“Let me go,” she demanded between clenched teeth, wriggling urgently as she tried to get away from him. To her frustration she could barely move and eventually she wore herself out and stopped moving. Her hands were braced on his hard broad chest as she tried to keep her upper body away from his, one of her feet was dangling over the side of the bed and the other was trapped between his legs. She glared down into his face but his eyes were closed and he looked so relaxed that for an implausible moment she actually believed that he might have fallen asleep. His eyelids lazily drifted up when she stopped moving.
“Just relax will you?” He implored wearily.
“I can’t relax like this,” she whispered and he groaned before, with seemingly great effort, he shifted until they were both lying in the middle of the large bed. He was on his back, his sock-clad feet, he had somehow managed to kick off his sneaker in the process, crossed at the ankles, with her stretched out beside him, one hard arm was wrapped around her waist and the other was curled up beneath his head. How he had managed to change their positions without once releasing her remained a mystery to her.
“You’re still not relaxed,” he observed after a few minutes of silence and she lifted her head from where it was resting just beneath his armpit and frowned grumpily up into his face.
“Of course I’m not,” she snapped. “How am I supposed to relax when you’re exactly where I don’t want you to be?”
“You brought this upon yourself,” he shrugged in unconcern.
“How on earth did I do that?”
“By not following the doctor’s orders,” he mumbled, sounding half-asleep. “This is the only way I can be sure that you’ll bloody well stay in bed.”
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” she finally said and he sighed, the sound so long-suffering that Theresa’s hackles rose.
“No. But you are going to sleep with me,” he informed her, his voice filled with grim purpose. “So you might as well relax.” She said nothing, merely remaining tensed up like a coiled spring beside him. The hand he had resting at her waist began sweeping lazily up and down her side, while he brought his other arm around to lay his large hand low on her abdomen, where the baby rested. She tensed even further at his actions but he did nothing more threatening that pet and stroke her gently. Gradually she began to relax, allowing her thoughts to drift slightly.
“Have you thought of names for the baby yet?” He asked after nearly half an hour of increasingly comfortable silence and Theresa was so relaxed by that time that she couldn’t even summon up any outrage at what she considered a forbidden topic.
“Hmmm…” she moaned, inhaling his warm, clean scent with visible pleasure. “I like the names Kieran and Ethan. Liam maybe but I’m leaning toward Alex…” her voice trailed off awkwardly as she realized what she had revealed and hoped that he wouldn’t notice. But this was Sandro and he was sharper than the proverbial tack.
“Alex?” He observed casually. “Alexander?”
Stupid, stupid fool! She berated herself angrily. How could she have revealed that she was leaning towards naming her son after him? He said nothing further on the subject and she relaxed after a few tense minutes.
“What about girl names?” He finally asked. “You haven’t thought of any?” Of course she hadn’t thought of any! She was having a boy. She refused to answer his question.
“I like the name Lily,” he murmured, his voice almost dreamy as he continued to gently stroke the slight mound of her abdomen. “Or Sofia… Lily would have black hair like mine but beautiful green eyes like yours… but I think a Sofia should have red hair and brown eyes, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her response, merely continued on in that same dreamy voice. “Lily would be a sweet child… but Sofia… she’s temperamental. She likes to throw things…”
“Stop it,” she finally hissed angrily. “There will be no Lily or Sofia! There will be a Liam or an Ethan, maybe a Kieran or an Alex… and he will have red hair and green eyes. He will be a sweet and lovable child.” He didn’t comment, merely kept up the soothing, non-threatening movements of his large, strong hands. A while afterwards, the lazy stroking slowed down, before stopping completely and his hands became heavy on her body, his large frame slumping heavily against hers. A soft snore confirmed that he had fallen asleep and Theresa sighed quietly before allowing herself to drift off as well.
The natural light in the room had a warm orange glow to it when she woke up later and she realized it was just after dusk, meaning that she had slept for nearly five hours. She sighed lazily, feeling remarkably warm and comfortable with her head cushioned on Sandro’s warm, hard chest, her neck supported by his upper arm, which was curled around her shoulders; his big hand snuggled just under her right breast. One of her hands was tucked under her cheek and the other was… she tensed abruptly when she realized where her audacious hand had come to rest. It was cupped over the firm bulge of his crotch, a bulge that was rapidly swelling and hardening beneath her palm.
“Don’t panic….” Sandro’s sleep-roughened voice growled the deep tenor of his voice rumbling through the chest beneath her head. “Don’t… it’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t feel like nothing to me,” her own voice was husky with sleep and she amazed herself when, instead of following her first instinct and snatching her hand away from his crotch, she gently and almost tentatively, curled her hand around the thickening shaft of flesh.