My feet are propped up on the coffee table in front of me. Netflix is streaming a ridiculously amazing show about Vikings. In my lap is the book Jenna’s been telling me to buy that I finally got around to purchasing. Next to me is a notebook and pen, which I’ve been using to scribble down every single baby item known to man I have to purchase. Jenna wasn’t kidding. Babies need more supplies and gear and accessories than I had realized. In one hand, I’m holding a large chocolate shake that was once topped with whipped cream, and in my other hand, I’m holding a greasy, delicious French fry. Lucy’s head is on my thigh, wide eyes glued to me ever since I came back from grabbing my dinner. She’s staring at me, waiting for me to drop a fry.
She doesn’t seem to care about the food in her dish despite the dozens of times I’ve told her she has her own food.
I’m dressed in my sole remaining pair of black yoga pants that are stretched to the max at the seams, and my sweatshirt is so old it has holes in the wrist cuffs…not because it’s fashionable, but because I’ve owned this since my freshman year of college.
Needless to say, I look pretty much like the mess I currently am when Braxton walks in when he’s done with work.
“Whoa,” he says, laughter rich in his voice. “Looks like someone’s finally over the Mexican craving.”
I dip my fry into the shake and pop it into my mouth. “I had a craving. Sue me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He walks to me and bends over the back of the couch, kissing the top of my head. “How was your day?”
“Busy, I worked at Gallio’s this morning and spent the afternoon painting.” I grin up at him. In the last two weeks, my morning sickness has abated to more of an annoyance than an impending doom, and I’ve been more inspired than I can ever remember feeling. I blame my new painting space and the incredible views I see morning, noon, and night, and it’s not a complaint. “Yours?”
“A pain in the ass. I worked on a back piece that took most of the day.” He holds up his hand and curls his finger. “My hand feels like it might become a claw permanently.”
“Nice. Did you eat?”
“Yeah. Stella and I grabbed some takeout.” He points to my shake and cardboard container of fries. “Is that your dinner?”
I pop another chocolate-coated fry into my mouth. “I’m working on my calcium intake.”
“You’re a nut. Let me go take a shower and I’ll be back.” He glances at the television, where a fight scene filled with mostly half-naked men wearing furs grabs his attention. “What are you watching? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
He stops near the mouth of the hallway and turns back to me, as if he’s just realized he’s forgotten something. “Hi, Lucy.”
The dog’s ears twitch but she doesn’t take her eyes off the fry in my hand.
“Ah, I see,” Braxton says. “I’ve been replaced by the love of greasy food.”
“It’s the dinner of champions.”
His laugh echoes down the hallway and I pet Lucy’s head. “Good girl,” I say and give her the fry she’s been patiently begging for. I love this dog. I work fewer hours than Braxton so I’m home a lot more than him. I like that she follows me everywhere, always sitting at my side, usually with her dopey face resting near my stomach.
Braxton has mentioned before she’s difficult to adopt out because not everyone wants a pit bull, especially a mixed breed of one, and I’ve been secretly hoping I can talk him into adopting her. I don’t know how I’ll be able to say goodbye to her. I was never allowed to have pets growing up, my mom insisting they were too much work and they smelled and shed, but even with the dog hair that’s frequently sprinkled all over my clothes, I’ve completely fallen in love with her. She seems so much larger than she did a month ago when I met her, and Braxton’s place isn’t exactly the best for a dog as big as she’s going to be, but I still can’t imagine giving her up for anything.
Not that it’s my call.
I hold out another fry, which she steals just as quickly, as Braxton comes into the room.
“Oh, that’s why my girl has no use for me,” he says, heading straight for us. “You’ve stolen her from me with fries and ear rubs.”
“She likes them,” I insist, and scoot over on the couch so he can slide in next to me. It’s become our nightly routine when he gets home from work. We eat, chill on the couch curled up next to each other, and most nights, I wake up as he’s carrying me to bed.
His bed, because since the first time we slept together two weeks ago, we haven’t spent a single night apart.
Lucy gives him an annoyed look as he takes the spot where she’s been resting and ignores him.
“How’s my little guacamole doing?” Braxton asks, his hand resting on my belly.
“And you say I’m a nut.” Ever since I told him the baby was the size of a lemon, he’s taken to checking a website that measures a fetus’s size using fruits and vegetables for references. I love it, though, the way he’s always asking about our baby, or how I’m feeling. I’ve never felt so pampered or taken care of, and over the last two weeks since we’ve been living together, I haven’t just begun falling for Braxton, I’m completely head over heels in love with him.
He’s not only an incredible man, he’s going to be an even more amazing father.
“Well, yeah. You’re sixteen weeks so he or she is the size of an avocado. Given your abundant cravings of Mexican food, I figure it’s also filled with spices.”
“Nice.” I drain the rest of my shake and eat my fries while I hand Braxton the remote so he can put on whatever show he wants. I’ve been putting off telling him about a phone call I received from my parents a couple days ago, but I can’t avoid it any longer. “I have to talk to you about something.”
