Baby Come Back Page 6

  “What’s this?”

  “This is my gift to you this evening, Tristan. I am giving you a full body massage, with a soothing ointment that is guaranteed to blow your mind.”

  “Well, I like the ‘blow’ part,” he teased.

  “We’ll save that for later. Come on; let’s start with your back since we know where this will end up later.”

  Tristan obliged by dropping his towel and stretching out on the bed on his stomach. He crossed his arms in front of him, resting his head on them. I straddled him and started at his shoulders. I poured a little bit of oil on his upper back and started with firm, circular motions on each of his shoulders. He immediately relaxed, moaning in pleasure as I worked my way southward.

  I continued the massaging between his shoulder blades, then his lower back, scooting myself back so that I could make my way to his nice, tight ass. I lifted myself from him and knelt at his side so that my view could be unobstructed when inspecting his butt. He was fairly relaxed almost dozing by this time.

  I moved my massaging to his buttocks now. I was glad that I had tucked the small flashlight under the quilt. The dim lighting was not revealing anything obvious at this point. I had kind of figured that since I had seen Tristan’s naked tush hundreds of times and couldn’t recall a birthmark, it was not going to be real obvious. I was so hoping it wasn’t there.

  I massaged his left cheek while my right hand dug beneath the quilt, feeling for the pen light. I found it and flipped it on with my right hand. I continued massaging his cheek with one hand while I focused the tiny light on his butt. His left cheek had been thoroughly examined. All clear. No devils’ fork.

  “What happened to both hands, Gina?”

  (Oh shit! He noticed the one hand massage!)

  “You aren’t massaging yourself with your right hand are you?”

  “Ha ha, Tristan. You wish.”

  I stuck the pen light between my teeth and put my right hand back on his ass so he wouldn’t turn over and see what I was doing.

  “Much better,” he sighed, relaxing once again. I continued to rub and knead his cheeks, lowering my face to get the light directed to the right places. His right cheek looked to be free of birth marks as well. I massaged down under the cheek, raising it up with my hands and there it was. Fuck! On the underside of his right cheek was a small, brownish flat birthmark which was indeed shaped like a three-pronged devils’ fork. Shit!

  I hadn’t realized that I had stopped rubbing him to focus on the birthmark until I heard his voice.

  “What the hell are you looking for, Gina? I promise I thoroughly washed my ass in the shower.”

  (Oh shit!)

  I dropped the pen light from my mouth and looked up to where I saw his head turned around watching me. How in the hell was I going to explain this? Anything other than the truth was going to sound like I had obvious issues. If I told him the truth, then it would appear as if I thought he had lied to me.

  “I know that, Tristan,” I laughed, killing time. “I guess I was just curious about whether men ever got cellulite or not.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, eyeing me suspiciously. He debated as to whether or not I was being honest with him. I was certain he couldn’t find any plausible reason that I would be lying about something so ridiculous.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Do I have cellulite on my ass?”

  “Nope, you’re good,” I said, giving him a slap on his butt cheek. “You do have an interesting birthmark under your right cheek though. It’s shaped like a devil’s fork. Did you know that?”

  “That’s news to me,” he replied, shaking his head. “Of course I will have to take your word for it since I’m unable to swivel my head 180 degrees and maneuver it down through my legs in order to verify. I’m sure you and my mother are the only ones privy to that juicy little tidbit.”

  (Well no, not exactly.)

  “If you’re done with my backside, I’m ready to turn over, babe. I kind of like the thought of you being on my front side.”

  I switched off the pen light, tossing it over onto the night stand. I climbed up onto Tristan and we spent the next hour rubbing oil onto each other and riding the slippery slide into our own special fuckfest.

  CHAPTER 10

  Another week passed without talking to Tylar. It was obvious to me that I was going to have to be the one to make the first move. I had no problem extending the olive branch; it just seemed to me that it would be nice if just once if it wasn’t me having to be the one to do it. I didn’t mean just with Tylar; we had never had the occasion before to need one. It seemed like a life-long thing with me. My mother had always said that my quick tempered remarks would cause the need for it. She had been right. Still, I didn’t say anything to her that I hadn’t meant. Tylar was just overly sensitive; or perhaps it had been the way I had delivered the message.

