Futures and Frosting (Chocolate Lovers #2)(62)

“Yeah, it shocked me too,” I say, turning my head on the pillow so I can see his face. “I should have just talked to you. Obviously I suck at the whole communication thing. I’m much better at suffering in silence.”

Carter scoots closer and moves his hand out from under mine, sliding it up the front of my body until it rests on my cheek.

“I think we both have a long ways to go in the communication department. We’ll get there though,” he assures me.

“Did I tell you that when all this doubt crept into my mind I told Liz about it and she suggested that I give you a prostate massage?”

“Oh my God, stop. Don’t say any more. Jim actually told me about the night she did that to him and it was horrifying. Please don’t say any more,” he warns.

“I don’t know, you might like it,” I tease.

“Hey, I don’t even let anybody wag their finger in my FACE,” Carter says in a Brooklyn accent.

“Seriously? A Sopranos quote now?”

“Um, yes. There is a Sopranos quote for every occasion. Hence, the reason for its awesomeness. Respect The Sopranos,” Carter tells me seriously.

I roll over onto my side toward him and slide my leg up and over Carter’s hip, running my fingers through his hair.

“I think we should celebrate this momentous occasion by me sticking my penis in you,” he says with a smile.

“You’re lucky you gave me jewelry today or I might have punched you for that.”

Carter pulls me closer and brings his lips to mine. Just like always, his kisses make me forget about everything. The softness of his lips and the smooth glide of his tongue against mine remind me of just how long it has been since we've had sex. With our crazy schedules and my attitude problem, it's been a while and I am more than starved for him. His arms wrap around me and his hands slide down to my ass, cupping it and pulling me in against his hardness. I shift my hips against him and let out a groan.

“Wait, hold on. Shit,” he mutters, breaking off the kiss.

I pull my head back and shoot him a questioning look.’

“What? What’s wrong?”

Is his penis broken? Oh dear God please don’t let it be broken. I NEED IT TO LIVE.

“I have to pee. Hold that thought,” he says, pulling out of my arms and scrambling off of the bed.

I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. A few minutes later I still hadn’t heard the toilet flush.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” I yell.

“SHHHHHHH! NO TALKING!” he yells back.

What the f*ck?

“What do you mean no talking? What the hell is going on?”

I hear a few expletives coming from the bathroom, and I raise myself up on my elbows so I can look at the closed bathroom door.

“I can’t pee!” he finally yells back.

“What do you mean you can’t pee?”

Holy shit, it really IS broken. I knew I should have used it more these past few months. Son of a bitch! It broke from non-use.

“Seriously, you need to stop talking. You’re making it worse.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How am I making it worse?” I argue.

The door to the bathroom finally opens and he stands there with his hands on his hips and a tent in the front of his boxers.

“Because, your voice turns me on and I can’t get rid of my f*cking boner! I would never say this to you under normal circumstances but this is an emergency. So shut the hell up for a minute so I can pee!”

With that he goes back in the bathroom and slams the door closed behind him.

Well, at least it still works.

~

“Oh it was awesome once we got past Carter’s freak out,” I tell Liz the next day on the phone. “He was convinced the baby could see his penis and would either get jealous or have nightmares for the rest of its life about a penis monster trying to eat its face. Then he wanted to try and find a condom because he though his sperm might drown the baby. I actually had to bring my laptop into bed and show him that his penis would need to be two feet long for it to get anywhere near the baby.”

Carter is working the day shift today and I'm spending the late afternoon taking down wallpaper in the room that will eventually be the nursery. I’d been at it for a few hours and was exhausted. I had taken a break to call Liz and report to her about how the rest of our evening went. Since she had constantly berated me the last few months about how often we WEREN’T having sex, I felt she deserved an update. After a few minutes we end the call and I decide to take a trip up to the local corner store to get one of my current pregnancy cravings: a black cherry slush. So far I’ve had one every single day since the day I found out. They are delicious and refreshing and the only place that sells the black cherry ones is the place right around the corner from our house.

I pack Gavin in the car and head down the street. Once inside the store, I make a beeline for the slush machine in the back, dragging Gavin along with me. I get to the machine and stopped in my tracks, staring at the sign that's taped to the front.

“Out of order? What do you mean, out of order?” I say out loud.

“It means it don’t work,” Gavin says.

“I know that’s what it means. But it’s a slush machine. It turns water into ice and you add cherry syrup to it. How hard can it be for a machine to do that?”