The Lover's Children

Chapter 75 – Solstice – Part 8

JAMES

Michael jolts but doesn’t speak, working his magic on Cara. But he radiates silent attention.

The question is mine to answer. “Charlotte, you’re a wonderful mother. Why on earth would you ask

something like that?”

She blinks hard and rapidly. “There was a time... I thought Mom had abandoned me...” She swallows

and gulps… “I wondered… Does something like that pass down the generations?”

Jeez…

Reaching down, I draw her into my arms, then guide her onto the settee beside me. “In the first place,

whatever you once believed, we now know that your mother never abandoned you. In any case, those

events are long behind us…”

“In the second place, you’re still not yourself after the miscarriage. Which is, I’m quite sure, the only

reason you would question yourself this way. Finally, there is no one I would have chosen above you to

be mother to Cara. And I know without asking, that Michael feels the same.”

“Ah-ha.” Michael teases a tangle out of Cara’s bird’s-nest. “And I’ll be proving that to you, very soon, I

hope. There…” He sleeks a palm over smooth, dark locks. “Done. Charlotte, why don’t you take Cara

to your Mom. You know she loves playing Granny.”

*****

Once we’re alone, Michael speaks quietly, glancing toward the door. “What do you make of Charlotte’s

mood? Is she really over the miscarriage?”

“I think she’s putting a brave face on it. She’s going through daily life, making all the right moves, doing

the right things. But every so often, when she thinks no one’s looking…”

“I’ve seen it too. That faraway look. James, I can't keep telling her it's not her fault. I'd say she's sinking

into depression."

"You may be right.”

“So… what do we do about it?”

“We make life as normal as possible. You work on getting her pregnant again, ASAP. I’m sure that

won’t be any great trial for you. I’ll be along for the ride and doing my best to keep a smile on her face.”

*****

KLEMPNER

Jenny stirs a bit of steak around the plate.

“Charlotte.” James stares at her from across the table.

She doesn’t reply. Doesn’t seem even to notice that he’s spoken.

“Charlotte? I expect you to answer me when I address you.”

She jolts to attention. “Sorry, I was miles away. What was that?”

He nods down to the plate. “Is there something wrong with the meal I cooked for you?”

She prods at a bit of potato. “It's fine. I'm just not very hungry.”

Mitch touches her hand. “Jenny, why don't you have a soak in the bath? Perhaps in that lovely Jacuzzi.

Take your time. I'll look after Cara.”

She shrugs.

“Charlotte!” James tone has knives in it. His palm slaps to the tabletop. “You will show your mother

some respect...”

Her head ducks. “Sorry, Mom.”

“… And she's right. When did you last have a bath?”

She shrugs again. James' eyes slit.

Is this getting out of hand?

I shift in my seat, but James flicks a glance my way. His fingers, still flat to the table, wriggle all but

imperceptibly.

Is he really angry?

Or is it a show?

Mitch nudges me. “Larry, we have things to do.”

“Do we?”

“Yes,” she hisses, “I need your help to move Vicky’s cot.”

“Do you?” Mitch’s eyes shoot arrows. “Oh, right. Yes, I forgot.”

*****

Strolling back with Mitch to our shared apartment, “What was going on back there?”

She sighs. “I’ll repeat myself. for an intelligent man, you can be dense.”

“Did you really want me to move Vicky’s cot?”

“No, it’s fine where it is.”

“So…?”

“Larry…” She flicks invisible dust from my jacket… “Jenny’s not herself. They need their privacy over

there. Tomorrow, we’re going out for the day. We'll take Cara with us. And Adam.”

“With Vicky as well? We'll be...”

“It's one day, Larry. We'll cope.”

“Maybe Jenny doesn't want...”

“I'll clear it with James and Michael. Make sure they know they have a few clear hours.”

“What the hell is going on?”

She chuckles, low and deep. “I don't think you want to know.”

What am I missing?

“Mitch…”

She slips her hand into mine. “You know, for an intelligent man, you can be quite dense. And to say you

have such a fearsome reputation, you're very vanilla in some ways.”

?

“Vanilla? You don't like our lovemaking?”

“Did I say that?” Her chuckle is throaty and warm. “We’ve been through this before. As I’ve said before,

our lovemaking is sheer heaven. You're a wonderful lover, if undemanding.”

What the hell do I make of that?

“Where are we going?”

“To the park. There's a kiddie’s playground there. Cara and Adam can run themselves ragged and

Vicky will enjoy the sunshine.”

“And then?”

“We'll have hot dogs and ice cream.”

Oh joy…

But I adopt what is probably the appropriate expression of agreement.

