New Life - 4

Chapter 4:

Michael and I usually wake up to the alarm, slowly open our eyes, cuddle with each other, kissing, and whispering “good morning” and “I love you” every day, sometimes ending in some of the best morning sex, but this morning, with only a week left of work for me, I wake up with the overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom. I reluctantly cut our ritual short and move to get up to take care of my problem, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, I know I’m going to throw up, and taking care of that suddenly becomes more important than peeing.

Michael’s right behind me by the time I reach the toilet, and holds my hair and rubs my back, both of us knowing that this was bound to happen. I can hardly stand when I feel like there’s nothing left in my stomach to come out, and he has to help me. I feel so weak, and discouraged considering I used to be one of the best and strongest female agents in the CIA—a position I can no longer claim by the end of the week, when my life as a housewife begins.

It’s not until about ten o’clock that morning that I finally feel normal again, and even several agents comment on how green I look, and give me advice. News of my pregnancy has gotten around the office during the last week, and everybody suddenly thinks they’re an expert.

Michael follows me to the bathroom every morning, and stays at my side while I’m busy being sick, and I finally tell him that it’s pointless to make him go through it too, considering it’ll probably my morning activity for the next three months. But he’s stubborn and casually tells me that it makes him feel like he’s more involved in the pregnancy. Just when I think I can’t love him any more…

On Wednesday, I’m walking down a corridor with a file in my hand, my mind completely on work, when I’m suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled into a supply closet. My “attacker” quickly closes the door, and begins to kiss me thoroughly. “Michael,” I laugh against his lips, dropping the forgotten file onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking advantage of having you around here for me to do this.” He runs his hand up my shirt and cups my breast, guiding me to lean against the door, as his lips assault my neck.

I push his shoulders slightly until he’s looking at me, and I tell him, “Michael. We’re married, and we spend every night together, and I’m having your baby. You’re going to be seeing a lot of me.”

He tilts his head. “I know. It’s just that I’m used to seeing you around here, watching you walk across the room, or working at your desk. Now I’m going to have to get used to not seeing you all day, working nine to five without you, and then driving home alone.”

“But I’ll be there to greet you. And that can be fun,” I encourage, leaning my lips close to his.

He rewards me with a kiss and a slight moan, and I can tell he’s thinking about the possibilities.

I look around the small room stacked with office supplies and file cabinets as he kisses my neck. “You know, we’ve never made love in a closet at work before.”

He pulls back in surprise, just like I was hoping for, and looks at me. “Syd, we can’t—“

“What are they gonna do? Fire me?” I say with a raised eyebrow, simultaneously lifting my skirt, so I can pull down my underwear.

His hands still mine as we share a smile, and he finishes the job for me, squatting down to allow me to step out of them, and then shoves them in his pocket. I’m still holding my skirt up with one hand and reach out with the other to cup his cheek and bring his face closer to kiss me. His hand slides up my thigh and he grabs my butt, and I let go of my skirt and immediately go to work on his belt buckle to undo his pants, dropping them to the floor.

His erection is prominent through his thin, cotton boxers, and while we continue to kiss and Michael’s hand travels between my breasts under my shirt, I slide my hands down both of his hips, under the waistband of his shorts, and slowly push them down until they fall of their own accord.

He runs his hands back down to my thighs, preparing to lift me, and I don’t hesitate lifting first one leg and then another. I want him now, and I know he reads my mind when he slips inside me, and we both moan quietly, keeping in mind that there are probably people walking by on the other side of the door. When he starts his round of thrusts, pushing me into the door, I’m thankful that it’s solid and doesn’t move at all.

As the waves of lust flow through me with each thrust, I hang on to him and can’t help but look around and almost laugh at how many times I’ve fantasized moments just like these, especially before we admitted how we felt about each other, and got together the first time. But each time he presently pushes me into the door, I can feel my body getting a little closer to my peak, and my mind getting a little bit foggier, until I’m having no other thought except the one word that’s screaming through my brain: now! But my voice is lost in my throat and I’m thankful when he stops mid-thrust and spills into me, and we fall against each other to regulate our breathing.

I take a few moments to clear my mind, and then I feel a little teasing is necessary, considering where we are. “Michael?” I say to get his attention, and he looks up at me when he’s regained his composure. “I want this to be the last time you ever have sex at work, understand?”

Considering I won’t be there, I know that’s not a difficult thing for him to agree with. “I won’t. I’ll definitely need to save my strength for when I see you every night.”


Friday afternoon, my last day of working for the CIA, I’m walking through the ops center and notice a small crowd of people around my desk, including my husband, my parents, Weiss, Will, Marshall, and even Dixon, who’d transferred to another department shortly after my wedding. They’re all watching me as I approach, but I greet Dixon with a hug before I ask what’s going on.

They all smile and step back to reveal a cake sitting on the desk, that says, “Congratulations and Good Luck” written in pink and baby blue icing. “You guys,” I whine, feeling tears stinging my eyes. These are the people that have been such a big part of my life for so long, that I can hardly believe I won’t be seeing them on a daily basis anymore. Weiss opens a celebratory two-liter bottle of ginger ale, and pours everyone a drink into Styrofoam cups, passing them around.

I try to make it through our mini-party without crying, but I fail miserably, and everyone around me blames it on the hormones, which only makes me laugh. Weiss quietly comments, “Mood swings,” to Will and I slap his arm, making him shrug and whisper another comment, “See?”

I’m an emotional wreck as Michael drives us home, with my small box of personal items packed from my desk sitting in my lap, and tears in my eyes. I’d given up my security clearance, and signed more non-disclosure agreements before I left, and I can’t believe my life as a spy is finally over, and my life as a mother is just beginning.