One of his arms is slung over my shoulder and at what has to be an ominous tone in my voice, he grips me tighter.
“What is it?” He drops the remote onto his lap and turns, lifting me so I’m facing him. “What happened?”
“My parents called.”
We haven’t spoken of them since the day after I moved in. They’ve been shoved into a back corner, collecting dust bunnies while at least I pretend that someday my parents will become decent people. At my statement, Braxton’s eyes widen and a muscle jumps. “They did.”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And they want to see me for dinner. Tomorrow night.”
“How kind of them to give you a day’s notice.”
My gaze slides to the left and Braxton’s hand lands on my thigh. “Cara? They called today?”
“Not exactly.” I can’t look at him. I haven’t technically lied to him, but it’s the first time I feel like we haven’t been completely honest with each other either. Somehow, it feels like I’ve betrayed him in some way.
“When did they call?”
“Monday?” I chance a peek at him as the weight of the couch moves.
He shifts back, pulling his arm from behind me. “I see.”
“I didn’t mean to keep it from you, I just wanted to avoid thinking about it.”
“What’d they say?”
My hand rests on my stomach, as if I’m already feeling the need to protect my baby. I can’t hide the cringe when I say, “They want to talk to me about my situation.”
“Your situation?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.” He scrubs a hand down his face, back up and through his black hair. Tension radiates off him and I fight not to shrink away from the glare in his eyes. “You can’t go. I have an appointment I can’t change and there’s no way in hell I’m letting you be around them alone, so they can treat you like crap.”
His reaction is mostly why I’ve been avoiding this entire conversation. “The thing is, they specifically said they only want me to come.”
God, it sounds horrible, and it’s even worse I’ve been considering this. The hurt in Braxton’s face is clear and it makes me want to reach out to reassure him it’s just their same old crap. I lift a hand and he pushes it down, shoving off the couch. “I see.”
It’s the second time he’s said it. It hurts more this time.
“Braxton—”
“No.” He lifts a hand to stop me, and I move off the couch to go to him, but he takes a step back. “This pisses me off, Cara. Why do they want you alone? So they can manipulate you more? Twist your head about me? Why?”
“Because I don’t know!” I fly my hands out to my side and they smack my hips. “I don’t know, and I’m not looking forward to it, but there’s nothing they can say or do that changes how I feel about you and me raising this baby together.”
He takes a step back, skin paling, and just…stares at me.
“Raising this baby together,” he mutters. He spins around, putting his back to me, and brings his hand to his face so I can no longer see him, but I despise the slump of his shoulders as he turns back to me. “Right. That’s all we’re doing.”
“That’s not what I meant.” We’re not just raising a baby together. We are together, at least I’ve been thinking we are.
“It’s fine, I get it. Go to dinner. I’m going to go work out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Braxton—”
He doesn’t stop, he just lifts his hand in the air, giving me his back, and dropping his hand. Even Lucy flashes me a sad look and trots off after him.
Great, I’ve even hurt the dog’s feelings.
But mine are hurting too. It’s the first time we’ve fought since we tried to start dating, and this sick sensation in my stomach makes me want to go to him and tell him how I feel. That I think he’s amazing and I’m the luckiest girl in the world to be with a man like him.
I probably would have, if he would have let me finish a single sentence.
Maybe we just need some space. When I feel myself drifting off on the couch, I turn off the lights and television and head to what I’ve begun thinking of as our room, hearing the treadmill still whirring ever since he disappeared into the room he uses as a home gym as I pass it.
I pause at the threshold of his room, debating, but what the hell. The worst he can do is wake up and kick me out. I get ready for bed and slide into his sheets, pulling the covers to my chin. I have no idea how I’ll sleep, but somehow, I manage to drift off, only to be wakened later when the bed jostles me. Braxton rolls, slides his arm over my side, and rests his hand at my stomach, shifting until his chest is flush against my back.
His lips press against my temple, and he says nothing, so I don’t either, but at least, even upset with me, he still wants me.
I link my hand with his at my stomach, and hope we can resolve this in the morning.
A moan pushes past my lips, and it’s the sound I make coupled with the warmth pressing into my back that pulls my eyes open. Braxton is still behind me, his hand still at my stomach, but our hands are no longer interlocked like they were when we fell asleep. Instead, his hand is lower, his fingers even lower, and they’re brushing against my sex in soft, teasing movements.
“Oh,” I gasp, as he swirls a finger around my clit.
“Shh. I want to touch you.”
“Please” and “thank you” are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t speak. I can’t. I’m delirious with sleep and the anticipation of pleasure. My head rests against the pillow, against Braxton’s shoulder, as he presses against me. His erection is thick and hard, sliding along the crease of my backside.
He gathers moisture as he slides a finger inside of me, hooking it and rubbing along my sweet spot.
A shiver of delight rolls down my spine, making me arch into him, and it all feels so perfect. I could wake up like this every day for the rest of my life and never want for anything else.
“More,” I whimper, turning my head and shoving it into the crook of his neck. I kiss his throat, rolling to my back and spreading my legs. Morning sex is the best sex. Languid and slow, still warm from the bed. My mind runs away from me, thinking of what it will feel like as he shifts on top of me, slides deep inside. I want him.
