Sorry for the delay! Lots more to come! Here is a big chapter. Hope you enjoy! xox

My wife is tremendous. Tremendous in every sense of the word. She is astonishing, breathtaking, magnificent and Lord have mercy—big. No, big is definitely an understatement. I mean, I've seen her through two pregnancies before, but this is something else. I never knew someone as slight as Ana could grow to such epic proportions in so many areas and opposing directions. Her belly, her breasts, her ass, even her lips are three, maybe four times their normal size. And it's all so fucking hot! She gave me a blow job last night that had me seeing stars. And not just the ones close by, constellations in galaxies far, far away. No, Ana isn't big—she's astronomical.

"Earth to Christian," Ana says. Maybe I have been to space and back. Although looking at her here—the sunlight beaming through the curtains of a picture window, burnishing her hair and lighting her eyes—I think I bypassed the stars and went straight to the seventh level of heaven. If there ever was a vision of maternal love and sex goddesstry all in one, it is my wife.

"Prussian Prince or Violet Dusk?" she asks.

"Excuse me?"

"What color do we paint the room?"

"What room?"

"The babies' room," she giggles, and playfully swats my arm like she thinks I'm kidding. "The one we're standing in."

Oh shit. The room. We're standing in front of the decorator. In the room. How the hell am I supposed to make coherent decisions when my wife's breasts are as big as her head?

"Anything you want, Ana," I say. "But, not violet. That's purple, which is just a phone call away from pink."

"Do colors call each other?" Phoebe asks, as she twirls and leaps in her tutu and princess crown, moving across a carpet that will soon be converted from eggshell to some hue of baby blue. Three of the five extra bedrooms upstairs will be filled with our children now. Though once, long ago, when I first stepped foot into this house with only the hope of buying it for a future with my Ana, it was a lofty goal to fill even one. Now, I can't wait for the day we run out of bedrooms and have to add on a story.

"Yes," I say. "And purple is pinks' bff."

"Yay! I all of my whole life knew it!" Phoebe cheers, and Chester—who's on her shoulder in a blue tutu and Baryshnikov style tights, if Baryshnikov was a rat gigolo to Barbie—nearly takes a nose dive, but somehow, even in ballet slippers, he still hangs on.

"The violet is more like a dust, Mr. Grey," says Cordero Cabanis the third—or "CC3"as our new highly touted, highly priced, highly weird interior designer likes to be called. "Dust is en vogue."

This guy. All 4'8" of him. It's like a grasshopper decided to celebrate Halloween dressed as a post-apocalyptic Mozart. I'm not sure who the other two are who came before him, or if it's a real name at all or just two flipped letters on the marijuana plant that he came up with while smoking a joint, or why he likes to be called something that sounds like a Star Wars robot, but I don't fucking care. He's over fifty, gay and supposedly the best.

"I don't want dust," I say. "That's like dirt. My boys are not getting a dirt colored room."

"I want a dirt colored room!" Teddy says as he runs around pretending to blast asteroids with his ray gun. Chester hisses at him every time the phony red laser shoots across his face.

"Nobody's having dirt as their wall color," I say. "We need clean, solid."

"How about a yellow?" Ana asks.

"That's so 'we aren't finding out before so we want to stay politically neutral'," I say, shaking my head. "Plus, it's too aggressive."

"How so?" Ana asks.

"It's like constant sunlight all the time. How can you expect the babies to relax when it always feels like they should be getting up?"

"I thought I could pick anything I want," she says. 

"Yes, anything but purple, yellow or pink," I say.

"Or dirt," Teddy says and blasts away at an imaginary alien in the closet. 

"Purples are good for relaxation," CC3 says, dressed in nothing but it.

"What did I say about purple?" I glare at him. 

"That it's pink's best friend," Phoebe says and she and Chester spin around the room. "Look at my cartwheel, Daddy!"

"No, that's far too dangerous—" And of course, heeding her father's warnings like she does, she hurls herself over into one. Damn it; I knew we shouldn't have let her take pre-kinder gymnastics. They should just call it suicide squad. She's one flip away from a body cast! Wait, how did Chester keep hanging on through all that?

"That's amazing, Phoebe," I say. "But, never do that again." She immediately does it again.

"Why don't we talk about the plan for the mother and infants bonding pool," CC3 says. "Lilac and lavender are soothing, we can add them to water. I'm attempting to create familiar, tranquil surroundings with binaural beats on surround sound. It'll all mimic the womb."

What the fuck?

"What do mean wading pool?" I ask, grabbing the plans he's holding in his hands and giving them the once over. Even the aromas he wants to use are purple. "Are you insane? I'm not having a pool in our babies' room!"

"I want a pool in my room!" Phoebe says.

"You have a pool—a Barbie one. In the dream mansion." And it's only three inches deep. Not even Chester can drown when he falls off his swan floatie.

