The floating never stopped. Her limbs were heavy, and her brain felt like a sponge that had been dipped in honey. She shook her head as if that would somehow lessen the pressure . . . or clear the fog.
Oh goodness, that only made it worse. Now she was nauseous and drunk. It really felt like she'd had too much to drink.
"Baby?"
Xiomara fought the strange reverie bogging down her mind, but the canoe kept drifting. The voice came at her again, deliciously low and smooth like silk. It was like God was speaking from the clouds. Morgan Freeman, but a thousand times sexier. The voice settled over her, calming her. She burrowed closer to it, using it as an anchor to keep her grounded. All of a sudden the sun beating down on her skin wasn't as hot anymore and the salty air had a tangy-sweet taste to it.
She swallowed as she started to salivate. The smell of oranges was making her hungry.
"Xiomara, baby, I know you're tired, but you've been asleep for a really long time. I just need you to open those beautiful Spanish eyes and look at me. I can't live without you, not after everything we've been through. I feel like I've aged at least thirty years in the last two days. You don't have to say a word, just open your eyes and let me know that you're still here with me. I miss you."
She felt full lips caress against her temple and forehead. Warmth spread throughout her body. Omar was here. He had come to rescue her. The feeling of being adrift gradually abated and the fog congesting her mind dissipated. Her lashes fluttered and lifted just as he'd asked her to. She gazed up into his face, his incredibly handsome face, and for a moment she just let herself drown in the chocolate of his eyes. She'd forgotten how big and tall and strong he was. Or how just one look from him was enough to turn her insides into a cloud of cotton candy.
The soft-yellow walls of the hospital room faded into the background. She was hooked up to an IV-line, but none of that mattered. Only him.
Right now, his sleeves were rolled up, exposing the muscles of his forearms. She knew what it was like to have him wrap his arms around her and squeeze her tight. She studied his outfit. Simple, but classy. The man did always look good in a white shirt and jeans. He had shaved recently too, making him appear younger.
He stared back at her, a range of emotions flitting over his alluring features. From surprise to admiration. She looked down at where their hands were joined, his thumb absently caressing the back of her hand, and smiled.
"You are such an old man. Tell me now if you can't keep up. It's not just me anymore. Have you met our son? He's hotter than a fireball, all that crying and squirming. Speaking of which, I'm supposed to breastfeed him, my boobs are full." She cupped her breasts. "And tender. So tender."
Omar licked his lips and pushed her hair off her forehead. And then he looked at her weirdly. "Do you know how long you've been asleep?"
"Uh, like three hours?"
"No, eleven hours."
"Eleven hours? Oh my God!" She sat up straight in the hospital bed and flung the covers away from her. "I thought I was supposed to feed him every three hours, or something like that. Where is he? Fuck, I'm a horrible mother. Get him to me now. How could this happen? Why didn't they wake me?"
"Baby, do you remember what happened?" Omar didn't sound at all bothered by her outburst.
"Yes, I had a baby."
YOU ARE READING
Bona Fide Baby
عاطفية"Put your hands above your head and spread your legs," he commanded. Doing as he asked, she proceeded to lift her arms above her head and widened her stance. At the touch of his hand plowing through her wavy hair, she trembled, although it was Sahar...
