Lowering her gently, I turn on the shower to get the hot water going. She stands before me with a pout on her face. Instead, I bend down and unlace her sneakers. Next, I concentrate on removing her sweatpants as she places her hands on my shoulders. She’s wearing a pair of high-waist briefs the hospital gave her, not one of her sexy thongs. I would normally tease her about her new granny panties, but I’m terrified. What if she’s still bleeding? I gather my courage and start pulling them over her hips. Her breathing increases as the pad that was wedged up against her comes into view. There’s a bright red stain on it, but it’s moderate, nothing heavy. The flow has eased since this morning.

“Eric, I think I need to sit down,” Ivy says, grasping her head. “I feel a little dizzy.”

I shift my weight, putting one arm around her waist to hold her steady. I back her up slowly, placing her onto the toilet. I step away to give her some space while sliding the briefs over her ankles. There are goose bumps covering her legs. The sooner I get her in the shower, the better.

“I have to pee,” she says weakly. “Do you mind waiting outside the door?”

This is one of her little quirks. No matter how intimate we’ve become, she doesn’t like me in the bathroom with her when she has to go—and vice versa. One time I nonchalantly came in to urinate while she was brushing her teeth at the sink and I thought she was going to castrate me on the spot. It’s one of her pet peeves, but now I’m not so sure I should give in to her.

“What if you pass out and hit your head?” I ask, not wanting to leave her side.

“Eric, please. I’m begging you. I can’t hold it anymore,” she whimpers, pushing me away.

Dr. P. said her hormones might be out of whack, especially with that new prescription he put her on. One minute she’s horny, the next she’s crying. Talk about being on an emotional roller coaster. Nothing’s more erratic than the mood swings of a pregnant woman.

I get up without further argument and stand just inside the bedroom. I can just about hear her steady stream over the noise of the shower.

“Close the door!” she yells, mortified.

“Then how I am I going to know when you’re done?” I question her.

“I’ll tell you!” she shouts back.

I know better than to argue with her extreme modesty when it comes to her bathroom habits. There’s no changing her now. She is the way she is. I’ve never really lived with a girl before. I don’t know if they’re all like that or if it’s just her. All I know is that guys could care less who they pee in front of.

A few seconds later, I hear the toilet flush, but I wait for her signal.

“I’m done,” she calls out, so I slip back in. She’s already trying to remove her sweatshirt and I help her pull her arms through. She’s now completely naked as she stands in front of me, self-consciously crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“You don’t have to cover yourself,” I reassure her. “It’s just me.”

“I know, but I feel like some kind of invalid now,” she mutters.

“Hey,” I reply, lifting up her chin to meet my gaze. “You are beautiful.” I kiss her lips softly then bend down to kiss her belly. She runs her fingers through my hair, playing with the ends. I sit back on my knees and look up at her. “Beautiful,” I whisper again.

I see tears glistening in her eyes as I grip her waist and run my thumbs over her thighs. Steam is filling the room as the running water continues to pound against the tub. I better get her in there before the hot water runs out.

I stand up, kicking off my shoes. Quickly, I uncinch my belt and lower my fly. Stepping out of my jeans, I fumble with my socks before yanking my shirt over my head. My face is on fire, knowing she’s watching my every move. I pull back the shower curtain and offer her my hand.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she sniffles.

“My boxers are staying on,” I inform her. “As an insurance policy.”

“Well, don’t think they can’t come off,” she says, smiling at me begrudgingly before stepping under the spray.

I follow her in, making sure to keep an arm around her waist for support. I guide her beneath the faucet, smoothing her hair back with my hand. I reach for her shampoo, working up a good lather. The citrus fragrance is so intoxicating, and it’s the scent I most associate with Ivy. I massage her scalp with her fingers, trying hard to ignore my throbbing dick as she moans with pleasure.

“That feels so good,” she murmurs, grasping my hips.

My hands seem so large against her head as she shimmies against me. I back up a little and start rinsing the suds away. I can’t let her get too close, no matter how much I want her. She’s off limits until April.

What if we never have sex again? I try to shut my mind off, but I’m assaulted with a barrage of questions. What if the placenta detaches? What if she dies before giving birth? What if I never know what it’s like to come inside of her again? What if she never experiences an orgasm for the rest of her life?

I can see why she’s so willing to take such a risk now. This could very well be it. This is as intimate as we’re going to get. I can’t put my hands on her. I can’t put my mouth on her. I can’t be inside of her. Bottom line, I can’t take her anywhere close to fulfillment. Nothing that could—how did Dr. P. phrase it? Traumatize the uterus?

Nothing about this is fair. Not for me, and especially not for her. I feel like a jerk now, thinking that I might have somehow prevented this. We were having sex a lot during her first trimester, probably more than we should have. I didn’t stop and think about the potential danger to the fetus. I didn’t think I could possibly be hurting Ivy by making love to her while she was pregnant.

She must be getting tired because she leans into me, placing her head underneath my chin. I stroke the side of her face as the water pelts her back. Her skin feels so silky soft under the shower, like dew on a rose petal. I kiss the top of her head before picking up her loofah. Squirting some body wash onto it, I start rubbing it along the length of her arm. Slowly drawing her away from me, I position her in the middle of the tub and get to work.