"It's not a pool in the literal sense," CC3 says. I can almost see his eyes through his purple shaded glasses. Almost. No wonder he wants everything violet and lavender, that's all he sees. "It's more of a fillable relaxation egg for mother and sons to find warm tranquility with soothing streams and aromatherapeutic properties. It would be placed in the oversized, en suite bathroom."

"You mean like a bathtub?" I ask.

"Some would say that, but not I." He grins. Oh brother. What's his line for the toilet—nature's calling transitional fountain?

"Look, it's an asteroid flying out of control," Teddy says as he turns the corner from the closet and fires his blaster at a spinning Phoebe. "I have to get it before Mars is exploded."

"Ahhh!"'she screams and runs as he chases her in a circle around my legs. Whether in fear or attack, Chester launches off her shoulder and latches on with his front claws into my ass.

"Hey, no blasting your sister," I say as Chester starts to travel up my back.

"But, Dad!" Teddy says.

"No buts, but get the rat off mine!" Phoebe grabs him, leaving the kids giggling over the butt joke. At least he didn't bite me, though I think I have bloody claw marks at the base of my spine. Brings back teenage memories...

"Why don't we think about a color this week and then progress from there," CC3 says.

"What do you mean think about a color this week? We need to move on it now. She's almost due."

"But, collective imagination is the key to meaningful surroundings."

"By the time we collectively imagine everything they'll be entering high school."

"Where will I be, Daddy?" Phoebe asks as she sits on the floor re-tying the ribbons to Chester's ballet slippers.

"Where will you be when, Princess?"

"I'm four more many than my baby brothers." She counts on her fingers glittered with pink polish that, I confess, she also used on my big toes. "Where will I be when they go to high school?"

Oh my god. Phoebe leaving for college. Fraternity boys and keg stands and no parental curfews.

"You'll still be at home listening to your father and crocheting biblical verses into your sweaters." Ana nudges me with her elbow and rolls her eyes. Does she really think I'm kidding?

Wow, it seems like yesterday that I was surprising Ana with Teddy's nursery. The Little Prince mural is still in his room now, as are the glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars and the planet with the boy and his glass covered rose; but the crib and the mobile of sheep and moons that played soft lullabies for my first sleeping son have long since been stored away.

Wasn't Phoebe just that snow white bundle in pink whose walls I had decorated with fairies and who I protectively rocked in a custom carved chair adorned with her name. Now, her room is a Cinderella kingdom that I've also created for her, but in far too few midnights those kingdom gates will be closed by a teenage girl.

"Well, you can help me look through the swatches tonight and we can get back to him," Ana says, rubbing my back as she does when she knows I'm emotional or stressed or just need to be touched. Somehow, she always knows.

"Yes, wonderful," I say, choking back emotion as I look down to all of her and squeeze her soft, warm hand. And it delights me that my fingers are nearly sliced by that new eight carat rock.

"Good. I'll be looking forward to your choices," CC3 says. "I have great things planned for tandem bassinets and heated massage rocking chairs... Oh, and the changing suite."

"Well, if you have a diaper changing table that does all the work, I'll pay for your retirement," I say.

"You already have, Mr. Grey," he says gayly—not in the homosexual sense, the happy sense, but really he's both. When he walks out the door Taylor is at the ready in the hallway to see him out. He always is. It's remarkable.

"So what do you think?" Ana asks as I lean over and kiss her forehead.

"I think, I'm a lucky s.o.b." I smile.

"Christian, what about our surprise?" Ana whispers to me as the kids play.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "This could go bad and scar our sons for life."

"We'll oversee it and set parameters. The kids will love it."

"Okay," I hesitantly agree and put my arm around her waist—or rather her back, curving my fingers around the base of Mt. St. Ana. I look down at her. Oh Lord, her mountains. "Kids, listen up."

They immediately stop playing and plop down on the carpet in a cross legged position, eagerly looking up at us. Since when do they do as they're told?

"Why are you sitting down there like that?" I ask.

"'Cause you gotta sit fast and pretzel-like for 'nouncements," Teddy says.

"Yeah," Phoebe says. "Or you get happy face stickers taken away on the board." Oh, that's what they do in school. I shake my head. Maybe I should employ the happy sticker methodology more often.

"Good. Now then, we know you've both wanted to get involved in the babies' naming, so we thought you could help us."

"Yay!" Phoebe throws her arms up. "It's gonna be Starfish and Ken!"

"No, Stan!" Teddy says. Again with the Stan!

"No, none of those," I say. "We want you to write down three other names you'd like to have considered for your brothers' middle names."

"Why not those names?" Teddy asks.

"Because... it'll be more fun to imagine up new ones," Ana says. Quick thinking.

"I think Stan is super fun!" Teddy says.