As a combined gift from all the party attendees, I received a fetal monitor—a nifty little gadget with headphones that would allow us to hear the baby’s heartbeat and movement. After dinner, Michael and I decide to try it out while we sit in bed, but we’re disappointed when it seems that the baby’s still too small yet and we don’t hear anything.

The first Monday that I don’t have work is the hardest for me. After cleaning the house twice, and trying to catch up on and figure out old soap-operas I used to watch, I’m bored. I think about calling Michael, but I feel like I need to make it through the first day without support. He does call me once, and I casually say I’m doing fine, and ask him domestically what he’d like for dinner.

“Just you,” he coos into the phone, and I’m really hating being separated from him right now. He must’ve heard my sigh, because he says, “I’m sure anything you want to make will be great, honey. I love you,” he says making me appreciate him that much more.

“I love you too. Will you be home soon after work?”

“As soon as I can.”

I hang up the phone, and decide to make the beef stew I’d thought of earlier that day. Fortunately, during our years as roommates, Francie had taught me a thing or two about cooking, so I could pretty much handle the basics. Thinking about her is hard even now, over three years after her death. But as I start to brown the meat, I force myself to remember all the time I had her as my best friend and confidant. It’s then I realize how much she would have loved to know I’m having a baby. I can practically hear her squeals of delight in my head. I continue to think about how she would react while I cook, until I realize I’m crying. This is so unlike me, because I’m usually so tough and can compartmentalize anything, and I assume it must have something to do with the hormones waging a war in my body.

As soon as I have the meat simmering, I go and get the pregnancy book and settle down on my bed to see if it says anything about how to stop bursting into tears all the time. With each page, though, I’m getting more interested, and soon I’ve forgotten all about crying. I settle back against the headboard, and get comfortable, and before I know it, I’ve drifted off to sleep.

I wake up about a half an hour later to the sound of the doorbell, and force my heavy eyelids open, and stumble to the door to answer. It’s a delivery person with a gorgeous bouquet of an assortment of flowers, and as soon as the door’s closed, I open the card curiously. It reads, “I have an instinct…You’ll be a great mom. All my love, Michael.”

I feel my heart swell with love for the man I’ve pledged my life to when he does little things like this, especially reminding me of the first day we met, and how quickly we changed each other’s lives. I feel compelled to call him to thank him, but I know that he’ll be home in a little over an hour and I can properly thank him then.

By the time I hear his car pull into the driveway, I’ve gotten dinner done, and it’s keeping warm on the low burner on the stove. I’m practically antsy with anticipation as I see him coming up the walk, and when I hear him starting to unlock and open the door, I yank it open and pull him inside by his tie, slamming the door behind him. Before he can utter a word, my lips are firmly pressed against his, and he drops his briefcase to the floor to wrap his arms around me in response. “I missed you,” I whisper between kisses.

“Me too.”

I slip his jacket off and drop it to the floor. “I got the flowers.” More kissing. His tie is loosened and I pull it off too. “I loved them.” I start on the buttons on his shirt.

“I’m glad,” he pulls my shirt over my head as we stumble toward the bedroom, and resumes tenderly biting and sucking on my lips.

I get frustrated with his shirt, and after only a few of the top buttons are undone, I decide to lift it off instead. It’s a little awkward, and we both laugh for a brief moment, but quickly bring our lips back together as soon as the job’s done. We’re almost to our bedroom door, when I push him into the wall beside it, and undo his belt and pants, and he lifts my tank-top over my head. Once he has my shorts undone and dropped to the floor along with my panties, he starts to lead me into the bedroom, but I’m too impatient, and I guide him to the floor on his back and straddle him.

I’m so wet that when I move to hover over his hard-on, and lower myself onto him, that it just slips right in and we both gasp and yell out loud with the sensation. As I start slowly rocking on him, he reaches up and fondles my breasts, and I lean my hands on his chest while I just feel him inside me. His hands lower to hold my hips, and I venture a peek at his face, and notice the intense look of concentration he has with his eyes closed and his lips pursed. Looking at his lips though only makes me want to kiss him, so I lower my body to lay on him, and capture his lips, and slip my tongue inside his mouth, while I continue to ride him.

After just a moment though, he lifts his knees behind me just slightly, and its just enough that it hits my sweet spot perfectly, and my lips break from his to whimper a cry of delight. I keep going, and I hear him mumble, “Syd, I can’t stop…”

“Do it, baby. I’m there.” Hearing how close he is, I increase the intensity of my rocking, and hear his moans become more guttural until he pushes my hips down and his up, holds us both still, and empties himself in me. My orgasm was with his, but I can’t seem to stay still and I continue to ride him until I come down from it, keeping my lips on his neck.

We’re both out of breath, with me laying on his chest, and his hands on my back, our bodies still joined as one for a couple of minutes, and I glance up to look around and start laughing.

Michael’s eyes follow mine, and that’s when he realizes we’d actually made it into the bedroom, and our bed was only a few feet away. His laughter joins mine, and he says, “Well, at least we made it in here.”

I nod, smiling widely. “Dinner’s ready,” I tell him, with my lips close to his ear, and then we both laugh again. It’s become a private joke between us since our first night together, to associate those two words with sex. Whenever either of us are in the mood, we say that phrase and the other knows immediately exactly what it is we want. This time I push off of the floor to look at him. “It really is this time.” And we both laugh again as I raise an eyebrow playfully. “And we don’t have to reheat it.”

Chapter 5