Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Jacob’s in the distance smacking tennis balls over the net, practising his serve.
Me? I have a beer in my hand just listening to the therapeutic sounds of my wife and babies mooching about our home. This is heaven. This is Ava’s cloud nine. This is where I am supposed to be, and once again, the Fates have brought me here. I want to argue with them this time, though. Ask them why I can’t have John here, too. But that would be wasted breath. And John would say something along the lines of ‘Get a fucking grip, you stupid motherfucker.’
I smile, breathing back my unrelenting sadness. Sadness I know he’d be furious at me for spending too much time on. John can go fuck himself. I actually laugh out loud at my bravery for even thinking it. I would never have said that to him if he were standing here before me. Yet I wish I could. I wish I could curse his arse off to his face, and I would welcome the thump to my jaw from his big hard fist.
‘What’s so funny?’ Ava swishes the spray from the hose over the flower beds, eyeing me with a curious smile.
‘Just thinking.’ I push myself to my feet and wander across the lawn to her, my gaze taking constant up-and-down trips over her beautiful form. God love her, she looks fit to burst. We’re nearly two weeks overdue now, with no signs of baby making an appearance. I reach her and push my chest into her back, circling her tummy with my arms. My hands meet on the front of her pregnant belly with ease, though I still tease her. ‘Only just.’ I smile into her neck when she thrusts her bottom into my groin. ‘Don’t do silly things like that.’ Closeness to this woman always stirs my cock, but contact renders it concrete. That’ll never change.
‘Why, Mr Ward, there’s something poking into my back.’ She chuckles as she continues to drench the flower beds.
‘Maybe I could fuck this baby out of you,’ I muse, thoughtful. ‘You’ve made it too comfortable in there.’
‘We’ve had sex twice a day every day for the past two weeks. Not even your penis coming at it head-on is making it want to come out of hiding.’ Dropping the hose as I laugh, she turns in my arms, her belly now wedged between us. I look down fondly. Yes, she’s certainly carrying big, but nothing in comparison to when she was expecting the twins. Laying my palms on the top, I stroke and feel, my heart swelling with happiness when the baby kicks against my right hand.
‘He’s having a party in there. Clearly he’s got his dad’s talented dance moves.’
Ava’s hands land over mine, and we feel together. ‘You keep saying he. We don’t know what the sex of Peanut Junior is yet.’
‘It’s a boy,’ I assure her. It has to be. I’ve managed to hold on to my hair for this long. A girl might change that. ‘Jacob and I can’t be outnumbered.’
‘But Maddie and I can?’
‘You two have enough spunk between you for us to have ten more boys and still be out-spunked.’ I shift my hands and take hers, bringing them to my mouth and kissing each knuckle in turn, each and every one. She’s beaming at me, her smile so strong with happiness I feel it warm my face. ‘It’s a boy,’ I affirm.
‘Whatever you say, my Lord.’ She turns away from me and brings my hands back around her tummy, holding them there as she starts waddling across the grass. I follow her steps, my chin resting atop her head. ‘Let’s mooch.’
‘Mooch away,’ I reply, letting her lead the way to the bottom of the lawn where we pick up the gravel path through the flower beds that leads to the bench swing hidden at the bottom of the garden. The air is cool, but not quite cold, yet the sun could be blazing down from the sky. I’m toasty warm, contented, calm and serene. And all of that is being absorbed by my wife.
A beautiful air of peace has surrounded her throughout this pregnancy. I’ve admired it daily as I’ve watched her, whether at home or at the club. She’s been back to work and I’ve made sure I’ve let her get on with it, though I’ve never been truly far. Just far enough for her not to feel crowded, but close enough to sate my need for constant contact, even if that contact is just my eyes looking at her.
This pregnancy has been an entirely different experience for me. I’ve not stressed, not faffed, not driven her up the wall with my neurotic worry. And she hasn’t played me or used that worry as a tool to wind me up. There has been no faking labour to send me into meltdown. Probably because she knows that this time there will be no meltdown. After all, I’m a pro now. I’ve got this.