"He's a riot, but not Stan," I say.

"What about Butterfly?" Phoebe asks.

"No, not Butterfly."

"But, that's not one of the ones you said we couldn't have." She's a sharp tack. She's definitely going to be a CEO. Negotiating skills are on point.

"Okay, keep Butterfly as an option, but we want you to think this out for a little while, as you only get three suggestions, and then they will be voted on in a family caucus—"

"What's a caucus?" Teddy asks.

"It's the forest where the yucky white tree veggies that you have to put cheeses on or you will die, that taste like the doo-doo's of dirt persons grow," Phoebe says.

I give Ana a "what the hell?" look.  She whispers, "cauliflower."

"We have to eat them to vote?" Teddy asks, looking like the Jolly Green Giant just shit on his ballot. Is that the doo-doo of a dirt person? A man made of vegetable matter? Would make sense. Why am I contemplating this?

"No, a caucus is like an election. We all vote as a family, and if the names are approved by the parental ways and means committee," I nod to Ana, "we'll use them."

"Yay!" they cheer and immediately start spouting out ideas. Lancelot and Diamond being among the first.

Why do I think I'm going to be sorry about this?

#######

"How about we name you Ben and Jerry?" I whisper to the babies in Ana's belly per my usual early morning routine, smiling to myself at the inside joke. Ana's sleeping soundly—not surprising since I fucked her silly last night. And Lord, that was not an easy task. There's so much primping and pillow propping and gymnastic flexibility required these days I've impressed myself that I haven't pulled any important groin muscles—I've tried to add flexibility into my workouts with Claude. I marvel this morning at my good fortune for being able to watch her holding our children like this. There is nothing like it. She's coming up on her due date and even though l can't wait to meet these little men, I will so miss these hours.

I used to just snuggle into her to talk to them, then as she grew I had to prop up on my elbows, but now she's so big I have to fully sit up on my knees and drape over her, almost as if I'm kneeling to a deity—which is appropriate. My goddess Anastasia. 

The babies stir beneath my fingers as I brush her skin, slipping the sheet down and sliding her satin camisole up in an effort to get closer to them and to her. There's a faint light peeking through the window shades and it's just enough for me to see what I believe is a tiny foot press out, stretching and twisting against his mother's skin. Amazing. I lean over and kiss it right where I think the little toes should be and it kicks back again. That little guy will be a soccer player for sure. Once they see Grey bend it, they'll say— Beckham who?

My other little one flutters around, not nearly as demonstrative with his movements, but active and determined all the same. Perhaps he'll be the quieter of the two; more reserved. A great thinker or political wordsmith or even a lauded poet. Most fathers wouldn't like the idea of poetry as a career path for their child, but I'm a fucking billionaire. If he wants to be a great poet, I'll do everything in my power to help him overthrow Shakespeare.

"I can't wait to meet you boys," I say and my little poet taps the cheek I've laid against Ana's skin with an elbow or knee. I kiss that place, too, stroking my finger along her skin where he just left his mark. I'm still amazed that although unborn, I know so much about them already, and I think they know me, too. 

Again, this all makes me think of when Teddy and Phoebe were in Ana's belly and how far and quickly they've grown away from it. Teddy plays t-ball now and Phoebe struts around pretending to be a 'real grown lady' in Ana's high heels. And although they slip and slide off her feet as she walks, one day they won't. And one day she won't grab for my hand when she stumbles.

But, who am I kidding, I'll still grab for it and hold her tight and make sure no harm ever comes to her or any of my family. Ever. I will always—even when I no longer have breath or body—protect what's mine.

I've been reflecting a lot as of late, I suppose the eminent birth of the babies is churning these memories. And I find myself thinking again about that night Ana told me I was going to be a father for the first time. And although I'm sickened by all of it—leaving her, seeing Elena, getting intoxicated—I do have a fondness, now in hindsight, of that seven-minute cab ride that took me back home.

"Taylor where the fuck are you?" I said into my Blackberry as I attempted to put one foot in front of the other walking on the sidewalk downtown, but it all eluded me. It being the walking, the talking, the sidewalk... But, a bottle-and-a-half of wine and all that bourbon sure didn't. I nearly twisted my ankle off the curb as I looked at my watch, but by the time I figured out what the littleness and bigness of the hands meant, it wasn't the same time anymore. Hell, I wasn't even sure it was the same year. "It's only eleven-o-eleven a.m.," I slurred as I squinted at the watch face. "Why are you sleeping?"

"Sir, it's after one a.m.," Taylor said.

"What does that mean?"

"It's after one a.m."

"Who asked you?" Fuck, I must've been seeing double—or rather quadruple and hadn't recognized that a pitch black sky couldn't indicate late morning. I used to be so perceptive. That was before, when I had the ability to tie my shoelaces and spell my own name.