  I dialed up her landline since the cell signals out in the boonies, where they lived, were sometimes problematic. Jean answered the phone. She told me that Tylar was napping. She said she would give her the message that I had called when she woke up. I wondered if Tylar had given Jean instructions to say that if and when I phoned. Now who was being overly sensitive?

  I busied myself around the apartment getting things ready to start dinner. I was making another one of Tristan’s favorites this evening, rigatoni with my famous tomato and mushroom marinara sauce. I couldn’t take credit for the recipe. My mother had given it to me; Mrs. Camerucci had given it to my mother.

  Mrs. Camerucci was my mother’s very best friend. They had gone through grade school and high school together. They had been pregnant at the same time even. Both of them had given birth to sons within a couple of weeks of each other; my brother, Peter had been born first. Mrs. Camerucci had given birth a couple of weeks later to their first child, Nicholas. Of course growing up, I had known him as Nick. He had been my brother, Pete’s best friend. I had been the pesky, tag-along little sister that had bugged the hell out of my brother and his friend, Nick.

  My Blackberry chimed, interrupting my thoughts about Rocky Camerucci which was fine by me. It was Tylar.

  “Hey, girlfriend,” I greeted cheerily, as if nothing was amiss between us. Perhaps we could just let this blow over without having to dwell on it.

  “Jean said that you called while I was napping. I’m returning your call,” she said, her tone was obviously cool.

  “Well, we haven’t talked for several weeks, Tylar. I just wanted to make sure that everything is okay.”

  “Everything here is fine. How are things with you?”

  (She wasn’t going to give an inch I could tell. Whatever . . .)

  “I’m doing okay. I’ve missed talking to you. I’m sorry I snapped at you a few weeks back.”

  “You more than snapped at me, Gina. You were genuinely pissed and said some very hurtful things.”

  “Okay, Ty. You’re right. I was pissed. Sometimes that happens. Look, I don’t want to argue about it. I said I was sorry and I am girlfriend. Can’t we put it behind us?”

  “Of course we can, Gina. I’ve missed you as well, you know.”

  “So,” I continued, “How are things with you? Is Trey still putting in all those hours with that Amber bitch?”

  “I told you I wouldn’t whine anymore about that topic, remember?”

  (You can’t stop whining about her yet, Ty!)

  “Oh Ty, I was just being bitchy about that. Besides, that was before I met her. To be honest, there is something about that bitch that I don’t trust.”

  “Well - she definitely is not my favorite person. She seems to hang on every word Trey says. I understand he is supposed to be mentoring her, but she gives off that ‘come hither’ pheromone that even I can smell.”

  I started laughing at that. Sometimes Tylar came up with some weird shit.

  “Yeah, I get what you mean. She doesn’t seem to care whether the other female notices how obvious she is, either. Where did
you tell me she’s from?”

  “I’m not sure where she was born or raised. I just know that when the rest of the partners were reviewing potential candidates to bring into the firm, she was at the top of their list. Trey mentioned that it was because she had graduated in the top of her class at Stanford University in California. Oh, and she made law review whatever that means.”

  “Impressive, I guess. How old do you think she is?”

  “Trey said that she’s a couple of years older than he is so around thirty-four I would guess. Why?”

  “Oh - no reason. I mean, she mentioned that she had talked to my ex, so she is right around the same age as Ian. Maybe we should try to hook them up, huh?”

  “Yeah. That would certainly kill two birds with one stone, wouldn’t it? Do you know she calls here at all hours for Trey?”

  “Have you asked Trey why she does that?”

  “Well, I’ve bitched about it enough. He says it is case related questions on some big class action suit they’re working on together. He doesn’t seem to mind her constant interruptions . . .”

