LIII - Three

They wait until the traditional three month mark, until she is safely through the first trimester of her pregnancy before they begin sharing their news.

She calls her parents and her mother squeals down the phone, insisting on buying plane tickets and arriving in time for the birth and Lee cringes, momentarily regretting having told her. Although it was inevitable – it was not like she could reveal the news on the child's sixth birthday: "oh by the way mum, you have a grandchild, oops, that just slipped my mind!"

And although the fussing and gushing will be inconvenient, she knows she will find her mother's help and support to be invaluable.

She doesn't know a great deal about Greg's parents. He hasn't told her much, and she hasn't pressed him for information. She is sure, however, that his mother is a good woman. She is kind and decent – she has a gentle demeanour and caring eyes – just like Greg's. She feels somewhat excited at the prospect of sharing the news with Blythe House. She feels an innate bond with the woman, though their meetings have only been brief.

It is a Sunday, and she walks home from the bakery at the corner, swinging a plastic bag – containing the morning's fresh baked bread – from her wrist.

Unfortunately, the smell of the bread, while on any other day would be heavenly, had caused her stomach to flip, and she had to hunch over a nearby dumpster retching into it like a junkie, as an elderly couple passed her by, shaking their heads disapprovingly.

She shuffles into the kitchen now, to find Greg seated at the table with a bowl of cocoa puffs (the puffs of wheat have lost their colour, turning the milk a chocolate brown) and a disembowelled newspaper – pages splayed out.

"Your baby keeps making me vomit in public," she says, placing the bag of bread on the counter-top.

He smiles to himself. Without looking up from the paper he says: "our baby."

"I don't know why they call it morning sickness," she says, "it's more like morning-noon-and-night-sickness. I vomit randomly, at any time of the day. I don't know how many times I've had to excuse myself from a session with a client because I've felt a wave of nausea."

"That's good," he says, grinning at her, "research has demonstrated that women who suffer frequent bouts of morning sickness are far less likely to miscarry, or to give birth to babies with deformities. You see, morning sickness is more common in the stages of pregnancy when the baby's vital organs are forming, and it is hypothesized that morning sickness deters women from eating less healthy foods – foods that will not contribute to the baby's development."

"What, like bread?" she challenges him sarcastically, gesturing to the loaf she had carted home. "Don't worry, it will stop soon," he replies, "you're heading into your second trimester, morning sickness is far less common then."

She nods, approaching him.

"Hey, would you like to call your parents and tell them the news, or should I do it?" she asks, combing her fingers through the soft greying hair at his temples.

"You can do it," he says, mouth full of cocoa puffs, eyeing her momentarily before casting his gaze back to the newspaper.

"I think your mother would like to hear the news from you, Greg."

He looks at her again.

"Oh, alright," he says, rolling his eyes like a petulant child who has been ordered to do his algebra homework, "I'll break the news, but then you have to get on the line and field the rest of the questions – take the brunt of the gushing and cooing."

"Ok," she says, grinning, "but I have already endured my fair share of gushing. I spoke to my mother, remember."

He nods, begrudgingly, shovelling another mouthful of cocoa puffs into his mouth.

………

"She wants to talk to you," he says, holding the cordless phone out to Lee.

His mother had cried – sobbed quietly and happily when he had broken the news, and it made his heart jolt, he swallowed a lump in his throat and the tiny hairs on his arms stood on end.

Lee smiles and takes the phone from him. She greets his mother, giggles and mutters a few words and before he knows it, she is crying too.

It is the strangest display of human emotion, because she is beaming – smiling widely, a joyous expression and yet the tears stream down her cheeks as she continues to nod and talk into the phone.

When the conversation ends, and she returns the phone to its cradle, he feels the overwhelming urge to hug her.

"Sorry," she says, pressing her face against his t-shirt "hormones."

"No," he says, "it's ok."

He thinks it is actually rather nice, but he won't tell her this.

………

They don't hold hands as they enter the cafeteria together. It's not their style. Neither of them are into blatant public displays of affection, but they may as well be – because their hands bump together as they swing by their sides, he leans against her as they talk and she nonchalantly picks specks of lint from his blazer.

"Well if it isn't beauty and the beast," Wilson says, as they approach his table, "I hear congratulations are in order."

"Yeah, I knocked her up," House announces loudly, causing a few heads to turn.

Lee sits in the chair opposite Wilson, and makes a show of popping the button on her blazer, opening it to reveal her bump – small but obvious under her fitted blouse.

"Three months," she says, smiling as her hand rests proudly on her belly.

House knows that Wilson has been very much aware of Lee's state. After all, he had been in the room on the day that Lee had first announced the news over the answering machine. He had simply been politely awaiting confirmation.

"Everything going well?" Wilson inquires.