"Sir, what's wrong?" Taylor asked. I kicked into a turned over trash can and two cats that were fucking popped out. I eyed the randy tom.

"You'd better be neutered or your whole fucking life is going to change," I said, but the cat just hissed and ran. Not much different than what I had done earlier with Ana.

"Sir?"

"You want to know what's wrong? I'll tell you. I'm naked in the middle of the goddamn street, that's what wrong!"

"Naked?" He sounded horrified. Oh, he heard neutered and thought my dick was out in public.

"I mean, I've got my clothes on..." I actually had to double check as my skin was numb to fabric. "But, I have no driver and no security, so I practically am. So, it's your fault. You made me this naked." I moved to run a hand through my hair but ended up slapping my eye. At least I was numb. "Why weren't you following me?"

"I'm sorry, but I told you I was sleeping, sir."

"When did you start doing that?"

"Where are you, Mr. Grey?"

"I'm by the beauty parlor," I said with disdain.

"What are you doing there?"

"Getting highlights for fall," I said, attempting sarcasm, but I think he might've believed me. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"I really don't know, sir."

"Hey do you need a ride?" asked a cab driver who out of nowhere pulled up to the curb next to me. I tried to focus on him, but the focus I'd taken off my feet caused me to trip and nearly face plant into a statue outside a bank of some family playing around a fountain—mother, father, son, daughter... And some little pet rabbit or skunk or subway rat the girl was holding. Ha! Like that could ever be me.

I squinted and looked at them for an amount of time that could be considered predatory if they weren't made of stone. They looked ecstatic or drugged heavily. I guess they were supposed to be happy they made a 2% return on their saving's account, or the drought was over or something. But, the thing that made me saddest was how the wife looked up at her husband as the kids played. She was proud of him, because he was someone to be proud of.

"I don't need a ride, I'm walking back to Ana," I said, standing still, but teetering with that goal in mind.

"You're walking where, sir?" Taylor asked. "Can you give me the coordinates?"

"On the street," I said. "Home isn't too far." Though, at that point, kicking my ruby red slippers seemed a better plan than what I was doing.

"I can take you," the cabby said through his rolled down window. Who the hell is this asshole?

"Why do you want to give me a ride so bad?"

"Well, three things—you're stumbling drunk so you can't get home yourself; you're wearing a nice suit, so I know you got money to pay me; and Hector is looking to pick people up to throw in the drunk tank."

"Who's Hector?" I asked.

"Tonight, your worst nightmare."

He muttered something else, but I stopped paying attention as Taylor kept saying "sir, sir," on the line, which left a bad taste in my mouth after just seeing Elena, and then I didn't hear anything because I had dropped my phone and was leaning headfirst into a tree.

"Fine," I said, stumbling forward to pick up my Blackberry. "I'm okay Taylor," I said into it. "I'm getting into a... a... you know, the yellow thing that city people frequent... It looks like a bee, but it's vehicular."

"A taxi?"  Taylor asked.

"That's the one," I said. "And don't fucking tell Ana any of this!"

"Okay, I won't." the cabby said.

"Not you, I meant Taylor!" I looked at him hard. "But, not you either!" I looked at him harder. "You better not know my wife!"

"Mr. Grey, maybe I should meet you—" Taylor said. "Like before you see Mrs. Grey?"

"I'm fine, I'll be home in seven minutes," I said. "Go back to sleep and don't come out of your room until the morning!" I hung up.

"Where to?" the cabby asked.

"Take me to Escala, not Esclava, I'm done with that bitch forever," I said, and after three or four tries I shut my door. He pulled away and I watched as that decrepit bar I had just met with Elena at disappeared into the fog of the night. Tomorrow, I vowed, I would buy it and have it burned to the ground.

"Is that your home?" the cabby asked. "That Escala place?"

"No," I said. "It's our home, not mine!"

"But we just met, I'm not sure I'm ready to move in." He laughed.

"Not you and me, me and my wife." Fucking comedian. "I just don't know if we are a we anymore because I'm an asshole and I'm going to have a baby." I buried my face in my hands, because I couldn't stand to see my reflection in the window glass anymore.

"Really? You aren't showing at all."

"Not me. My wife. What, did you graduate from the Jerry Lewis school of cabbery?"

"What's cabbery?"

"Whatever the fuck you're doing."

"When's she due?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I mean, she just told me tonight. I think she could only be about four or fifteen weeks, unless the shot was just a placebo the whole goddamn time." I sighed. "Have we known each other fifteen weeks? Wait..." I tried to count back but I couldn't remember what month it was. "Maybe five weeks. On our honeymoon." We made a baby on our honeymoon... My thoughts drifted to how happy we were in the south of France.

"I take it you weren't out celebrating just now." The cabby interrupts my thoughts.

