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I give a silent nod, and he steps closer, his hand outstretched cautiously, as if approaching something sacred. When his hand gently touches my abdomen, a warmth spreads through me, and for a moment, all the tension and worry melts away.
Tommy is touching me, caressing his child growing in my stomach. The emotions are like a slap to the face. Hot flashes, cramps, emotions, and nausea. Pregnancy is such fun, I think, almost rolling my eyes.
But as soon as his hand touches me, something incredible happens—a flutter, the tiniest movement inside me. Looking down, I can hardly contain my excitement. "Oh my God! I felt it!" I whisper, buzzing with excitement.
"The baby? Has that not happened before?"
"No, never! More to the left," I grab his hand and move it to the spot where I felt the movement, pressing his hand in a bit firmer.
The baby moves again. "There!" I yell this time, barely able to contain my glee. Whatever the worst part of pregnancy is, I’ve finally found the best part. Feeling this little peanut kick around, moving like he’s a real part of me, of us, is the most beautiful moment in my life.
Tommy tilts his head, a look of concentration on his face. "I erm, don’t feel anything. Sorry."
Disappointment works through me. I want him to experience this joy, to understand what it means, but I clear my throat. "Oh, uh, right. Maybe I imagined it?" I look at my own stomach, sure that I will see a ripple of movement, but nothing happens. "But I think he really loves bananas," I say, trying to keep the mood light.
"He?" Tommy sounds curious.
"Oh, sorry, I don’t really know. I just think of it as a 'him.'"
Then Mack’s voice drifts from the living room, "As touching as this is, perhaps it's a conversation for the bedroom." Tommy chuckles, taking my hand and leading me down the hall, locking the door behind us in his room. Time slows the moment his hand is in mine. Longing, deep and intense pulses through me. I need to tell him; get this damn secret out before it eats me alive.
Sitting on the mattress, he joins me. I can tell he’s nervous, rubbing his palms on the pajama pants he changed into, not meeting my eyes. "Have you gone to the doctor?"
"Not yet. But the doctor at the ER said baby's fine. Eight weeks along and growing like a weed." Something about that sticks out in my mind, but I don't exactly know why so I brush it away. "Except my iron levels, apparently. That’s why I passed out at the bar, or so Doctor Nice-guy at the hospital says." I’m still not convinced it wasn’t just the shock of seeing Tommy at my bar.
There's a pause, the air charged with tension, and I can practically feel Tommy doing the math in his head. Fuck. This really wasn’t how I planned on telling him, but the cat’s out of the bag now. "Tilly? Is that… is that my baby?"
I nod, the silence stretching between us, heavy with unspoken words and emotions.
Then, his face pales, like he's staring into oncoming traffic but can’t move, his expression frozen. I don’t know what to do, so I stand up. Honestly, I completely understand if he needs a few days to process the information. I sure as hell did. As I go to leave the room, he grabs my wrist, holding me there.
He stands too, his breathing shallow and rapid. I brace myself for any reaction—anger, denial, rejection—anything but this overwhelming silence.
"I was gonna tell you, but after what happened to Grayson, I was worried they would use it against us," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper.
Suddenly, Tommy's arms are around me, his kisses landing softly on my face. They’re wet and sloppy. Are those tears? He’s crying. Dropping to his knees, he kisses my bare stomach.
I can't help but laugh, even as tears start to blur my vision. He rests his forehead against the slight bump, whispering to our baby, "Little man, this is your daddy. You can call me Papa, or Dad, or Butthead for all I care. But I’m here, okay? I’m here and I’m never leaving your momma’s side again."
My attempts to hold back sobs finally fail, the moment so raw and beautiful. He kisses his way back up to my lips, and as we embrace, he lifts me off the ground.
The kiss deepens, his hands exploring gently, reassuringly, a silent promise of his presence and protection. Eventually, he sets me down on the mattress. “Tilly, is this okay? Fuck, I shouldn’t touch you. But I mean…” Both hands are on top of his head, but his face is so bright, so full of unbridled joy. “Is this real?” he asks, sounding almost afraid of the answer.
I close the space between us and put a hand on his chest. Maybe I don’t say it aloud, but I want the message to be clear; yes, you can touch me. All you want. “Yeah, Tommy. It’s real,” I say even though I can hardly believe it either. This morning, I was counting tips and trying to figure out when I can move out of the motel. But within a few hours, I’m states away with the man I love, happy I’m going to have his baby.
His eyes meet mine, and the happiness shifts. It’s still there, but there is something else overpowering it. His hooded gaze leaves little to interpret.
“I missed you so much, Tilly.” I don’t let him say anything else and tilt my head up. His chin dips, and our mouths collide. Long strokes of his tongue against mine instantly fill me. I’m hit with such an intense arousal that I gasp into his mouth, before pulling back. "Holy hell, that’s good." Every feeling is intensified, my entire body buzzing with each touch.
He stops, propping himself up. “Is it? I mean I can’t hurt you or little man right?”
I shake my head. The books all say sex is perfectly okay. “Yes, Tommy. Please, I need this.” It seems like Tommy doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls my pants off and starts kissing me all over, starting with my little baby bump and working his way down to my legs. I watch him, taking such care with my body. His touch feels so intimate and gentle. It’s like he’s worshipping me, like I’m his goddess. A beautiful powerful woman. Full of life that we’ve created together.
I grab onto his face, the heat in his eyes matching how I feel. I tug on the waistband of his pajama pants. “Off.”
He jumps up, scrambling to obey, removing his pants and underwear in one quick move. His hand goes down to his dick, stroking lightly as he waited for my next command.
“Kiss me,” I say.
