Children wouldn’t be abused. Gays and lesbians would be
allowed to marry legally. And people like me, with Gender Identity
Disorder would be accepted in society. But it’s not a perfect
world, people do starve, abuse does happen and is a topic many
people are afraid to speak about. Gays and lesbians can’t marry
legally according to federal law. Those and a hundred different
things make this world an imperfect place. No matter how any people
are arrested, no matter how many cans of food you donate, it’s
always going to be a world of prejudice and pain. It’s with that
sadness that we must overcome and take in the bright side of life.
To steer ourselves and our children away from those miseries and
educate people on lifestyles that a hundred years ago were never
even spoken about. World peace might be a thing of fantasy. But
equality amongst peers both gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender,
African American, Hispanic, Asian, Caucasian, and everything
in-between, is possible. One day when Emma is a mommy herself, I
pray that her children or her children’s children live in that kind
of world.

But in the world, that I live in now is
not
one of openness for people like me. Chelsea does pose a
threat. However, I can’t live my life in fear, worrying about her
and what she will or won’t do. I will do as I always have, take
life as it comes. Alright that’s enough of the heavy. God knows I
could go on another five hours about my thoughts of the world. As I
am sure, most of you can do as well.

Me
: That’s a great dream, Lincoln. Just
not the reality we live in. I’m fine though. Don’t worry about me,
or her. If she does it…she does. I have no one to blame but myself.
Just have fun with the pup and text me later with good news. Maybe
even a little BDSM 411. Whatever that may be.

If I know Lincoln, like I think I do. That
little strategically rendered comment will preoccupy him.

Bingo!

Lincoln:
BDSM 411? Do you need your head
examined? Whips, chains and anal plugs are not a topic I would like
to discuss with you.

Me:
Oh…why not? You seem okay with getting
involved with my life. Why shouldn’t I be more in tuned with yours
and what colorful fuckery my best friend partakes in? Doing my
friendly due diligence. Lol.

Lincoln:
Funny, ha-ha. No master talk for
you.

Now this is getting really good! It’s fun
giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Me:
Master talk? Do you seriously make
your subs call you master?! OMG! Lincoln!! Spill!!!

Lincoln:
I’m saying goodbye now. I’ll talk
to you later tonight. Love you.

Me:
NO!!! Tell me Elias!!!

Lincoln:
Pulling out the big guns are we?
Using my first name. Must be really serious. I’ll give you three
questions. That is all. Then I will text you later on today. I am
just looking out for you, I hope you know that.

Me:
I do. Question 1. Do your subs really
call you master?

Lincoln:
Yes. I can’t believe you’ve never
asked me that before. Why the sudden interest?

Me:
I thought this was ask the master,
not, question the questioner. Lucky for you, I’ll be nice… I want
to know now because I’m curious. Gage has turned me into some horny
madwoman. So I’m broadening my horizons.

Lincoln:
You can ask. That’s fine. But if
I ever hear of Gage using anything other than his dick in the
bedroom and maybe a blindfold or a set of cuffs, then I’m
castrating him. You are not to participate in this lifestyle Lex.
Period
.

Me:
I didn’t say I was. And he’s already
used a blindfold. Cuffs are for kinky cops. Gage is a lawyer. Now
Questions 2. What kind of sex do you participate in with most with
your subs?

I can’t believe I am asking him this.
Consider me intrigued and deterring Lincoln from fussing over me is
worth his discomfort in talking about this. Anything is better than
him getting sick, worrying about me.

When Linc finally saved me from Brian’s, I
was rushed to the hospital for an extensive medical evaluation.
Doctors had no idea how the cops never realized I was being abused.
What nobody knew was that I was locked in the basement for all but
one of the sweeps through the house. The only one I wasn’t, I was
too ill from being beaten that I was doped up with meds, passed out
in Brian’s bedroom. I really don’t want to get into the Brian
conversation now, not when I’m already in such a great mood.