"No. I was drowning in sorrow that I smell like now." Disgusting. If I had been a scratch-and-sniff sticker I'd have been deadbeat father vomit.

"You don't want a kid?"

"No," I shake my head. "I'd be a terrible father. Just like I'm a terrible husband. The only thing I'm good for is fucking." I shrugged. "I have a big dick."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

He took a hard left and my head slammed against the glass, but I was too numb to feel it. And a part of me liked that my head was getting smashed in.

I needed to talk to someone other than that man of the night. I looked at my phone and found Flynn and texted him: Are you done with preschool? Because while you were missing I walked out on my wife, got drunk with Elena, and she tried to take me to her dungeon, and I told her to fuck herself forever and I'm having a baby. Call me.

"Is your wife happy about it?" the cabby asked.

"Ana?" I asked, her name always music to me, and he nodded. "Of course she is. She's a good person. She wouldn't turn away from her own child." My heart constricted—our child. "I promised her I'd take care of her forever, and look at me." I rubbed my eyes and then rested my forehead onto my steepled hands that were shakily propped on my knees. "Forever sure the fuck doesn't look like this."

"I don't know. Sometimes this is exactly what forever looks like," he said. "Forevers aren't paved with smooth road."

"Thank you Plato," I said, but that just got me thinking about Play-Doh and what an asshole father-to-be I was. If anyone in my family had known what I'd just done they would've disowned me. Elliot would try to act all high and mighty and kick my balls in. He'd been a slut for years, but he'd act like a saint.

I texted Elliot: Fuck off.

"You know drunk texting can get you into trouble," the cabby said as I nearly hit send on a text to Jose that read: Stay the fuck away from Ana forever or I'll string you up by your nutsack on the rear view mirror of your mother's mother's mother's latest Volkswagen scam.

Actually, I saved that one for a maybe later send.

"I got four kids," the cabby said.

"Oh my god." I banged my head back against the seat repeatedly. "You mean after one there's more?"

"Yep. They're my life. I was scared at first, but it turned out to be the best thing that happened to me."

"Everyone fucking says that! But see, the difference is that you and fucking everyone and their mother's brother's dental hygienist's toilet bowl cleaner are pretty much good people. I, on the other hand, am the devil." He laughed. I didn't.

"Okay," he says. "Why'd you go see your ex?"

"I didn't. I was just walking and walking and after I tried to break into my psychiatrist's office, I ran into her in front of the beauty salon we own together."

He eyed me in the rear view mirror like he might have to drop me at the looney bin to pick up the prescription I forgot to fill. Medication didn't seem a bad idea at that point. Yes, general anesthesia sounded nice—Ana!

"She saw I was upset and then somehow we ended up at that bar..." I said, with venom. "She actually had the nerve to try and fuck me."

"Geez. What did you do?"

"I told her to get her fucking claws off me and never speak to me again." I looked out the window as the streetlight turned from red to green. "And then I told her Ana and I wanted kids..."

"I thought you said you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Want kids."

"Well, I don't. I mean, not now."

"Then when?"

"I don't know. Twenty, thirty years." I shrug. "There's just so much to be responsible for. Ten fingers and ten toes..."

"You got a good job?"

I snorted a laugh. "You could say that."

"Benefits?"

"I've got so many benefits they benefit from me."

"You need a bigger home?"

"No, I bought that. We'll be moved into our new estate by Christmas if the specially ordered Italian marble arrives in time. And they finish the glass wall Ana likes."

Speaking of the wall... I texted Elliot again: Hurry up with the goddamn wall. Fucker.

"Okay... You afraid your marriage isn't good enough?" the cabby asked.

"No," I said, "I love her with all of my heart. I could never love anyone else. Life with Ana is...perfect."

"Then, what's the issue?"

"Haven't you been listening?"

"Yeah, I have," he smiled as he pulled up to the curb in front of Escala."It'll be $8.50."

"That's it? Not a word of advice after I spilled my fucked up soul to you?"

"Yeah, I brought you here, now pay me and go inside."

What the hell? I reached into my pocket, fumbled around a bit, and handed him a hundred dollar bill.

"It's only $8.50," he said.

"Yeah, but this was cheaper than my psychiatrist."

"Hey" he said as I stumbled from the door, and I looked back at him. "I promise, when you have four, you'll think of me and smile."

"Only if the mortician puts one on my face after I've shot myself."

He laughed and in a blur he drove off, disappearing into the night, and I took a deep breath as I made my way inside.

"You were right, taxi driver," I say as I look down at number three and number four, still stirring in my wife's belly, and I smile.

"Christian, what are you doing?" Ana asks in a groggy voice, blinking her eyes up at me as she wakes.

"Just talking to our boys." I run my hand back and forth over her navel.