  (Hmmm. Maybe it is Trey she is after. Ian might have been fucking with me about the conversation he had with Amber at the bar. . . Tylar has already told me how well Trey is hung . . . but the birthmark - that damn birthmark!)

  “Tylar,” I interrupted her as she was now going on about how she hated when Amber would pick Preston up and hold her. “Does Trey have any birthmarks on his ass?”

  (A moment of stunned silence . . .)

  “What? Why in the world would you ask me something like that, Gina?”

  “I’m sorry girlfriend,” I said, laughing, “I was kind of day dreaming about something I discovered on Tristan last week.”

  “Which was?”

  “Well, I was giving him this really thorough body massage; had the whole aromatherapy thing going on, and I noticed that he has this really cute little birthmark on one of his butt cheeks. Looks like a devil’s fork. I just thought you know, he and Trey resemble each other and quite possibly Trey has a similar birthmark on his ass.”

  (Christ that was lame. Tylar is not going to buy this.)

  “I’ve not come across one yet, Gina. I’ll be sure to let you know if I do, though.”

  (Now that was just plain being a smart-ass!)

  We talked for a few minutes more, and then promised we’d get together the following week for lunch.

  I finished my dinner preparations and then took a quick shower and dressed before Tristan got home. At 7:30 I was still waiting for Tristan to get home. I had called his cell but it had gone to voicemail which meant he either had it turned off or was in an area where a signal was difficult to pick up. I was getting more pissed by the moment. I wasn’t about to call the club and come off as some insecure, suspicious girlfriend.

  (Although, that is exactly what I was at the moment.)

  He finally rolled in at almost eight o’clock, acting like nothing was amiss.

  “Hey sweet baby,” he said coming over to give me a kiss. It didn’t take him long to notice my statue-like appearance.

  “You’re mad?”

  “No shit, Tristan. Dinner has been ready for hours. Where in the hell have you been?”

  “I’m sorry, babe. I guess I should have called to let you know I was running late. I just had a few errands to run after I finished my shift. I didn’t think it would take as long as it did. Forgive me, babe?”

  He still hadn’t really told me where he had been. I couldn’t resist him though when he was that close to me and giving me such a sweet, apologetic expression.

  “I already ate,” I grumbled at him. “If you want something to eat, you’ll have to warm it up yourself.”

  “Fair enough, babe.”

  Later on, I was nearly asleep in our bed; Tristan was in the shower, whistling like he often did, when our landline extension in the bedroom rang. I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly eleven o’clock. The caller ID showed that it was a ‘Private Caller.’

  I grabbed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  (Silence on the other end; definitely hear breathing.)

  “Hello?” I repeated. A soft, sexy female voice came across the receiver finally. It was not much louder than a whisper.

  “I’m sorry; I think I must have the wrong number.”

  Click.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tylar and I were in my kitchen making deviled eggs and potato salad for our Memorial Day picnic out at her place. She had driven into town to visit her OB/GYN. She was getting a nice little baby bump going, despite the fact that her doctor had told her she wasn’t gaining enough weight during her pregnancy.

  “I swear to God, Gina, those vitamins and supplements he has me taking make me too nauseous to eat. Besides that, food just doesn’t taste the way it should for me.”

  “Well, is there anything you like that tastes good and is fattening? Ice Cream? Cake or Pie? Twinkies?”

  “Don’t say ‘Twinkie’ to me,” she giggled. “Remember that whole ‘You’re Trey’s ‘Twinkie’ incident back in Bristol with Jenna?”

  “Oh my God, I do! She was a piece of work, wasn’t she?”

  “Back then I certainly thought so. That was before I met Amber, who is the ultimate piece of work.”

  “So what’s going on with Trey and Amber?”

  “Please Gina, don’t put it like that. I mean, I don’t think they’re having an affair for Chrissake.”

  “Sorry, Ty; I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know, sorry. She’s just still underfoot every time I turn around. You know Trey invited her to the picnic tomorrow?”

