Then my dirty little girl reached down between us and got her fingers nice and wet before reaching around my hip to let her fingers skate down my back crevice and between my cheeks until one little devious finger pressed against my asshole.
“Oh my fucking God, Winnie,” I said as she wrapped her legs around my hips, somehow pulling me even deeper as her finger penetrated me.
With that, I erupted inside of her, my gaze bouncing from her hooded eyes to where our bodies were joined as I continued to slowly pump in and out. She clenched around me, milking ejaculate until it leaked out of her pussy.
Still inside of her, I pulled her up into my lap. “I love you, Winnie Baker. I love the pizza-hungry monster inside of you. I love us.”
“Oh, Kallum,” she said as draped her arms around my neck. “I love you too.”
My eyes blurred with tears, and my heart brimmed with gratitude and joy and a little bit of fear too, because this was too good and I couldn’t picture a version of myself without Winnie. It terrified me, but in the most thrilling way.
We spent an hour, or maybe two, in the tiny shower of her hotel room just touching each other and cleaning one another until I was hard again, and we fucked quietly and slowly like someone was on the other side of the bathroom door. I wondered briefly how often we would fuck like this once our baby wasn’t a baby anymore. Quiet, needy sex in stolen moments. The thought made me nostalgic for a time I didn’t even know yet.
Once we got out of the shower, Winnie draped towels all over the bed.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You ready for an especially messy round three?”
“No, no... I mean, talk to me in the morning, but this is so we can lay naked in bed while we dry off.”
“Is this an everyday shower ritual thing?” I asked.
She laid on her side and patted the space beside her. “Oh yeah. Sleepy post-shower naked time is a Winnie Baker special.”
“I can get behind that,” I said as I leaned back on the pillow and pulled her into my side. “I wasn’t kidding about the skeleton postcards,” I said again.
“Ultrasounds,” she reminded me. “And I know.”
“Can we call my parents in the morning?”
She tilted her head up to me. “I think that would be okay.”
“What about Steph? We should ask her about making an announcement.”
“We should.” She breathed a heavy sigh against my chest. “At some point.”
“What’s the deal, Winnie?” I asked, refusing to ignore her hesitation. “You’re being shy. What’s there to hide? We’re two grown adults.”
She nodded. “I know. I know that. Logically, that makes perfect sense.” She sat up and scooted up the bed a little so I could wrap an arm around her hips.
“Then what is it?”
“I know purity culture is trash,” she said after a minute. “But there’s still something inside of me that feels hesitant about making some big splashy announcement that I got pregnant out of wedlock.”
“We can talk about marriage, Winnie. That doesn’t scare me.”
She looked down at me with a grateful smile. “I know that, Kallum. At least, I do now. And maybe we can talk about that at some point, but there are so many little things to figure out. You live in Kansas, first off. That’s where your family and business is. I live in Addison’s pool house for goodness sake. And those are big things, yeah. But we haven’t even talked about what kind of parents we want to be.”
I was ready to be everything Winnie needed me to be, but I couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable weight settling on my chest as reality came into focus. “We take it one step at a time,” I said. “You would love Kansas and California could probably use some Slice, Slice, Baby.”
She nodded, but didn’t look at me directly. “And what about religion?” she asked. “I don’t think I could go back to church anytime soon, but I still feel a personal connection to God. I think I want my child to experience that too.”
“I don’t believe in Sky Daddy,” I said. “But for me, being Jewish has always meant tradition, and family, and this—I don’t know—connection with grandparents who died before I could know them and even the generations of Liebermans who came before me.”
“I think that’s beautiful,” Winnie said. Her voice was soft as a tear rolled down her cheek.
I reached up to wipe it away. “So why can’t our child experience both? Maybe they’ll want both or neither or something completely different. My sister’s oldest became a Satanist for a month last year.”
Winnie laughed. “You know they don’t actually believe in Satan.”