"Why are you on your knees?"she asks as she reaches over to brush my hair with her fingers.

"Because my cheek can't reach your belly any lower."

She laughs and I scoot up, wiggling in beside her as I kiss her cheek, her chin and her lips. "I'm asking their opinions on names."

She smiles that sleepy, happy morning smile of hers that lights all of my days. "What did they choose?"

"Not Heathcliff and Eugene," I say, shaking my head, and throwing it dramatically back into the pillow.

"Why? Those are nice names," she says, with a smirk.

"Well, so are The Hunchback and Don Juan, what's your point?"

"How about Dorian?" she asks and laughs. "Dorian Grey, like Dorian Gray, but spelled different."

"I get it. Hysterical." I prop up on my elbow and roll my eyes. She laughs again. I like making her laugh. Plus, it's so hot how her whole belly jiggles.

"Maybe we should do something cute, like all our boys could have T names," she says.

"Oh Ana, shoot me first."

"Why not?"

"Nothing cute and rhyming. It's so cliché. It'll give them a complex."

"Timothy and Thomas would give them a complex?"

"Yes, because it would be Timmy and Tommy the twinsies forever." I shake my head. "And besides, I don't want all our sons to have T's. Then our daughters will all have to be P's and what's left after Penelope and Priscilla?"

"How many more are we talking?"

"I thought we agreed on eight and then we'd reassess."

"You're insane." She laughs again. Oh god, that giggle jiggle. My dick solidifies.

"Aren't you happy? You thought I didn't want any kids."

"I am happy. The happiest." She strokes her belly.

"I love you so much." I kiss her cheek. "And I love our children." My fingers spread across her belly. "I never knew I could."

"I always did." She places her hand over mine and we both delightedly feel a kick.

"Do you know the exact moment when I knew I loved you?" I ask. "I mean, I didn't know it then, but I definitely do now."

She shakes her head. "When?"

"Aside from the moment I first laid eyes on you, it was that first night I made love to you."

"So it was just the sex?"

"No, I had had plenty of sex." She raises a brow and I kiss it. "I mean, I know it sounds cliché, but now, looking back, that night felt like we were two puzzle pieces finally fitting together—figuratively and literally." We both laugh. "It was like this huge cloud of question that hung over my entire life finally had an answer." I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "And the only answer to me has ever been you."

She leans over and strokes my cheek and kisses me softly on the mouth.

"Do you know how fucking sexy you look right now," I say and brush her cheek with my lips, inhaling her scent.

"Oh yeah, irresistible." I can feel her rolling her eyes as I kiss her temple.

"Oh you are, Mrs. Grey." I take her hand and move it over my pajama covered groin. "Feel what you do to me." My erection stirs as her fingers wrap firmly around it.

She gasps as I reach down and stroke her satin covered sex, her wetness seeping through.

"Do you want me to make you come, Ana?" I ask, nipping her ear as I slide first one, then two of my fingers under the elastic. I run them up and down her warm sex. She's dripping for me.

"Yes," she gasps as I stroke her clit, circling her sensitive bud until she starts to pant and quiver. Then, I slide both fingers inside of her.

"Does it feel good?" I breathe against her ear as I fuck her slowly with my fingers. Pleasuring her like this, in her state, is mind blowing.

"Yes, it feels incredible," she pants as I pump, curling my fingers to find her G-spot. Her breasts and her belly are heaving and jiggling. I have to recite the pledge of allegiance in my head so I don't bust a nut without even being touched. Damn, I'm going to miss her not being pregnant anymore.

"I want you," she pants and chomps her teeth on that meaty lip. "I need your cock to explode inside of me."

Hell.

"Oh baby," I say as I bring my mouth to hers and take that lip with my own teeth. I take the covers off of her and... Oh fuck. We need preparation. How do we do this? My dick is so hard all my thinking blood is flowing down there.

"We need pillows," I say to Ana as I grab a few and attempt to lift her and place them under her hips. But, her hips aren't budging this morning and even my workouts with Claude aren't helping me. I try to get over top of her, but I can't do it, even on all fours, I need her raised.

"Just do it from where you are," she says.

"Ana, I may have a big dick, but there's no way it'll reach from here to there," I say, practically in a downward dog on top of her.

"Slide me to the edge," she says. "Fuck me from standing." Easier said than done. Though, I like her saying fuck me.

"I don't want you to fall." I try to move her, but the fraction of an inch I accomplish makes me fear that any extra weight near the edge of the bed could be precarious. It's much easier arranging things when she's getting into the bed, as opposed to her already lying down.

"I need your dick," she says.

"And believe me, it needs you." This is the hottest and most frustrating thing I've ever experienced. Her pregnant, panting and wanting my cock, and me not being able to get it in.