I run the loofah under her arms, over her shoulders, and across her breasts, taking care not to linger too long in one particular area. My thumb dips into her clavicle as she elongates her neck for me. I continue a trail down her stomach, leaving her bellybutton filled with suds. I bend down, cleansing each leg from thigh to ankle. She holds on to my shoulders as I pick up each foot, running the loofah between her toes. She relaxes as I glide it up her back and between her shoulder blades.

I swirl my thumbs against her hips, preparing her for what I have to do next. It’s time for the most sensitive area. I place my hand on her inner thigh, spreading her legs apart. She groans slightly but doesn’t resist. The nurse did a pretty good job cleaning her up down there, but I’m going to take my time until she’s immaculate. Roughing the loofah up against my palm, I create a mountain of soapy foam. Kneeling before her, I start with her thighs and work inward. The water flowing off her body starts to turn pink, but Dr. P. said that’s normal.

I look up at Ivy and her eyes are closed.

“Are you okay?” I ask, blinking as droplets from my hair roll down my face.

“Uh-huh,” she hums, not opening her lips.

“Ivy, tell me what’s wrong,” I urge, halting my progress until she answers me.

“Nothing, Eric,” she responds, finally opening her eyes. “I just never thought…” She pauses to collect herself, taking a shuddering breath. “That a man could be so good to me.”

I feel myself choking up as she looks at me so tenderly. Doesn’t she know she means the world to me? I would do anything for her—anything.

“I love you, Ivy,” I say simply. My voice sounds rough because I never said those words to her with so much emotion before.

“I know,” she sighs, causing her belly bump to rise and fall. “I hear it in every word. I feel it in every touch. I see it in every look. How did I get so lucky?”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” I admit, standing up to nuzzle her nose. I glide my lips across hers, kissing her softly.

“I love you, Eric,” she utters, and I know it’s coming from the depths of her soul.

I fold her in my arms, holding her close. Even while she’s pregnant, my callused hands are still able to span her waist. Reaching behind her, I turn the water off and pull back the curtain. Shaking out the last folded towel on the shelf, I wrap her in it, letting myself drip dry.

I plug in her blow dryer and quickly get to work on her hair. She can’t go to bed with a wet head. I sit her next to the sink, and we don’t say a word for the next ten minutes or so. We just look at each other, and it’s enough.

I wipe away the condensation on the mirror when I’m done and she laughs when she sees how frizzy her hair is. She normally styles it so that it’s straight and sleek, but I kind of like it wild and untamed. It looks good on her—natural.

She can barely keep her eyes open as I carry her into the bedroom. I dig through the bottom drawer for her flannel nightgown. She starts to protest when she sees it.

“Ivy, you’re not going to sleep wearing just my shirt. It’s too cold for that now. You need to stay warm,” I tell her, patting her dry with the ends of the towel.

“But I want something of yours. Not this old thing.” She tosses it back at me. “I want something that smells like you.”

“You’re nuts,” I tease her, although my cheeks redden at her request. Something about it is incredibly erotic. I unzip my suitcase and root through it. “How about this long-sleeved t-shirt and my pajama pants?”

“Perfect.” She smiles at me, the towel draped haphazardly around her.

“Hold on. I’ll be right back.” I wink at her before ducking into the bathroom to retrieve one of her pads from the counter under the sink. I make one last stop at her lingerie drawer for a sensible pair of underwear.

She glances at me shyly as I remove the towel from her body and hold out the arms of my shirt, guiding one arm through and then the other before sliding it over her head. I make a valiant effort not to stare at her breasts while I’m dressing her, but her nipples stand out against the fabric as I pull the shirt down over them.

“It’s okay,” she says, rubbing my arm sympathetically. “This isn’t going to be easy. From now on, I’ll stop making it so hard for you. I’ll cooperate. I’ll behave.”

“You will?”

“You’re so good to me,” she whispers. “I don’t deserve it.”

She stands up and I help her step into her underwear. I start opening the pad, but she pulls it out of my hands, shaking her head. She takes care of it as I hold up the pants for her to get into. Smoothing the sheets as best I can, I help her get under the covers.

She stares up at me. “Don’t be long.”

“I won’t,” I respond, caressing her cheek. She tangles her fingers in my hair, pulling me down until my lips are on hers. We kiss softly for several minutes before I finally come up for air. “I thought you were going to be good,” I chuckle.

“That is being good,” she smiles, running her thumb across my lips. “Besides, I think you have another fire to light. But first I think you should change out of those wet boxers…and let me watch.”

I playfully pinch the tip of her nose as she squeals, but I’ll willingly comply with that demand. Moving away from the bed, I turn my back as I strip them from my body. She’s not heckling me to turn around, and I’m surprised. I peek over my shoulder, and find that her eyes are already closed.

I smile wearily as I get dressed before rubbing my hair with her discarded towel. She’s exhausted. She needs to rest. But I can’t help feeling let down. It’s like she left me suddenly, even though she’s right here.

And it terrifies me to picture a world without her in it.

Chapter Eighteen

Will

“Mind if I borrow Ben for a minute?” I ask Frank out of politeness, but I really don’t care what he says. “I have an errand I need him to help me with.”

“Sure, go ahead. It’s been pretty slow this afternoon,” Frank says, lifting his eyes from the copy of the Gazette he was reading. “Just don’t tell my son,” he chuckles, and I play along like it’s some kind of inside joke between the two of us.

“Where is Eric anyway?” I ask, glancing around. “I haven’t seen him today.”