Page 63

DEAN

Three Years Later

“That’s the last one,” I tell Rawley as I lower a cardboard box to the floor.

“Thanks, Dean,” he says, offering me a beer from the avocado colored fridge. I can’t help but eye him.

“How might a 20 year old be buying beer?” I ask, popping the top off the side of the counter, taking a swig. Clara June appears in the doorway, a box in her arms.

“Here, son, this was in my car. This is the official last one.”

I rush to take it, and help Clara June to the small couch in the very small living room.

She sinks into the cushions with a sigh that could only come from a person who is growing another person inside themselves.

Jo Jo comes up the stairs, holding two-year-old Marion in her arms, as she tugs on Jo Jo’s long hair.

I take my daughter from Jo Jo. “Hey baby girl. Did you help your brother move? Did you?”

Rawley takes her from me. “I’m gonna show her the place.”

I look down the hall. “See you in thirty seconds.”

Rawley rolls his eyes. “Ha ha.”

Jo Jo holds out her hand, studying her gold engagement band with a hard earned stone in the center. “How good does this look?”

Clara June tips her head onto Jo Jo’s shoulder. “It looks beautiful Jo Jo. I’m so happy for you guys, even if it means I have to drive to Oakcreek to see you.”

Rawley killed the apprenticeship at Wrench Kings, and immediately got hired at the Oakcreek location. He commuted for three years, until Jo Jo graduated this summer, then they moved up here, in a small apartment over a deli, one Atticus recommended, to start their life.

Just then, my phone rings and I dig it out, to see Tanner is FaceTiming me.

“Deano!!” he shouts, a ton of football players in the background, decked out in gear.

“Tanner!” I wave at the screen, then flip it around and let his family wave at him.

He calls to say hi to us before every scrimmage.

He says it’s good luck, since he hasn’t been injured since sophomore year.

It’s his first year in college—on a full ride, no less—and we’re so happy to see him doing what he loves.

After Tanner spends five whole minutes baby talking Marion, we end the call, and say goodbye to Rawley and Jo Jo.

Marion falls asleep the moment we hit the road for Bluebell, but when we arrived at Hudson and Dolly’s to pick up Archie, she wakes right up, happy to see her brother.

“Mary Berry Fe Fi Fo Fairy Mary,” Archie says, kissing her cheek as he buckles up in the backseat.

“Arrrr,” she quips back, attempting Archie, but sounding more like an adorable baby pirate than anything.

After waving goodbye to the Gray family, we pull out onto the road, headed home. “I wish Rawl and Jo would consider having their ceremony out here,” Clara June says, one hand rubbing her very pregnant belly, the other tapping the glass, pointing to where the farmer’s market is held.

We were only engaged a few months before we had a friends and family ceremony on Gray Farms. I had my folks, Jake and his family, Hudson and his family, Leah, West, and a few others.

Clara June had Jackie, and we both had our boys.

It was perfect, and she’s right, it would be a great place for Rawley and Jo Jo, too.

“Maybe if we offer to pay for it, they’ll have it there,” I tell her, reaching across the cab to drape my hand over her thigh.

“Dean,” she says softly.

I rub my hand up and down her soft skin, even though I know it’s probably getting her worked up.

Turns out, pregnant Clara June is absolutely insatiable.

“The way I see it, we either pay for the wedding or a down payment on the house.” I flick the blinker on to our little street.

“We gotta get them off on the right foot. Life is hard enough. ”

Clara June just smiles at me.

Inside, Clara June nurses Marion before she puts her down for a nap, and Archie goes next door to Mrs Salinger’s. Turns out, after that run in two years ago when the boys went over there during Troy’s fit, Archie and Miss Salinger discovered they have things in common.

For one, Miss Salinger loves cans of ginger ale.

And Archie loves crushing cans. She hates picking peaches, but she loves baking pie, whereas Archie loves picking peaches and eating pie.

The list goes on, but every Saturday afternoon, he goes over there for an hour or two, helps out, and comes home with ten dollars.

He’s saving, he says, for an electric scooter. That electric scooter has been in the box under my side of the bed for the last two months.

After unlocking the back door so he can let himself inside when he’s ready to come back, I head down the hall into our room, finding my pregnant, beautiful wife sprawled across the bed on her back.

“Man, I used to think my feet killed me after a double but my feet are killing me today and all I’ve done is sit.” She lifts one leg, wiggling her little toes as she stares at her only slightly swollen foot.

I sit on the bed and drag her foot into my lap, kneading her discomfort away. Clara June stopped working at Goode’s shortly after we married, and she’s been pregnant or postpartum since. Whatever she wants to do when we’re done having babies, if it’s stay home or open her own damn diner, I support.

Right now, though, I’m going to give my pregnant wife her absolute favorite thing.

“Alright, mama, Marion’s asleep. Arch is next door.”

She lifts her head from the mattress, her waves almost curly when she’s pregnant. Her eyes are wide, and go dark in a scary amount of seconds. “Take it out.”

Clara June and I spent the first few months of our relationship figuring out how to have the best sex we could, what with my forearm cock and her tiny frame. Missionary was solved, but we wanted to see what else we could do.

But we were so focused on that, we didn’t focus on much else. During the last months of her pregnancies, she feels too uncomfortable for penetration, but she salivates for oral.

Not receiving but giving.

She craves me, she says.

When I take out my cock, her mouth fills with saliva.

She can’t take it all, but watching her try is my favorite movie.

Clara June sits on the edge of the bed and I come to the side, her mouth aligning perfectly with my groin. No, life isn’t just that magical for us. We boosted the bed with a bigger frame a year ago specifically to make this happen.

I keep my hands behind my back, and watch my beautiful wife reverse roles on me and give me pleasure first. It doesn’t happen often. I still make her come two or three times before I take my own, but when she’s carrying our baby, mama gets what mama really wants.

She tugs on me, lapping at the tip, treating me like the most delicious ice cream cone she’s ever had. Saliva runs down her chin as she traces my crown with the tip of her tongue, sending a ripple of heat up my spine.

“Clara June,” I rasp, because I can’t help but say her name when she sucks me.

She reaches for my balls, balancing their large size in her palm before giving them a few tugs. She rolls them in her hand as she pumps my shaft, suckling and laving the head of my cock with her tongue, her eyes on me .

She spreads her legs, and tugs up her dress, letting me see her white panties. She shoves a hand beneath them, teasing me with her pussy as she rubs herself.

It doesn’t take long for her to make herself come, and feeling her mouth seize up around my cock as she moans and her legs snap together, it sets me over the edge. It always does.

“Clara June,” I say again, using my warning tone. She peers up at me with flushed cheeks, left behind from her orgasm, and jumps up, partially bending over the bed.

I lift her dress, exposing two smooth globes.

She peers at me over her shoulder. “Yes, Coach,” she urges.

I tug my cock just as the first shot ribbons over her ass and back. “Oh god,” I moan, loving the sight of my cum sprayed all over her, loving more so that it turns her on so much—pregnant or otherwise.

Clara June moans. “I will never not love that. It feels so good having you all over my skin.”

“Shit, babe, I’ll never not love hearing that.” I grab a towel off the rack and start swiping at the mess I made. She moans as I swipe, and I tease her that if she keeps it up, I’ll force her to finger herself, and come again.

But the baby monitor sounds with Marion’s sleepless cry, and the back door clunks shut.

“Baby’s awake,” Clara June sighs.

“Arch is home early,” I note.

And then we go our separate ways, taking care of our kids.

The following morning, Clara June gives birth to our second daughter.