Chapter 96: Diogo

She sighs heavily and settles a hand on her lower back, kneading it without thinking. I brush her hand away and place one of mine on her front and the other on her back, rubbing her in the way I know she likes best, using my stronger fingers to dig into the tense muscles just above her butt.
"I wasn't going to leave," she admits. "I just wanted to get your attention. Grayson said he required an emergency before he would call you. I created an emergency. To be honest, I'm way too exhausted these days to be climbing those damn stairs by myself, up or down."
I chuckle, relief easing the last of my anger. Taran is an intelligent woman, but she's also driven. I have no doubt if she'd decided she needed out of the building she would've found a way.
"What happened that you couldn't wait for me to come home?" I turn her so that I can see her beautiful expressive eyes when we talk.
"You arrested the rebel leader a woman." Her voice is an accusation, but I don't know why. She would have to know that the fires are driving arrests. "Bishop said you'd probably have to execute" her voice trails off as emotion chokes her.
Now I understand her urgency. She's afraid for her friend. "I haven't arrested Emery." Again. But she doesn't need to know about the first time.
A small frown creases her brows. "Who did you arrest?"
"A woman named Allison Blanshard. You know her?" I watch her carefully as she ponders the name.
She shrugs. "Only a little. I'd seen her around at the meetings, but I was more of a field person. I liked working with people on the ground, I wasn't as much into the intrigue as some of the others Xavier included."
Something inside me releases at her admission. I'd known she was deep in the rebellion, but we haven't had the tough conversations yet. Where I grill her on her involvement in the rebellion like I should've the first day we met. I'd never had the heart to ask the hard questions, and part of me didn't want to know the answers. Didn't want to know if she was instrumental in the extremist methods used by some of her fellow compatriots. Now that I've gotten to know my pacifist wife I see the impossibility of her being involved in anything overtly destructive. I don't know what I would've done if she'd turned out to be more extreme in her beliefs.
No, that's not true. I know exactly what I would've done. I would have restricted her even further, allowing her almost no freedoms and I would have kept her, just the way she is now. Miserable but alive.
"You're worried about Emery?" I ask, holding her against me and running my hand up from the small of her back to massage between her shoulders.
She sighs and tips her head forward. "I saw her every day for years, Diogo. She was like family to me, a surrogate mother. I can't imagine her not being part of my future. Not being part of this baby's future."
"Alright," I relent on the issue of her rebel colleague. "I'll see if she'll come here to talk. I can't take you out of the Tower. The risk is too great, but I can bring her here if she's willing to talk."
"Oh my goodness, yes please!" Taran tips her head back and laughs excitedly. "She's going to be blown away by this place! And she doesn't know about the baby yet. Oh, I wish I was showing so I could really surprise her."
My heart aches as I listen to my wife ramble excitedly, becoming more animated than she's been since her kidnapping. She sounds happy. The more she talks, the more I realize how close she is to Emery. I'd misjudged their relationship or misjudged how easy it would be to separate them. By keeping her from the things she's close to I've exacerbated her sense of disconnection and grief. The thought doesn't settle easily. Like many decisions I have to make in the course of my leadership, I'd made a snap judgment and held to my convictions without looking at the deeper truth. Though rebels, Taran has made some deep connections within the community. And I tore her from the people that care about her.
"I'll meet with her tomorrow and see if she's willing to come."
"She will!" Taran yells and throws her arms around me. Standing on tiptoes she kisses my jaw. I realize I haven't shaved in days. Her soft lips could become abraded against my rough skin. I'll have to be more cognizant of her needs.
I gather her closer against me and kiss her full on the lips. They part beneath mine as she accepts the intrusion of my tongue against hers. No matter how many times I hold her, kiss her, make love to her, I still want more. My body aches for hers constantly. Not just sexually, I also crave her warmth, her smell, her delicate touch.
I reach down and sweep her legs out from under her, thinking how light she feels in my arms. Like holding nothing. Then worry hits me as I remember she's supposed to be gaining weight. I should be holding a healthfully curved wife with baby weight giving her some extra girth to hang on to.
"What did Bishop say about the baby?" I ask nonchalantly as I descend the stairs.
She laughs, reading my mind and my concerns. "He told me everything is fine and to stop worrying, that different women carry their babies differently."
Relief rushes through me. Bishop wouldn't lie to Taran. Not even if a lie would help ease her mind. He'd a deeply moral man that doesn't believe in sugar-coating. And he would tell me if there was a problem.
Taran takes my face in her hand and gently turns it toward hers. "Diogo, I heard the heartbeat today."
I can't explain the emotions that hit me all at once. Elation that Taran got to experience such a wonderful moment, happiness that my baby is nestled deep within her body and doing well, and sadness that I missed such a significant moment.
"You'll be there next time, love." Once again, she reads me well. "This baby isn't going anywhere."
I set her down on the bed and tug her clothes off. She sits up, helping me by lifting her arms first so I can pull her shirt over her head, then lifting her hips so I can drag her pants and underwear down her body.
Lately, Taran has been too sick for us to be intimate. But now now as I stand back, looking down at the subtle changes taking her from young woman into motherhood, I'm more turned on than ever. Her hips and the tiny rise of her belly call to me like a siren's lure. I fall to my knees on the floor and drag her to the edge of the bed, spreading her hips with my shoulders.
"Diogo!" she gasps, knowing what I want and already reacting with passion. She grabs her face and twists as I drop my head between her legs.
I drop a kiss on each hipbone, loving the gently sloping dips with my tongue before I follow a path up to her stomach. I spend the majority of my time worshipping the slight rise. She giggles as I thrust my tongue onto her bellybutton. She tries to roll away, but I grip her hips and hold her still, delving into the tiny recess. She needs to know that no part of her will ever be off limits. She belongs to me, from the top of her wild red hair, to the dip of her bellybutton, to the space between her pinky toe and the next one.
I make my way further down, kissing her intimately between the legs, sliding my tongue right into the spot I want to taste most. I can tell that she hasn't showered yet this afternoon, her taste is not the soapy taste she prefers I get when we I fuck her with my mouth. She usually complains when I go down on her after she's been working all day but before she's showered. I want the real her though. The woman who has worked, moved, been my Taran all day long. I want to taste her and only her, all woman, all mine.
She shouts her pleasure, her beautiful voice singing to the ceiling as I force her higher and higher, then change the pressure of my tongue so she'll drop away from the imminent orgasm. Only to pick her back up and carry her once more to the pleasurable peak. And again, as she approaches it, her voice filling the room with cries of ecstasy, I step back.
She screams her frustration and sits up, shoving her hair back angrily and pressing her knees together. She glares at me in protest as I strip out of my military uniform, allowing each piece to fall to the floor. Then I fall on the bed, kneeling at her tiny feet. I grip her knees, parting them and crawl up her body.
"You don't get to come without me," I growl into her ear before surging into her.
Her scream and the claw of her fingernails against my shoulders is music to my ears. I gather her in my arms and hold her against my chest as I thrust into her, taking us both out of the world and onto a path to heaven.