Wendy looked at the cell before pushing the talk button. It was Will.
“Love you,” she said.
“Love you, too. Sorry, the signing ran late.”
“Did you eat?” she asked “I told you to eat first.” Okay, it was two hours later for her than it was for him. Still, it wasn’t bedtime in Chicago, and it was damn late for dinner in San Francisco.
“I got two burgers and a shake at McDonalds. You can eat burgers and punch numbers left-handed. My right hand is still cramped.” Reminded, he shook that hand again.
“Ran late, and cramped hand. That sounds like good news.” Wendy was afraid he’d take this as her enjoying his pain. It did, however, sound better than an empty bookstore for his reading.
“It went great,” Will said, “but I missed you.” He missed her in all sorts of ways, even if he missed her sexuality most right then. This phone call was a poor substitute.
“I miss you, too,” she said. “Hurry back. Remember what we decided.” She wasn’t about to be explicit about going off the pill over the phone. However private their discussion, it didn’t feel private. “You still think it was the right decision?”
“Yeah, and my side is only getting better. Arthur says that the publisher will start on a second printing if sales keep up, and some independents have bought the movie option.” If they had a child, Wendy would have to do all sorts of new things. His only contributions would be money and time, and the money was starting to look better.
“Many a slip between cup and lip,” she said. One hell of a lot more novels were optioned than were made into movies.
“Yeah, but after the first year they have to pay ten thousand a year to renew the option. Ten thou; that’s three months.”
“More like four.”
“Well, Arthur and the IRS will take their chunks. Still, ten thou a year is something more if Bleak Autumn doesn’t take off.” Her earnings had taken them through four long years of sluggish sales. They’d banked the extras that the last year brought.
Yeah, she thought. That was their dream, living on his writing while she raised their children. Well, this novel had almost earned back its advances already, and his agent, Arthur, was scheduling Will to more book-signings all the time.
“Get your sleep,” she told him.
“Yeah. See you Wednesday. Love.” He liked to have her on the line, but he didn’t have anything else to say.
“Love.” And she hung up.
He took his manuscript to bed. He’d once had a fetish about not printing out anything until he was satisfied with it. On paper was something public; on the screen was merely his thoughts. With all the trips, though, he’d printed out the rough draft of what was finished. He took a copy with him and edited it in pencil at the end of the day. Printed out, it was -- if not quite public -- available to Wendy. That was really what had started them talking about children.
“You got Heather pregnant,” she’d said. “Why her and not me?” Well, there were different methods involved and different consequences. He owned his characters. His wife was an independent person.
“Only a few key strokes accomplished that, and she gives him up for adoption.”
“Don’t you want children?” They had already discussed that.
“Someday. When we can afford them. Maybe if Bleak Autumn sells well.”
“Aren’t we getting enough money from Spring Shoots?”
And, really, it looked like they were. When Wendy had exhausted that month’s pill dispenser, she hadn’t started a new one. She hadn’t been fertile when he started on the road again, but she would be when he got home. Enough of this! He started on smoothing out Chapter 7.
Heather’s belly was large and she could feel the baby kicking. He found himself picturing Wendy bringing her swollen belly to him so that he could feel their baby kicking. He wasn’t getting anything done; he was just daydreaming.
Wendy took a vacation day Wednesday so she could be at O’Hare to greet Will. That morning, she changed the sheets. When the bed was used next, it would be used by both of them, and she wanted it to be clean for their play. She had missed him. This time, though, she wanted more than play.
They had always had fun in bed. Hell! They’d had fun in the back seat before they got serious. She still wanted his cock to bring the excitement that it always had, but now there was an added tingle. Now, it was the seed bringer. This mating was going to make them more mated than ever before.
He wasn’t surprised when he saw her at security after he got off the plane. He was pleased, though. She was his love. He had missed her, and he was glad that he didn’t need to wait until evening to see her.
“You didn’t have to,” he said.
“Yes, I did.” She wanted him, needed him. She wasn’t about to let this afternoon go. “I missed you.” Will dropped the carry-on, and they hugged. She felt his hardness against her belly and knew that he had missed her, too. It felt warm trapped between them, and larger than it had ever felt before. As her grip on him tightened, he almost lifted her. The crowd surged around them.
Wendy felt all soft and pliant, molding her body against his. As he pulled her into the hug, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel her breasts soft against his lower chest and her torso firm against his cock. His tongue found her mouth hot and wet when he thrust it into her. That made him think of another wet -- and even hotter -- place where he could thrust another organ. But the concourse wasn’t the place for thinking that.
“Well,” he said when he let her go, “this isn’t the place. Let’s go home.” They stopped at the carousel. Book signing required much more clothing than book writing did. He carried both bags as she led him out. He ogled her hips as she strode towards the car.
She found herself twitching her hips a little more than she had on her way into the airport. She knew where he was looking, and she wanted him to enjoy the view.
He put the luggage in the trunk and took the wheel. Before starting off, he bent over and kissed her. This wasn’t the place, either, though their tongues met. They filled each other in on the past two weeks during the drive. They’d shared anything of importance during the phone talks, but he wanted to give her a feel of what the signings were like.
“I talk, and then I sign. If they want anything more than my name, they put it on a slip of paper. One guy had, ‘For Trish on her 16th birthday.’ ‘Your daughter?’ I asked. It was. ‘You might want to get her the next novel,’ I said, Bleak Autumn. You don’t want her imagining that such behavior ends well.’ He laughed. I was serious.”
“16?” Trish said. “I can remember 16 and the TV on constantly. If they can’t tell fact from fiction, then novels won’t be their worst influence.”
Back at the apartment, she led the way again. He carried the bags. He dropped them when she shut the door. He kissed her again, and ran his hands down her back to cup her butt. He left her lips for her neck and squeezed her butt. When she began to unbutton his shirt, though, he pulled away.
“Let me shower first. Okay?” He felt sweaty. He’d dressed for Chicago when he left the hotel, and Albuquerque had been hot.
“Want company?” she asked. She wanted to get naked with him, and the shower looked like the fastest way.
“No.” A showered Wendy always smelled of soap, and he wanted to smell her. “I’ll be fast.” And he was fast. It couldn’t have been three minutes until he was out of the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist. Wendy was finishing unpacking the carry-on.
“Now, it’s my turn,” she told him. She had thought since they had hugged at the airport that they would end up in bed fairly soon. And, this time, they would be doing more than playing; this time they would be making a baby. Any doubts about his intentions had disappeared when he headed for a midday shower. Well, she wanted to come to bed clean, too.