I carefully step out of our recently-acquired SUV, watching where I put my feet. Fortunately, the driveway is dry; Chandler must have been hard at work today, shoveling and salting and being very domestic.
I love my husband so much it's almost insane. Even if it's not a big deal to some, coming home to a clean driveway is one of the best parts of my day so far. Of course, I realize he did it so I'd be safer walking back and forth from the house, but I still think it's incredibly sweet. Especially because it's his day off and he's pulling double duty with the twins.
Seriously—I have the best husband in the world.
I make my way up to the front door, and I go to put my key in the lock when the door flies open, and I'm greeted by a large bouquet of roses.
"What's this?" I ask, a grin spreading across my face.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Chandler answers, his head finally poking out above the flowers.
"But that's not until Monday," I protest half-heartedly, taking the roses from him.
"I have to work on Monday," he answers, pulling me into the house and closing the door behind me. "And you weren't expecting anything today, were you?"
"Definitely not."
"Well, then, come on in, my love." He takes my coat from me, taking a moment to hang it in the closet. I look around the living room and notice nothing out of place.
"You know," I say teasingly, turning back to Chandler. "If you're trying to seduce me, a few candles would help. Maybe some music, something to show that you aren't just assuming that I'll put out."
"First of all," he tells me, his hands coming up to stroke my belly. "I'm not trying to seduce you; I'm trying to romance you. Second of all, if you think I'm only armed with a bunch of flowers, you've got another think coming."
"So there's more?"
"We'll get to it," he assures me, his arms sliding around my waist to pull me closer, leaning down to kiss me sweetly. "You get the feeling like there's something between us?"
I giggle a little. My stomach is already starting to make it tough for us to get close. It's started to pop out a lot more in the last couple of weeks and it won't be long before I won't be able to hide it from anyone.
"Where are Jack and Erica?" I ask, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"They're with your parents for the night."
I feel an interesting wave of panic wash over me. "The whole night?"
"I know; we've tried it before and it never works. What's it going to hurt to try again, though? If we need to, we'll go get them in a couple of hours."
It's not that I don't trust my parents with the twins for a night; they managed to raise me and Ross with relatively minor physical harm. It's more that I hate being away from them for too long. There's a very large part of me that likes the idea of being able to send our kids off for the night and having an evening to ourselves. We've tried it a couple of times and one of us—usually me—breaks down and goes pick them up. I'm sure it's better for them if they can get the experience of sleeping away from us once in a while, but it's hell for me. Doesn't seem to do much for Chandler, either.
But, the two of us can survive for a few hours, I'm sure.
"How was work?" he finally asks.
I shrug. "Kind of slow. Phoebe came in to visit for a little while, and she and my manager Diane decided to draw on me."
He looks down at me, his forehead furrowed in confusion. "Draw on you?"
I pull out of his arms and lift up my shirt, an intricate heart stenciled on my belly. "What do you think?"
His fingers trace my skin gently, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. "What is this?"
"It's henna. It'll only last a week at the most. Of course, I told Phoebe and Rachel about the pictures we've been taking, and I guess Phoebe's been plotting. I think she just wanted to try to talk me into this when she came by today, but Diane was bored so we hid in the office for a little while and now I have a…" I pause, part of me unable to believe I'm going to say this even though I know he'll appreciate the pun. "I have a heart-on for you."
He blinks at me for a moment before shaking his head and smiling. "Was that joke my Valentine's Day present?"
"God, I hope not. But it'll look nice in the next picture."
"That it will." He traces the design on my stomach for a few more moments before he pulls the shirt back over my stomach, kissing me once more. "All right; so, I don't have anything huge planned—"
"Way to talk it up, honey."
He gives me a disgruntled look but otherwise ignores me. "Because I didn't know what you'd be up for. So, if you'll just follow me…" He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
"I don't know if this is the sort of information you're looking for, but your wife is extraordinarily horny."
He pauses for just a moment before continuing up to our room. "That's very good information to have." I smirk to myself; his voice is an octave lower. It's nice to know that even in my pregnant state, I can do things to him.
He stops again when we're outside of bedroom door, turning to face me. "Out of curiosity, are you ever not turned on lately?"
"If I'm awake, I'm turned on. Actually, if I'm asleep, I'm turned on then, too, which is why I keep waking you up in the middle of the night."
"Anything in particular that sets it off, or…?"