Lee gives a small nod, apparently wishing to avoid jinxing herself.

House gives a more definite nod, taking a seat beside Wilson.

"We've had the first ultrasounds. Heard the heartbeat, seen the spine, head, arms and legs. Everything seems to be in order."

"So have you chosen an obstetrician?" Wilson asks, "who's going to handle the delivery?"

"I am," House says, taking one of Wilson's fries.

Lee and Wilson exchange incredulous expressions.

"You are?" Lee asks.

"Yep," House says, grinning – the end of a French fry protruding from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, I don't know Greg," she says, "that's a bit weird. Of course I want you in there with me, but I want you sitting next to me – holding my hand, up this end, not down… that end…"

"Yeah, you're not a qualified…" Wilson starts.

"What?" House contends, "obstetrician? So? I've delivered a baby before."

"You have?" Wilson raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah," House replies, patting Lee's shoulder, amused by her reluctance, "you're in good hands…"

"Darling…" she starts.

She often begins a sentence with this term of endearment when she intends to say something he may find disagreeable.

"There is no-one I would trust more with our baby than you," she continues, "but, do you think…"

"Obstetricians do nothing," he interrupts her, "they just watch and say push a couple of times. I can do that just as well as the next guy. Besides, I know my way around your vagina better than anyone else does!"

Wilson cringes and Lee laughs at his reaction.

"James," she says, standing so that the chair scrapes along the linoleum in protest, "could you do us a favour and compile a list of potential obstetricians?"

He nods and Lee turns to House.

"I'm going back to work," she says, squeezing his arm affectionately, "text me what you want for dinner."

………

He hears her footfalls even though AC/DC is throbbing in his ears. The sound is like the distant rumblings of an impending thunderstorm.

Seated in his yellow corduroy recliner, in the dark and cosy corner of his office with his head bowed, his eyes are fixed on the pointed toes of her black leather stiletto heels as she marches up to stand in front of him.

The sound of her shouting his name mingles with the lyrics of 'Back in Black.'

He rolls his head to look up, meeting with her severe expression. Her brow is furrowed, her lips pursed angrily, fury glowing in her eyes.

He shakes his head at her nonchalantly, mouthing the words: "I can't hear you," and his expression is comically and sarcastically dumb, though his heart rate quickens with fear of her reprisal.

With a sudden movement of her hand, she yanks the thin white cord from around his neck, causing the ipod earbuds to pop from his ears and fly out and down into his lap.
"You cancelled my appointments?!" she shouts, lodging her hands on her hips.

"Huh?!" he inquires innocently.

"I've just been upstairs and spoken to Jane in reception. I asked her the time of my next appointment and she informed me I had none. I fact, I have none for the rest of the week."

He blinks at her.

"They're all dead," he offers his hypothesis with a shrug, "it only takes a simple like event like a favourite team losing the world series for those sort of people to pop themselves."

"Oh, ok, so all of my clients 'popped' themselves, that's your theory?!"
He nods. "Haven't you heard? The Yankees lost."

"Greg, stop it," she snaps. "Jane told me you'd been up there to speak to her. She said you spun a very convincing story about me being sick and told her I had to take the next two weeks off?"

"You're the one who said you keep having to excuse yourself from clients to go and vomit!"

"And you're the one who said the morning sickness was due to subside!" she contends.

He drops his head contritely and she sighs.

"Why'd you do it, Greg?" she asks.

"I don't want you under too much stress," he admits, "it's bad for the baby. It's bad for you. I want you to take some time off work."

"And you don't think that this causes me stress?!" she raises her voice again, causing passers by to peer into his office.

"Hey, cool it," he says, making a grabbing motion for her hand "don't get so angry."

"Angry? Greg, I'm furious! I don't know how I'm going to explain this to my clients."

"Then don't," he says, "take the time off. You need it."

"Yeah well I guess I'm going to have to now, aren't I?"

She levels an expression of disappointment at him before turning and pushing her way through his heavy glass door, shoulders slumped.

……….

She arrives home late, holding a paper bag in her hands. He presses the 'mute' button on the television remote and turns to face her.

"Still angry?" he asks.

She kicks her shoes off and sits beside him on the couch.

"You're adorable when you pout," she says, smiling as she kisses his cheek before adding: "No. You know I can't stay angry at you."

Overwhelmed with relief, he turns to catch her mouth with his.

He is not even sure why he does the stupid things he does.

"I told Jane about the baby," she says, "and I told Cuddy. I'm taking the next two weeks off."

"Ah," he raises his eyebrows. "What did Cuddy say?"

"She was a little surprised, taken aback, but then she offered her congratulations. Expect to be hassled at work tomorrow."

He nods.

"Yeah. Let the onslaught begin."

