Marx Girl

“Ben!” I cry.

He lifts me so that my legs are off the ground, and we stand in an embrace on the tarmac in the middle of a crowded airport.

“I’m here, angel. I’m here,” he whispers into my hair as he holds me tight.

He has a short beard and looks a little worse for wear, but other than that he is absolutely perfect.

I hold his face in my hands and I run my thumbs through his whiskers as I stare at his beautiful face. I pat his chest and his arms. “Are you okay?” My eyes search his.

“I am now.”

Our lips touch as he holds me tight, and our friends, who all stand behind us, cheer.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Marry me,” he moans as he holds me off the ground.

He’s so strong and perfect.

My eyes fill with tears. “Now?” I smile. “You’re asking me now?”

“Yes, now.” He smiles.

“Yes,” I laugh, and he embraces me again. I pull back to look at him. “Ben?” I whisper up at him.

“What, angel?” He smiles down at me.

“I’m pregnant.”

His eyes search mine. “What?”

“You’re going to be a father.”

I grab his hand and place it on my stomach, and he frowns. “Are you serious?”

I nod as tears rain down my face.

He picks me up and twirls me around, causing us both to laugh out loud.

Our friends approach us from behind, and he lets me go for a moment. Mum kisses him. “Oh, Ben,” she whispers as she holds him.

He cuddles Tash and Adrian, and then he turns to the boys.

Joshua punches him hard in the arm. “That’s for fucking stressing me out, prick.”

Ben laughs, and shakes his hand, and then turns to Brock.

Brock shakes his head as he fights his tears. Ben grabs him into an embrace and they hug.

No words are needed.

Our man is home.

The steam from the shower fills the room, but we aren’t under the water.

Ben has me pinned against the basin as he kisses me, his hand holding my jaw to guide me where he wants. It’s as if his domination over my body has revved up ten levels. Maybe it’s because he knows his baby is inside of me. Maybe it’s just him, and I have a new appreciation for the power he holds.

He lifts my dress over my shoulders and tosses it aside, his lips dusting my neck.

My man is here to take care of me.

He undoes my bra and his hand cups my breast. He kneads it in his hand and frowns slightly.

“I’m swollen,” I whisper.

His eyes flicker with deep arousal as they find mine. “What else is swollen?”

I smile against his lips as he takes them aggressively. Jesus.

He slides my panties down my legs and his fingers slide between my thighs. He closes his eyes in approval. “My girl is wet,” he whispers.

My eyes close. I swear, he could just talk to me in his deep, accented voice and I would come.

His hand drops to my stomach and he splays his fingers out across my skin in wonder. “Our baby,” he mutters, almost to himself. He frowns and then looks up at me. “Can we…?”

I smile as I take his lips in mine. “Of course we can.”

“How rough?” he asks as he bites my neck with aggression.

I smile and my eyes roll back in my head. Oh, hell. Who cares? “Very rough. It needs to be rough. The doctor said very rough,” I lie, distracted.

He chuckles, and slowly takes his shirt off over his shoulders.

My face falls. He’s bruised and completely battered.

“Ben,” I whisper.

“I’m okay,” he assures me softly. “It’s just superficial, nothing like your wounds.”

My eyes fill with tears.

He dusts the backs of his fingers down my face as he studies me. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It was unfair.”

I put my hand over my stomach. “I thought you died. I thought I was going to have to bring up our baby alone.”

He puts his hand over mine on my stomach. “I’m here now. I’m going to look after both of you now, angel.”

I slide his pants down and drop to my knees in front of him.

I need him.

I need to worship every damn part of this body I grieved for.

He inhales sharply as I take him deep into my mouth.

“Good girl,” he groans, stroking my hair. I pump him with my hand, and while I suck he watches on. The ripples in his stomach clench when he flexes.

He pulls out of my mouth and sits on the side of the bathtub on the step, lifting my legs so that I’m straddling him.

I frown.

“I can’t be trusted not to hurt you. You have to ride me,” he says carefully as he kisses my stomach. He puts some saliva into his hand and smears it though my flesh.

A frown crosses my face.

His eyes darken. “I don’t want you warmed up.”