"Nope. Pretty much anything does it for me lately. You could show me a glass of water in there and I'll be all over you."
He's silent for a moment; I have no clue what he's thinking. "Do you think it'd be possible for us to take a leave of absence from work or something and just have sex until this passes? Because I think I'd be okay with that."
I laugh and wrap my arms around his waist. "I don't know if you want to suggest something like that to me at this point. I'll lock you up in our room and make you my personal sex slave."
"Haven't I been your sex slave for years now?"
He has a point; once we hooked up, there was no looking back. We were kind of all or nothing.
I'm definitely glad we went with the "all" option.
"So, what's behind door number one?"
He grins at me and opens our bedroom door, and I gasp. Candles are everywhere and glowing softly, a fire is roaring in our barely-used fireplace. On the floor is a pile of blankets and every pillow we own and probably a few he went out and bought; next to that is a bucket with what looks like champagne but will probably turn out to be sparkling cider.
It's magnificent.
Tears fill my eyes and his arm slides around my waist, fingers tracing little circles on the side of my stomach. "It looks like the night we got engaged," I whisper.
"That's kind of what I was going for," he answers softly, gently pushing me into the room. I turn and wrap my arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe.
"Thank you," I tell him, sniffling. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but thank you."
"You're the love of my life," he answers. "You've made me the happiest man to ever walk the planet. You're the mother of my children. I think that alone is reason enough."
I let out a watery laugh. "You are so getting lucky, mister."
"Wait—it gets better!" He leads me over to the makeshift bed and helps me sit down, then drags a cooler out from next to the bed. "I didn't know what sort of food you'd be into today, or what would make you sick, either, so—"
"I'll have you know," I interrupt, proudly, "that I have been feeling much better lately. I haven't thrown up in days. I've been trying to take it slow, just in case, but it seems that all food is now good with the baby. But…I'm not feeling that hungry right now." I look up at him, hoping that it comes across in some way as sexy.
It seems to do the trick because in an instant, he's on the floor next to me. "You sure? I mean, there's no rush."
"Oh, there's a rush," I assure him. "Remember how I said that pretty much everything is a turn on right now?" He nods, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Well, imagine what a romantic gesture like this does to me." I don't let him answer before I slide my hand to the back of his neck, dragging his lips to mine. He makes a noise of surprise, but a moment later I feel his hands in my hair, keeping my mouth to his. I push him back against the pillows, crawling on top of him a second later. His hands find their way under my shirt, and everywhere he touches feels electric.
Frantically, I pull my shirt over my head and reach for him again, but his hands are already on my belly, his touch reverent.
"I love you so much," he whispers.
"Talking to me or the baby?"
"Both of you. God, Monica—can you believe that there's a little bitty person in there? We made someone."
I try desperately to get my body to calm down; he's so sweet when he talks about the baby and his awe of it all is simply amazing. It's not easy, though—the need I feel for him lately is like nothing I've ever felt before. It's almost primal. I wasn't kidding when I told him I'm constantly turned on, though that's not entirely true; I'm constantly turned on by him. I can think of little else but him and what I want to do to him, what I want him to do to me, the things we can do together. I actually ache for him; even when we're together, even in the middle of sex, I ache because I want more of him. It's intense. It's incredibly distracting and not at all practical, but I want him more and more each day. I'm lucky enough, though, to have a husband who is more than willing to meet my needs as often as he possibly can.
Then he does something incredibly sweet and thoughtful and romantic like this and…there are no words for how I feel. "Love" certainly isn't strong enough. He actually completes me; the pregnancy hormones have only exacerbated the fact.
I put my hands on his and wait, letting him have the moment. At random intervals, we've both been overcome with the sheer wonder of it all, completely amazed that somehow, despite all the odds against us, we actually managed to create another little person. Now that my body's really kicked it into high gear with all the changes and growing, he can't seem to stop staring or touching. I've woken up in the middle of more than one night to find him with his hand on my stomach, whispering to the baby. I don't say anything, though—I want him to be able to have that time if he needs it.
"I really like this heart," he finally says. "It's…perfect."
"I'm gonna rip your clothes off of you, you know."
He bursts out laughing, and my hormones have managed to completely kill the sweet moment. "Need it that bad, huh?"
"More than I can possibly express."