"I got you a gift," she says.

"You did?"

He grins and she presents him with two Penthouse magazines from the paper bag. His eyes widen.

"You bought these?"

"Yup."

"You just walked into the shop, picked them off the shelf, and took them to the counter?" he asks in disbelief.

She nods.

"Well, it's not the most likely purchase for an expectant mother, but it works for me."

"I'm so horny, it's fantastic."

"I'll say."

"We're going to read them to each other," she says.

"We are?"

"Yeah, take your pants off," she says, hooking her fingers in his belt and leaning in to kiss his neck.

"Oh god," he says, "I never thought marriage and pregnancy could be so hot."

She pushes one of the glossy magazines into his hand, while her own hands works to open his belt and fly.

"Open to page 26," she says, "read the letter to the editor."

He flips through the pages of the magazine as instructed.

"Dear Penthouse," he reads, "I always thought the wild stories I read in your magazine were made up, until one night it happened to me."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you serious?"

She grins at him as she lifts his hardening cock free from the confides of his boxers.

"Yes, keep reading."

"I had been invited to a work function on short notice. I needed a new pair of shoes and I had been so busy that the only chance I had to go shopping was late on a Thursday night."

He pauses his reading for a moment to fix his eyes on the activity of her hand, gently cupping and stroking his stiff cock.

"Ugh!" he grunts, "do we really need the magazine?"

She snatches the magazine from him, folding the pages back at the spine and holding it in one hand as she continues to work his cock with her other. She moves slowly, teasing and tracing her fingers over his shaft, allowing them to linger at the head where her thumb smears the droplets of his pre-cum. He moans and writhes beneath her as she reads.

"I entered a small, out of the way store with 'sale' signs in the windows. There was only one sales assistant working – Alisha. She was a knock out, blonde and petite with curves in all the right places. She smiled at me and asked if I needed assistance. I told her I was looking for a pair of black leather dress shoes. Before I could tell her, she guessed my size. '12' she said, 'you're a big boy.'"

Lee glances at him and giggles.

"You're a size 12," she says, before tightening her grip, making her strokes more precise.

She knows she is causing him a searingly intense pleasure because he bucks his hips to her, rising off the sofa and encouraging her with his exclamations of excitement.

"She showed me a pair and asked me if I approved," Lee continues to read, "I did, and so she disappeared out back to find my size. Moments later, I heard her calling to me – her voice husky and smooth. I walked to the doorway of the storage room and I saw her, up on a ladder reaching for a box. Her skirt was hitched up and I could see the lace of her stockings and suspenders. I felt my cock throbbing in response and started to think about how nice it would be to slide into her tight, hot pussy."

She tucks her fingers underneath his shaft now, and finds his balls – tensed and tightened. She massages them gently, and this different sensation causes his eyes to roll back in his head.

"Oh god," he whimpers.

She delights in this as much as he does. She exercises all of her 5 senses. She loves to hear his verbalisations, is engrossed in the sight of his magnificent cock. She dips her head to appreciate his musky scent, flicks her tongue over the tip and savours the taste of him. She allows her fingers to explore the textures – the ridges and rims, the veins, his width, his length, his wiry pubic curls.

"She told me she was too short to reach the box and asked if I could reach it for her," she continues to read, "I nodded and she climbed down from the ladder. As I approached, to my surprise, she reached behind me and closed the door to the storage room. Before I knew it, she flashed me a wicked grin and got down on her knees."

She encircles her fingers, gripping his cock at its base. She continues to pump and stroke, building a steady and certain rhythm, gripping firmly, just the way he likes it.

On each upstroke, she slows her movements to make a circular press at the head, before stroking down.

"She had my jeans unbuttoned and my hard cock sprung free. Without hesitation, she took me into her mouth, sucking gently and I groaned in pleasure."

House watches, enamoured, his eyes widening with delight.

"Good?" she asks.

He gasps and nods quickly in response.

"I'm c…c…" he stutters, but before he is able to finish his statement, he bucks his hips and his cock spasms in her hands, spurting forth ribbons of white cum. The amount of ejaculate expelled decreases with each spurt, but he appears to experience the pleasure over and over in waves because he continues to groan in ecstasy. She watches as the fluid dribbles over her knuckles and onto the denim of his jeans.

"…coming…" he pants, finally finishing his sentence.

She smiles, removing her hands and rubbing her fingertips together, enjoying the sticky texture of him. She raises her fingers to her lips, pressing them against her tongue, tasting him and sighing. It is not enough. She dips her head in his lap, takes hold of his cock once more and her tongue laps out to clean its leaking tip.

He shudders and pushes her back.

She sits up, licking her lips and grinning at him.

"My turn," she says, discarding the first magazine and reaching for the second.