"Wait," I say, "maybe if I lie on my side, horizontally beneath you." I do just that. "And if you put your leg over my shoulder." I lift it and place it at the base of my neck, although if she clamps down in orgasm I just may be choked to death. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

"Christian," Ana cries out as I pull down my pjs, finally freeing my erection and though the angle I'm at has my head halfway off the bed and I'm struggling to hold on, I take hold of my erection, slide her panties away and plunge myself into the depths of her.

"Oh Christian!" she cries out. I thrust in and out of her. Oh, she feels so fucking good, even with my balls slapping sideways into the mattress.

"Harder," she pants and I pound her as well as I can, which sets her off into an orgasm of epic proportions. She calls out my name again as she comes undone, twisting the sheets beneath her with her fingers. It's enough to drive me fucking insane. With all my power, I thrust one more time, spilling my seed into her almost ready to harvest body.

Fucking incredible.

I pull out, forgetting how close to the edge of the bed I am, and as I collapse into a mushy heap of post orgasmic bliss, I fall splat onto the floor.

#######

"Daddy, why do you have a boo-boo band-aid on your head?" Phoebe asks as we sit as a family eating breakfast at our kitchen nook.

"I slipped and hit it." Actually, I hit it and slipped. Unfortunately the only bandages left were The Little Mermaid ones and I'll be wearing that loudmouth Caribbean crab on my face all day. I'll have to have Taylor pick up the clear ones. But damn, it was all worth it.

I'm distracted again. But, this time it's because my wife is eating her favorite cheesy bacon hash browns. Lord, the way she slurps that cheddar into her mouth, sucking the starch off the tip of her fork, while the grease drips off that swelled bottom lip. My wife pregnant and eating grease should be illegal.

"It's almost the Fourth of July," Ana says and watching those lips move has explosions going off in my pants.

"Oh yes, what do you want to do? A day on the boat? Fireworks? Anything you want I'll make happen as long as it's close to the hospital and doesn't stress you out."

"Well, I was talking with Miss Tilly about it yesterday..."

Oh hell.

"She thought it would be a fun idea—" Ana says.

"Of course she did,"  I say.

"I didn't tell you the idea."

"Let me take a wild guess, she wants to put on a show?"

"Yes," Ana says. "A show that will make American history fun for the kids."

"But, the kids aren't even in school now," I say.

"No, we're in camp," Teddy says. "Which is better 'cause you see all your friends, play a bunch of games and you don't gotta think like in the real year."

"Well, you better be thinking about cars when you're anywhere near the street," I say.

"We don't go to the street," he says.

"Yeah, we'd have to go down so many streets to get to the street," Phoebe says. "And then it would be even more far than that."

"Well, it's still close enough to think about," I say. At least I can take comfort in the fact that they'll never cross a street without security detail.

"Yes," Ana smiles. "The show is part of their camp program." I knew Tilly was up to something when she announced that bogus camp the kids are signed up for—Kreative Kidz Summer Artz and Kraftz Camp. This whole thing is supposed to be a creativity driven vacation program to expand their minds with artistic endeavors while academics are at bay, but I think it's really an excuse to expand the school's pocket book. I mean, should it really cost ten grand for my kids to read Dr. Seuss books out loud to each other and splatter poster board with paint? Now, I see it's less about dollars and more about Tilly's nonsense.

"Miss Tilly wrote a play," Teddy says, putting a heap of strawberry jam on his toast, and of course he smears it with his fingers to make sure it sticks good.

"Did she?" I ask.

"She said some boy named Tony is gonna give it prizes from where people care about that stuff," Teddy says.

"And I'm gonna play Paul Rears," Phoebe says. "And I get to ride on a horsey and put feathers in my head and yell out "macaronis and cheeses"." Speaking of cheeses, Chester—who's sitting on her shoulder in his purple polka-dot bathrobe—has got two chipmunk cheek mouthfuls of those hash browns. He's more of a pig than his girlfriend, Henrietta, who's actually a pig.

I turn to Ana. "What are they talking about?"

Ana giggles, causing her big beautiful baby filled belly to jiggle again. Oh hell, the giggle jiggle is so hot.

"Paul Revere and the Tony awards," Ana says.

"Let me rephrase the question. What are they talking about?"

"It's a patriotic show for Fourth of July."

"And I get to play the guy that tells time for all of America," Teddy says.

"Who?"

"A minute man," Ana says and there's more giggle jiggle. Hell, who'd have known pregnant laughter would get me so turned on?

"And if we didn't win against the London people," he continues on, loading more jam onto the toast. "We'd all drink tea now."

"Perhaps your mother is a spy," I look down at her weak, black cup of Twinings English Breakfast and she laughs.

"It's really going to be cute," Ana says.

"Let me guess, I'm George Washington." I roll my eyes. And Tilly will be Martha and I'll have to spend all my time telling lies and chopping down cherry trees just to block her path so I can get to safety in the war.