He gives my hips a gentle tap and I shift off him, already working on the button of my jeans. So far, I've been able to get away with not switching over to maternity pants by buttoning my pants under my stomach. It works for the most part, but I definitely get the feeling I've almost completely surfed that particular wave. My body really is changing and growing at an almost alarming rate. I stand up to pull them and my underwear off, tossing them in the general direction of the hamper.
I look over and see my husband staring at me, his shirt still hanging off one hand.
"What?" It takes everything in me not to cross my arms over my body, suddenly very self-conscious about myself.
"You are so gorgeous," he breathes, and I can see chest starting to move faster, his breathing rapid.
"Really? What do you see when you look at me?"
His mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find the right words. "Perfection." He stands up, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "You. Are. Perfect."
He means it—he means it wholeheartedly, and that's all that matters. Our arms go around each other, our lips fusing once more. We sink to our knees on the blankets, his hands deftly removing my maternity bra and dropping it to the floor next to us.
"Is this okay down here?" he mumbles around my lips. "On the floor, I mean."
"It's perfect," I assure him.
"'Cause we can move to the bed if that'd be better."
"I love it. Roaring fireplace, blankets, pillows; let's do this." I slide my hands down to his hips, shoving his boxers down to his knees and wait as patiently as I possibly can while he maneuvers them down the rest of his legs.
He lies down on his side, crooking his finger at me. Almost reluctantly, I slide down next to him, so ready for him I almost can't stand it. Then his lips are on me and all thoughts of rushing this moment are gone. Instinctually, I fall onto my back, pulling Chandler with me. Carefully, he shifts so he's mostly on the floor next to me and part of me feels bereft—one of the best feelings in the world is to have him on top of me, pressing into to me, and it'll be a while before I get to feel that again.
His hands slide down my body, caressing me gently, squeezing my breasts, and every inch of me feels like it's on fire. Everywhere he touches comes to life, insanely responsive to him. One hand slides down my stomach, down my pelvis, his fingers gently caressing me, my hips lifting off the ground to meet him. I feel his fingers slip inside me and I groan, my fingers digging into his arms.
"Oh, God," I whisper, clenching myself around him. We just had sex last night, but with the way my body is responding to him, I'd never know it. My hips push against him, needing more, anxious for more.
I gently grab his hand and pull away from him slowly, his lips following me. I rise up to my knees and turn around and I hear his breath catch. "Doggy?"
"Oh, yeah." If I can't have his body pressed against me from the front, at least I can feel it against my back; he'll be able to hold me close.
I feel his hands slide up my calves, up the backs of my thighs, down my back as I drop my hands to the floor, bracing myself. I feel his lips trace up my spine, his teeth nipping at my skin, and for a moment I think I'm going to fall apart—just this, this simple touching, is enough to make me see stars. His fingertips dig into my hips and I feel him positioning himself behind me for just a moment before he pushes inside of me and a moan rips out of me. I hear him breathing heavily and I push myself against him.
"God, Monica," he groans, his hips rocking against me. I whimper in happiness. I push against him more insistently, my fingers clutching at the blanket beneath me, holding on for dear life.
He leans forward, draping himself over me carefully, his hands sliding down my arms, his fingers linking with mine. I think he misses the front-to-front contact as much as I do.
He moves against me slowly, ignoring me as I try to push against him, trying to increase the contact. I feel his lips slide slowly across the back of my neck, down to my shoulder, and back the other way, and I whimper. I feel my entire being shaking in anticipation, marveling at how he somehow manages to mix foreplay in with sex.
His hands slide back up my arms, and I feel him tilting back, my body chilling at the lack of contact. "Noooooo," I moan.
"Sit up," he gasps, tugging at me for a moment, his hands grabbing onto my upper arms. I push myself off my hands and he pulls me against him, his hands sliding around my body. I brace my thighs on the outside of his and press my back against him—this is even better than before.
My arms come up over our heads, reaching back to grab onto him, my fingers dig into his back. His hands slide down my legs, his fingers digging into my inner thighs, encouraging me to move against him, to set the pace. I lift off him for a few seconds before I slide back down on him, slowly, prolonging the contact. Now that I have him where I want him, I don't feel as much need to rush.
I push against him slowly, my moans filling the room, and his hands slide up my stomach, gently, until he reaches my breasts. His hands squeeze me, playing with my sensitive nipples and my hips speed up involuntarily. I tilt my head back, my lips searching for his. He kisses me, panting against my mouth, leaning his forehead against mine when the need to breathe is too great.