  (Oh hell no!)

  “Yeah, he claims he felt sorry for her. I guess all of her family lives back in northern California. I suppose Trey feels that since he is her mentor, it is his responsibility we adopt her. She apparently is bringing a date.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  (No doubt a prop in order to throw us bitches off her scent!)

  “Well if nothing else; tomorrow should be interesting, right?”

  “I guess,” she said, with a tired sigh.

  “Hey Ty, are you really alright?”

  “Gina, I am not going to complain about how I feel to you. I promised, remember?”

  (Now I totally felt like a piece of shit. I’d never seen Tylar look so fucking frail. . .)

  “Honey - what does the doctor say?”

  “He says I’m borderline anemic; but when he increases my iron, there are other problems. I just have to deal with it more with diet and exercise except that I’m too freaking tired to exercise.”

  “Well listen, we have the potato salad and deviled eggs done. I’ll do the baked beans in the morning so there is nothing left for you to do, right?”

  “Yeah. Amber offered to bring dessert. I guess we are good to go.”

  “Okay then. Why don’t you go ahead and take off. I’ll finish up here.”

  “Thanks, Gina. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

  I was stretched out on the couch in the living room when Tristan got home. I was freshly showered, shaved and extremely horny for my man. Tristan hadn’t seemed to be bothered by my growing belly; he still found me sexy and was extremely attentive to my needs as I started into my third trimester.

  He got a wicked grin on his face as he saw me on the couch dressed only in a short cut-off tee shirt and thong. I was going to make damn certain I wore his ass out this evening. I wasn’t about to allow him to get a whiff of Amber’s pheromone stench or whatever it was Tylar said she had going.

  “Hey, sweet baby,” he greeted me with a smile, as he sauntered over to the sofa. “What have you been up to all day?”

  “Just thinking about fucking you as soon as you walked through the door, baby,” I purred.

  Tristan dropped his knee to the cushion beside me; he lowered his face to mine. His lips and tongue sought out mine hungrily. I encircled him with my arms, pulling him closer. I felt h
im unbuckle his belt, and tug at the button on his jeans. I heard the sound of his zipper being lowered. My hand sought out his manhood; my fingers closed around his girth. I gently, but methodically stroked the full length of it. I heard him suck in his breath sharply.

  “Too rough, babe?” I asked.

  “No - just right, Gina. Like always.”

  Tristan loved it when I played with him with my hands. He had a fairly high tolerance, as I knew I could get rough at times. His fingers lowered my thong; I lifted my legs so that he could pull it completely off. He moved his face from mine and lifted my tee shirt up so that he could access my breasts. He loved how big they were getting with my pregnancy.

  His tongue flicked across a nipple, circling it and then lightly nipping at it with his teeth. I loved it when he did that! It bordered between pleasure and pain. That was my thing. Tristan knew it. He spent a good ten minutes on my breasts until they were rosy pink from his play. He went lower still, capturing my snatch with his tongue and thoroughly devouring it with his lips. He took my swollen clitoris in his mouth, rolling it beneath his tongue, his teeth putting just enough pressure on it to drive me wild.

  “I think you’re ready to be fucked now,” he said, huskily. He parted my legs with his knee. He pulled them up with his arms, placing them around his hips. I squeezed them around him and watched as he guided his very erect, very swollen shaft into me. He had somehow managed to shed all of his clothes while ministering pleasure to me. That was another of Tristan’s talents. I’d never seen anyone who could get naked so quickly and undetectably as Tristan.

  I moaned with his first hard thrust. Our eyes met and locked as always. I could totally, fucking lose myself in his eyes. Green had become my favorite color after the first time we had fucked. He said that he loved my brown eyes; he said they told a story.

  Tristan was thrusting in and out of me; I had my feet buried in his firm ass, pulling him in against me. My hips bucked upward to meet his every thrust.

  “Damn Gina,” he rasped; he was going to come quicker than usual. I could tell by his eyes.