Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I’m pouring out my heart and yet Stassi’s sitting there on the other side of the table, looking at me like I’m speaking in tongues.
“Anyway, by some miracle, we’re back in each other’s lives again, and I’m not going anywhere. Even if I’m just a co-parent, even if that’s all you ever want from me.” It’s like an avalanche, and once I start, I can’t stop pouring out every last thing that’s been sitting in my head all these years. “I’ll do whatever you want, Stass. I can’t make you love me. But you should know that I don’t want to be just a co-parent. I want you to be mine. Always have, always will.”
I lean across the small table for two we’re sharing, asking permission with my eyes. The way she tilts her mouth toward me, tells me everything I need to know. I capture her lips with mine, my chest filling so full it could burst.
“I don’t want to make this complicated,” she says, her breath mingling with my own.
“Too late.”
She smiles a surrendering smile that makes me think that maybe, just maybe, everything’s going to work out for us—the way it always should have.
We finish lunch before heading back to the condo complex. I have her hand in mine the whole time. We both have to work—she’s taking the evening shift at Ted’s, I have another twelve-hour overnight at the ER. We should rest. But when we get out of the car and it’s time to part, we linger there, equidistant between our places.
“I should go,” she says, but she doesn’t make a move for her door. Instead, she massages the back of her neck, wincing slightly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I must’ve pulled a muscle. The joys of pregnancy. Every day is a weird new symptom.”
I hold up a finger. “I have something for that. Come on.”
She follows me to my apartment, almost too willingly. I actually don’t have anything for that. Well, unless you count some pills that aren’t good for a pregnant woman. But I do have two hands and I know how to use them.
I can’t help it. The desire to devour her is just too much.
And luckily, she gets the hint.
We go upstairs without a word.
She pushes me back onto the bed, straddling me, and my hands delve around her, under her shirt, lacing my fingers together at the small of her back.
“I want you,” she begs, giving me pleading eyes.
I let out a breath. “How about a full body massage?”
She grins and nods eagerly.
“Good.” I motion to my back. “Because I’ve got some kinks here, that—”
She smacks me, hard, on the chest.
“Ow.”
“I can hit a lot harder than that,” she challenges.
“I know. That’s why I’m going to stay on your good side.” I push up onto my elbows, then reach for her t-shirt, lifting it up over her head. Gazing hungrily at her perfect breasts, I take one of them, dip the cup of her bra down, and tongue the nipple.
She throws her head back and lets out a little sigh of contentment, which only makes me hungrier.
Scooping her up, I lay her gently on the center of the bed. Then I strip off her jeans, unbutton my shirt and toss it aside.
“I want to make you feel good.”
She licks her lips in anticipation. “Please.”
I unbuckle my belt slowly, pulling on the button of my slacks and stepping out of them, all while watching her, imagining the way she’ll look when she finally comes.
It’s like Christmas morning—I want to unwrap the presents, but I want to savor this moment and let it last as long as possible. I shed my boxer briefs and start to put a knee onto the bed to climb in next to her, but she holds up a hand.
“Wait,” she says.
I stop. “Something wrong?”
“I just want to look at you. I never really got the chance, before. It was too dark, and—”
“Well. Let me look at you, too.” I lean over, hook a finger under the band of her underwear, and drag it down, lifting each of her legs to pull it off. She sits up, unhooks her bra, and tosses it aside.
For the longest time, we just gaze at each other. She is beyond a work of art. Her breasts are not more than two handfuls, just the right size. Her nipples are two rosebuds, erect for me. The curls of her pubic hair is downy and blonde and something I want to get lost in. She’s all soft, pale curves, every blemish and freckle like a cherry on top of the most perfect dessert I’ve ever had placed in front of me.
But the sexiest thing of all?
The way she’s gazing at me.
I can’t explain how many nights I spent in bed, wishing she’d gaze at me like that.
When she finally reaches out to touch me, gently on my chest, a shiver runs through me.