"She said she'd give us the script today when we pick the kids up, so we can plan accordingly."

"Plan accordingly for what?"

"Daddy look, I got fat tater fingers," Phoebe says, holding up a hand that has five blobs of cheesy hash browns on the ends, that are remarkably the spitting image of Tilly's.

"Kids, both of you stop playing with your food and eat it," I say.

"I'm not playing, I'm getting it ready," Teddy says and pushes the whole front end of the bread, jam first, into his face.

"Phoebe, Teddy, you're a mess, why don't you go have Mrs. Taylor help you wash up and then we'll help you get ready for camp," Ana says. "She's in the family room."

"Dad, you gotta help me shave my whiskers for school. I can't have Mrs. Taylor see that!" He checks his face every morning when I shave, so I gave him a blade-less razor he pretends with, and we do it together.

"I'll be up in a minute. You better soap up your face a few times first or you'll have a beard of ants as soon as you walk outside."

Phoebe and Teddy race each other out the door, of course touching everything in their path with sticky, messy fingers.

"Slow down! Those floors were just waxed!" I yell, but they continue on. I listen for a moment to make sure that four running feet make it down the hall without any skids or scrapes. Soon enough I'll be listening to a stampede.

"Okay, lay it on me," I say, turning my attention back to Ana. I lift her feet to my lap, take off her shoes and begin to rub them.

"What do you mean?" she asks as she leans back and closes her eyes to enjoy.

"What's this show entail?"

"It's just a patriotic celebration for the kids."

"Okay, that's the company line, but you're alone with me. Tell me, what I'm supposed to do."

"I don't know, really. She said a couple of the dads are getting involved."

"Which dads? She's already asked them?" She hasn't asked me yet? This better not turn into that Easter bunny shit again. Didn't they learn their lesson?—I'm not involved and you end up with criminals.

"She said they were planning sets and stuff. Some of the moms are doing costumes and Gail volunteered. Taylor's playing a part, too."

"Taylor knows about this and didn't tell me?" I feel so betrayed.

"Gail volunteered him," she says and I breathe a sigh of relief. "I think the Tidwilers want to host it."

"The Tidwilers? You mean that clown Bo with that chip off the old blockhead BoBo?" Honestly, he thought instead of Bo Junior that would be a better alternative. What does he think, he's a fucking Kennedy and his kid's JohnJohn?

"Yes, they're a lovely family," she says giving me the stink eye for criticizing the community again. How can I not criticize? Everyone out there is an idiot.

"What do they know about hosting these things? Do they have security? Is their house up to safety standards? Are they clean?"

"Well, I didn't get that far," Ana laughs.

"Why have you kept this a secret from me for a whole day?"

"You distracted me last night, Mr. Grey."

"That's right. I did," I deliciously recall

"And this morning..." she says and I smile, even as my head throbs beneath Sebastian.

"Are these Tidwiler people easily accessible to a hospital?" I ask.

"They live eight blocks down from us." She shakes her head and rolls those pretty eyes. "The drive is probably quicker."

"That doesn't mean anything. I have a helicopter." Ana let's out a satisfied moan as I rub. "Why are so many dads involved? It sounds a bit too pervert-mob to me, Ana."

"What? They're fathers helping out. Like you."

"No, they're not like me, Ana. Trust me, I've seen all their personal records and more than one of them includes buried evidence of reservations at Motel 6 that give a whole new meaning to we'll leave the light on."

"I don't even know what you're saying." Ana shakes her head. "Bo is a nice man, who just so happens to be known for putting on the best fireworks shows in the area."

"That's exactly what the Motel 6 said in their complaints section. The show he put on was in front of an open window and called Internet Girlfriend."

"He sets off fireworks. In his yard. He's an expert."

"I don't care if Benjamin Franklin himself explodes in technicolor over the constitution, I'm not comfortable being at someone else's place—namely the house of the living Bo's—with you looking like this." I clench a fist thinking about that man ogling my wife while setting off explosives.

"I'm about to pop with twins."

"Exactly."

She sighs. "Well, you can ask Tilly all those questions this afternoon." She suddenly throws her head back and orgasmically moans when I hit that special place. Leave it to me to find the G-spot of her foot.

"You like that?" I ask, as she comes down from her foot-gasm.

You know what those foot rubs do to me, Mr. Grey," she says and bites a lip still dotted with a sheen of hash brown grease.

"Yes, I do, Mrs. Grey. Maybe we can sneak off for a shower. I want you good and dirty before I wash you clean."

She smiles and I remove her feet from my lap and set them on the ground.

"Actually, I don't think I'll be having a shower with you at all this morning."

"Why not?" I'm alarmed as she scrunches her nose.

"I don't know if I can get up from my seat."

The Babies are coming!