She’s so fucking wet I want to spend hours inside her. And I will, because we’re just getting started.
I orgasm after her and once she recovers, I growl, “I want your ass in the shower and after I clean you, I want your lips around my dick.”
I intend to devote hours to her tonight.
“I love you,” Birdie says hours later as we crawl into bed after our second shower together. I wore her out tonight. I fucked her like I used to fuck her before IVF and pregnancy and miscarriages and grief got in the way.
“I love you, too, angel.” I bring my hand to her belly and then my mouth. This has become the way we end each night and my favourite part of the day.
She threads her fingers through my hair as I kiss her stomach. “I can’t wait to see our child in your arms. You’ll be an amazing father.”
I pull away from her belly and look down at it. Speaking to my child, I say, “I’m actually gonna screw shit up all over the place, little one, but thankfully we’ll have your mother to guide us when I do.” I turn to find Birdie’s eyes as I add, “Your mummy is the best woman in the world and we’re lucky to have her.”
I mean every word out of my mouth. These past two and a half weeks have been some of the hardest weeks of my life. I wouldn’t have gotten through them without Birdie. She hasn’t had to say or do anything to help me; all she’s had to do is simply be here. And knowing I have her helps me know I’ll get through every other minute of my life without my brother.
Birdie’s hands come to my face and she pulls me to her for a kiss. When she’s finished with my lips, and we’re settled with her snuggled against me, head on my chest, she says, “You know how you we used to talk about having two kids?”
I trace a pattern over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
“I know that will never happen because this was our last time doing IVF, but I need you to know I’m probably going to be cluckier than ever when I see you with our daughter. So you need to prepare yourself for that. Like, you may need to do battle with me over it at times.”
I smile. “With our son you mean?”
I hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Yeah, with our son, baby. That wasn’t the important part of what I said, though.”
“I know. And I hear you. I need to prepare for battle.”
“Yeah, you do. And I need you to know that deep down I know we can only have one child, so when I argue with you over wanting more, it’s not really me arguing; it’s my hormone-filled alter ego who I wish would shut the fuck up some days.”
I chuckle. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m used to doing battle with those hormones. I’ve got this, angel.”
She lifts her head and looks at me with a serious expression, like she’s grateful as fuck for something. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I love you for that alone. For always having me even when I give you enough ammunition to shoot our relationship down.”
I cup her face. “I’ve always got you, Birdie. Fucking always.”
She kisses me again and then says, “Okay, now we need sleep. God knows you exhausted my entire body tonight. It might take me days to recover.”
After I roll her onto her side and spoon her with my arms tightly around her body, I say, “You’ve got six hours to recover and then I’m coming back for more.”
She wiggles her ass against me. “I love my bossy man, even when he’s demanding things that will likely never happen.”
“Oh they’re gonna happen, angel. My mouth on your pussy is the only fucking way I wanna wake up tomorrow.”
Birdie’s asleep within ten minutes, but I lie awake for at least another hour, unable to shut my thoughts off. They’ve been like this since Max’s death. Replaying everything that happened that day. The what-ifs never fucking leave me alone. If I hadn’t asked Max to meet me at the clubhouse, he’d still be alive today. That knowledge fucking slays me. I’ll carry guilt and regret to my grave over his death.
Unable to sleep, I leave Birdie and head out to the back deck, grabbing the bottle of whisky from the kitchen on the way. Throwing some of the amber liquid down my throat, I scroll my phone looking at photos of Max. Fuck knows why I do this to myself every damn day, but it’s become almost compulsive. I have this driving need to see him each day. To remember our memories.
I lose myself in the memories and the whisky. It’s not until the silence is fractured by a scream that I’m jolted back to reality.
Birdie’s scream.
Fuck.
When I arrive in our bedroom, I find her sitting in the bed, panicked, staring down at the mattress. As I move closer, I see what she sees and my heart fucking breaks. It shatters into a million fucking pieces as I watch my wife sit with tears streaming down her face. Tears I know won’t ever stop. The blood Birdie is sitting in will guarantee that.
27
Birdie