The heat from the fire in front of us warms our bodies, makes us sweat and casts us in a warm, soft glow. I feel like I'm on fire. I can't believe we haven't done this before now—it's incredibly erotic and romantic. I feel a coiling in the pit of my stomach, and I push against him harder, eager for my orgasm, knowing that it won't be the end for me.
"Right there," I gasp. "Please—right there." His hips slam up against me, hitting all the right spots, and that coil unwinds and I thrust against him quickly, my fingernails digging into his soft flesh. My body shudders, our damp skin sliding against each other, a high-pitched noise falling out of my lips, swallowed by his mouth.
My motions slow down and I slide off of him. "Hey," he pants. "I wasn't done."
I turn to face him, straddling his thighs. "Neither am I." I ram down on him and his eyes go wide.
"Jesus!" His fingers dig into my ass, holding me still for a moment. "Ohgod ohgod ohgod."
My chest heaves as I try to control myself, my entire body quaking. I need him so badly that I can't see straight. I take his face in my hands, pressing my mouth to his, kissing him slowly. "I love you," I whisper, and even though my body is shaking from the effort, I rock my hips against him slowly and he buries his face my neck, moaning.
"God, you feel incredible," he whispers.
"Just wait," I moan, digging my fingers into his shoulder blades. I start moving against him a little faster, clenching my inner muscles as I slide up and down him. I feel his hips come up to meet mine, struggling for control, to not let this magical moment end too quickly, and it's the most phenomenal thing in the world. My head falls back for a few moments as he drives into me, and all I can manage are wordless noises, nonsense, and I don't care.
Part of me thinks I should be embarrassed to be this easily aroused, that I orgasm as easily as I do now, but the rest of me can only focus on the pleasure, on how good all of this feels, how amazing he feels inside of me, how perfectly we fit together, and how lucky I am to have someone who can do this to me.
I feel his lips work their way up my neck and I shudder, bringing my face back to his, kissing him as deeply as I can as we move against each other.
"I love you," he moans, and I whimper, pushing my hips against him faster; just hearing him tell me that he loves me is still enough to send chills through my body. My eyes fill with tears, and all that matters right now is everything he makes me feel. It's intense and overwhelming and utterly perfect.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling myself closer, moving my hips against him a little harder. His fingers grip my back; his entire body is vibrating against me as he tries not to end things.
I slide a hand across his head, tugging at his short hair, and bury my face against his shoulder, moaning.
"Oh, God, Chandler. Ohhhhhhhhh." I feel like my heart is collapsing in my chest.
He moves against me harder, faster; I can hear him panting in my ear, groaning. "I love you," he tells me again, and that's all it takes to push me over the edge.
"Love you," I yell, gripping at him, my body moving against his, our torsos rubbing against each other furiously as I cry out my pleasure. I feel his body lose control beneath mine, his hips pounding into me, drawing out my orgasm.
Our bodies gradually slow down, our breathing still heavy. I run my hand through his sweaty hair and I feel his lips kiss behind my ear as he slowly lowers us to the pillows behind him, careful to keep our bodies joined.
"I'm so easy right now," I say quietly.
"Just how I like you."
I gently pinch his side. "I may be easy but I'm like the freaking Energizer Bunny. I can and will go for a very long time."
"It's a good thing I brought a lot of protein up here. I think I'm going to need it."
"Oh, you will. I can guarantee it." I slide off him and curl into his side, his arm going around me, keeping us close.
"So, how was this for the ultimate Valentine's Day cliché?"
I chuckle and press a kiss to his shoulder. "The fire, the rug—"
"Yeah, all that junk."
"Seriously, I love it. We've never done anything like this before, and we've hardly ever used the fireplace. This was good."
"Just good?"
"I've had better," I tell him, sliding my foot up and down his calf.
"Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you get to be mean."
"I will if I want. Now shut up and feed me."
I see him looking down at me and I duck my face against his chest, laughing. He nudges me and asks, "So, where do we stand on leaving the twins at your parents for the night?" I cringe, and I think my silence is answer enough. "If it makes you feel any better, I want to get them, too."
I breathe a sigh of relief. "Really?"
"Yeah. But, you know, maybe in a few hours. I think we've got some more romance stuff to take care of first." His lips find mine once more, his hand gently running down my side, and all thoughts of food and retrieving my children disappear for just a little while.