*****

CHARLOTTE

It feels as though it should be full daylight. We’re well into May. The Spring should be… well…

springing.

Instead, grey gloom spills, dismal, into the bedroom.

Is it rain disguised as fog?

Or fog disguised as rain?

That mood gnaws at me, threatens to rise and engulf…

Don’t let it…

Everything will be fine…

Behind me, my Master breathes with the regular rise and fall of the still-sleeping. Before me, my

Golden Lover, with the same steady breathing, sleeps on his back, the covers slanting away, exposing

his chest to the air.

A finger of sunlight peeks from the window, picking out the scatter of blond hair on his chest. I shift my

face, playing a game with myself as I see one hair highlighted gold as I move, then another.

My personal version of Solitaire.

My two Loves. My paired husbands. So different. But both here. Both mine.

What do I really have to feel blue about?

Really?

Michael’s breathing changes: his eyelids flutter and his head twitches...

Wonder what he's dreaming about?

He doesn't seem distressed though. A smile flickers over his lips and his breathing quickens further. My

attention drifts south...

Ah-ha…

He’s not feeling blue…

Anything but…

I don’t know who coined the phrase Morning Glory, but Michael displays a top-notch example of the

type. The duvet lifts in a smooth pyramid. Any ship equipped with that mast would sail the Seven Seas

with the wind filling her canvas.

The tightness inside me eases…

Everything’s fine…

Really fine…

Under the sheet, I rest my hand on his chest... Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Will he wake?

... but no, he sighs, his smile deepening.

Slipping down, I smooth a palm over the sleek skin of his abdomen then over the wiry fuzz nesting

Michael's...

Wow!

... humongous erection...

I'd thought to help him along, firm him up a bit before sliding atop and enjoying the ride. There's no

need. He's rock-hard, at full extent, and the pulse at the base throbs through my hand.

I curl fingers around the base of the shaft, warm and firm and thick, easing over skin smooth as satin:

soft and silky: so delicate. The veins ride and writhe under my touch, yielding as I move...

Michael's chest vibrates, his heartbeat visible.

Slipping up, I slide my fingertip around the soft, almost spongy, rim of the glans. Licking thumb and

forefinger, circling the two, over the head, I squeeze and massage. It yields and springs back...

"If you keep doing that..." I startle.... "... I'm going to nail you to the bed so hard they'll need a crowbar

to prise you from the mattress..."

Pussy pumps then purrs.

I pause in my... ministrations... "Is that a complaint?"

"No one told you to stop." Michael’s voice is warm and lazy. His eyes, shockingly blue, slide to mine

and the smile widens, white-toothed against blond stubble. "Do carry on."

I ring thumb and forefinger, working over the ridge of the glans... Up... Down... Up... Down... The flesh

is yielding and springy.

Michael groans, pressing his head back against the pillow. "Christ..."

Something stirs behind me. "That's a fine show to wake up to." My Master's voice, deep and dark as

liquid chocolate. "I hope you weren't planning on confining your attentions to only one of your

husbands?"

"No, Master. But Michael..."

He presses close behind me. Laughter rumbles through his chest to my spine... "Michael made himself

available?"

"Um... something like that, yes."

"I don't want to interrupt this discussion, but I’m still available and you've stopped." Michael's voice is

dry. "If you think you can start a man off like that, then stop halfway through, I can see I need to explain

a thing or two."

"Sorry." I return to my work, slipping my ringed thumb and forefinger over the rim of his cockhead,

pressuring gently, moulding my fingers to sleek over the tender skin. The slit seeps a little, making the

contact slippery and supple.

Another shift behind me. Then, in my peripheral vision, my Master, propping himself up on an elbow.

He sweeps my hair behind my shoulders then kisses my neck. "You can try that on me in a little

while..."

"My pleasure, Master..." ... and I ease my position, giving him a better view. As I move, something

nudges against me... "But I don't think you need much help. That's not your hand prodding me."

Another low laugh. "No. Michael doesn't need help either, but he's enjoying getting it nonetheless." His

arm loops around my waist, the flat of his hand sliding over my belly and down. "Let's see how you're

doing."

Fingers probe and push. "Open up." It's an instruction, not a request. Obediently, I lift a leg and my

Master pushes close, wedging a knee between mine.

His shaft, feeling every bit as ready for action as Michael's, presses at my tailbone. His fingers explore,

snagging briefly in the tangle at the vee of my thighs... "Mmm... good and wet already... And neither of

us has touched you yet..."

That's not going to last long...

Looks like it's going to be an extended morning in bed...