However… When I was in the hospital, Lincoln
sat in my room or just outside the door, for the entire two weeks I
was there. Once, a nurse was changing my bandage from a cut that
needed to be re-stitched and got infected, so it had to be drained,
Lincoln held my hand the entire time the nurse re-bandaged me. He
also refused to eat until I did, making himself sick for days with
nothing but water to fill the hunger cravings that racked his body.
And, he lived severely sleep deprived, because as soon as my
nightmares took hold there wasn’t a person in my wing of the
hospital that could outrun my terror-stricken screams. On the fifth
day in the hospital, I finally ingested crackers and that’s all
Lincoln ate. On the sixth day I ate a bland vanilla pudding cup and
more crackers, so that’s what he ate. This went on for a total of
fourteen and a half days. Now the last thing I need for him to do
is put himself back in that mindset. Keeping him distracted is the
only way I can think of to keep him from overreacting. I know there
is nothing he wouldn’t do for me.

Lincoln:
Do you really need to know
that?

Me:
Yes

Lincoln:
Why?

Me:
Consider me interested.

Lincoln:
Consider that a topic on the do
not disclose list.

Me:
Why?

Lincoln:
I already discuss with you more
about this than I’d like.

Me:
Why does it matter?

Lincoln:
It does because it’s not part of
your life.

Me:
You’re part of my life.

Lincoln:
I know. But sex isn’t a part of
our relationship.

Me:
Love is.

Glancing up from my phone, I watch Emma
immersed in her play time. I love this. The sun is shining brightly
through the large almost floor to ceiling windows, the light
blanketing a warm glow along her back, highlighting the undertones
of auburn in her hair.

Emma awoke this morning and we all ate
breakfast with daddy before he left for work. I got in my yoga
after breakfast, and we came down here to officially start our day.
Even though Roni has been a slight bit distant lately due to late
night vomiting, my life is amazing.

My phone buzzes in my lap.

Gage:
Don’t leave the house today.

That doesn’t sound good.

Me:
Why? Did Lincoln’s ear to the ground
pull something up?

Gage:
No. Just stay home and keep your
phone on.

Me:
Why?

Lincoln:
Sorry, just stopped to talk with
Barbie. Told me to tell you she misses you. Hopes you’ll bring Emma
in this week for some ice cream. On the house.

Me:
Tell her she can count on it. Since
you’re not going to answer my questions and I’ve got to get some
work done. I’ll text you later.

Lincoln:
Be good. Love you.

Me:
Love you too.

Me to Gage:
Care to fill me in?

Three minutes later of staring at my phone,
guess he doesn’t want to fill me in.

Leaning forward and setting my phone on the
coffee table. I turn my attention back to my computer.

“Do you need anything before I get back to
work?” I ask Emma, before I start rummaging through my obscene
amount of work emails.

“No, thank you, Mommy.” She mutters, never
breaking away from her toys.

I love when she calls me that.
Mommy
.
I’m Emma’s mommy. I love the sound of that.

Ding dong–bang—bang—bang—ding dong.

Somebody is at my front door. Emma looks back
at me and I set the laptop on the coffee table. Guess I won’t be
working right now after all.

“Stay here and play, I’ll be right back.” I
tell her, padding my way bare feet around the side of the couch,
toward the door.

Ding dong–bang—bang.

“Hold on. I’m coming.” I call out to the
impatient guest.

Unlocking my stained glass front door, I pull
it open.

Oh!!!! God!!!!

“Open the fucking door, bitch!”

“Melissa, you need to leave.” I instinctively
blurt, my eyes zoning in on the matte black shotgun she has pointed
right at me.

“No bitch, I don’t. Surprised you recognize
me.” She yanks my screen door open, breaking the flimsy lock.
Coming though my front door, she stalks me, and I tiptoe backward,
slowly, keeping my eyes on her hands.
On the gun
!

“Not here to kill you,
boy
. I’m here
for my daughter.”

“You can’t have her.” I snarl.