Beauty from Love (Beauty 3)

No way we’re giving up on our swarm. “Abstaining for months won’t be fun, but we’ll do what we gotta do for the family we dream of having.”

“I love you, McLachlan.” I pull her close again and return to humming.

It’s true. I couldn’t help myself from falling in love with this woman. When she took my hand, I willingly gave her my whole life.

L is no longer on bed rest but that doesn’t mean she can return to doing anything she likes. She needs to take it easy, so I bring her home after our lunch date and encourage her to rest on the couch. She isn’t excited about it but eventually concedes. I can see that she’s tired, although she refuses to admit it, and I’d bet money she’s napping within fifteen minutes once I’m out of the house to scout on the vineyard.

Harold and I get in a good four hours of scouting over a vast majority of the northwest corner and I’m pleased to find no additional evidence of downy mildew. The vines look quite good for this time of year and that pleases me greatly, but not near as much as returning home to see my wife.

I enter through the kitchen and Mrs. Porcelli appears to be putting the final touches on dinner. “Smells good in here. What are we having?”

“Laurelyn said you had a heavy lunch so she asked for a lighter dinner.” I totally agree with her on that. I love cheeseburgers, fries, and shakes but that isn’t a meal that should become a habit, especially not when you have a family history like mine. “I hope salmon with rice and asparagus fits the bill.”

“Sounds perfect.” I open the fridge and take out a beer. “Did Laurelyn rest after I went to work?”

“She’s been on the couch most of the afternoon and I’m fairly certain she took a nap.” Good. She needs plenty of rest. “She says the doctor gave her a good report. I’m very happy to hear that. I’ve been quite concerned about her and the baby.”

“We’re told the danger is behind us and the remainder of the pregnancy should proceed normally with the cerclage in place.”

“That’s such good news.” She opens the oven door to check the fish and the aroma fills the kitchen. “Will you be eating in the living room again?”

L’s sentence there is over and I’m guessing she’s as sick of eating on the couch as I am. “No. We’ll dine at the table tonight.”

“Then dinner will be there for you in ten minutes or so.”

“Thank you. I’ll let Laurelyn know.”

L isn’t on the couch and I don’t find her in our bedroom. There’s only one place I assume she’ll be. She’s out in the music studio checking on its progress. She hasn’t seen it in three weeks so she’s going to be surprised at all they’ve accomplished.

Although I’m quite content with her no longer working, she’s determined to get back to composing. She argues that it isn’t right for her to not work, that she should be bringing in some kind of income, but I disagree. She’s my wife and I make more than enough to support us.

I’m not wrong—the studio is where I find her. “What do you think of it?”

She’s looking around, a look of awe plastered on her face. “I’m shocked. I can’t believe how much they’ve done in the last few weeks. It’s almost finished.”

“I spoke with the contractor this afternoon. He said another week and we should be able to get you in here, songbird.”

“Songbird,” she repeats. “I like that.”

“Did you take a tour without me?”

She looks guilty. “I did. I saw the workers leave and I couldn’t resist coming out for a peek.”

“It’s okay. Have you seen all you want to see?”

She takes another glance around the room. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Dinner’s ready. I told Mrs. Porcelli we’d dine at the table tonight.”

“No argument here. I’m sick of that couch.”

“Me too.”

We spend the evening on the couch we’ve come to despise. Laurelyn’s sitting on one end reading, probably the only thing that’s kept her sane these past two weeks, while I’m on the other end catching up on missed work. It’s just sales reports, something I could do in my office, but that would mean being away from her. I enjoy this quiet time together, even when we’re not talking. Just her nearness is enough sometimes.

I look up and notice L has placed her e-reader on top of her belly and has dozed off. I’m not surprised. She sleeps a lot now, much more than she did before she became pregnant. I’m glad because rest is important for her and the baby.

I place my work on the coffee table and scoot over to her. “Time for bed.”

She stirs a little and slowly opens her eyes. “Wow. I was reading a hot sex scene one minute and then bam, I fall into a coma.”

“Really? You were reading about hot sex?”

She grins, maybe even blushes a little. “Did I just admit that?”

“Yes, you did.” I place her e-reader on the table next to my paperwork and grasp her hands to help her up. “Come on, pervert.”

She goes into the bathroom to do her nightly ritual and I’m already in bed when she comes out. She climbs in next to me, wearing a pink and white cotton gown. It’s lacy around the neck and innocent looking, not intended to be sexy at all, but my cock rouses simply by seeing her get into bed next to me. I know better. I shouldn’t look at her when she leans over to turn off her bedside lamp, but I can’t not look because her gown has gathered around her bum. I catch a glimpse of her pink cotton knickers and I’m immediately sorry. Ugh! I’m going to have to downgrade to jerking off—and soon. It’s not like I haven’t done it before, although it was mostly as an adolescent.

She leans over to kiss me goodnight and reaches for the back of my head to hold me close. I kiss her back, although I shouldn’t, and she becomes more aggressive. That’s when I realize this is not the same simple goodnight kiss she has given me each night for the past two weeks.

“This is another example like the ketchup incident today. You can’t do this to me. It’s agony.”

“But it doesn’t have to be. There’s still plenty we can do.” She slides across the bed and climbs over to kneel between my legs. She puts her fingers in the waistband of my sleep pants and tugs. “My mouth isn’t off limits.”

Oh fuck. My girl is going to suck me off.