I reach down and wrap his length in my hand, sliding down to cup his balls and stroke his shaft.
“Fuck,” he groans. His ab muscles tighten, his hips lift toward me. Mine arch into his hand and I look down at us, our sheets now pushed off, and I watch as we play with each other.
“Braxton.” I’m already trembling, heat building low in my back, spreading toward my hips. He moves suddenly, understanding the desperate plea in my voice, and he’s forcing my legs wider with his hips and dipping down, he takes a nipple into his mouth, rolls it with his tongue.
“Oh God.” They’re so sensitive. Sparks of pleasure ignite my senses, traveling through my nerves, and I’m breathless. “Yes.”
“Do you want more?”
“You. I want you.”
“Open your eyes.”
I haven’t realized I closed them, but I open them, stare directly into Braxton’s deep, dark eyes. His lids are half-lidded, mixed with sleep and desire and yet even as he continues teasing me, alternating between sliding his finger inside of me, rubbing it along my clit, he makes no effort to give me more.
“I was an ass last night.”
It takes me a moment to remember our fight, and my body tenses, but he shakes his head, bends down, and sucks a nipple into his mouth.
“Oh God.” I arch into him. So freaking good.
“I want to be more than just the man you’re raising a child with.”
“You are.” The admission bursts through me, he’s making me drunk with pleasure, annihilating my senses, everything that generally screams at me to hold back. But everything he’s doing to me feels so good, I’m mindless. “You are more than that.”
He examines me, dark penetrating gaze bouncing back and forth between mine. “Good. I care about you, Cara. I don’t want your parents hurting you.”
“I really don’t want to talk about my parents right now.”
His lips tilt up and then he’s pulling his fingers from me, himself, rubbing the tip of him through my wetness and it’s so beautiful so see. His thick, perfect cock sends jolts of heat to my body as he rubs it against my clit, and then he’s there, pushing in slowly, dropping to his elbows and we’re connected—condoms kicked to the curb last week when his tests returned clean.
Every brush of his chest against mine causes friction on my nipples, and I’m already so close, and he’s moving so slowly, shoving a hand beneath my back to lift my hips.
“Oh God,” I moan against his throat. “So perfect. Faster.”
“No. Slow. I want it slow.”
I want him to have everything he wants. My hands move to his hips, his back. He’s hot, already slickened with sweat, good God, how long did he play with me before I woke up to have both of so close already.
It doesn’t even matter. He fills me completely, stretching me, hitting the end of me so deep inside, his pelvis putting the perfect pressure against my swollen bundled nerves it’s not long before I’m gasping.
“Braxton,” I cry out, biting down on his shoulder as my orgasm heats my skin. I’m burning, and it’s beautiful, and he’s moving so slow, long measured strokes that make me reach for him, dig my hands in to speed him up, but he refuses.
The room fills with the sound of our flesh, the mingled groans from him and whimpers from me.
My body is so well primed, it doesn’t take much, I’m trembling, he shoves deep inside of me, throwing me over the edge of my orgasm. Bright lights spark behind my closed lids and my fingers are digging into his skin, holding him against me while my body falls apart beneath him and he’s grunting my name, cursing the heavens, and slams deep inside of me.
He pulses, emptying himself, and his teeth are at my shoulder, biting down as he groans out his own climax, immediately following mine that’s refusing to dissipate.
“Cara.” My name is a groan, ripped from deep in his throat and my hips are still shifting, riding the pleasurable wave and my God it’s insane how long it’s lasting but when he tries to pull off me, I arch into him. The friction is unending, the pleasure so intense I’m screaming his name and clawing at him.
“Oh my God,” I gasp as I finally feel my climax recede. “That’s insane.”
“That might be a world record in length.”
I laugh, kiss his throat down to his shoulder. I’m pulsing around him, my orgasm finally dissipating but lingering aftershocks roll through me.
“Crazy.” I can scarcely catch my breath, and his weight on top of me is divine.
I thrust my head back, away from his throat, until I can look into his eyes. “Good morning.”
A heat spreads on my cheeks, nothing to do with the orgasm or the slow, sleepy sex. Embarrassment at what he said, bringing up my parents, our fight last night slides into the forefront of my mind. “I’m sorry about last night too.”
“I want you,” he says. He’s still inside of me. This is the most ridiculous time to have this conversation, and yet every time he slides out, and pushes in, he’s drawing honesty out of me in a way I can’t hide. “I like you.”
He stresses “like,” giving me a hint he means more. I blink, unable to respond with anything less than the truth, but, good Lord, it’s terrifying.
I try anyway. “When I woke up that morning after the wedding, I’d just had the best weekend of my entire life with a guy, and I was utterly terrified that to you I’d been just a way to spend the weekend.”
“What?” His head jerks back. “Why would you think that?”
“Inexperience?” I shrug my shoulders. I’d told him part of the truth. I had felt like a disaster, but mostly it was just because I didn’t know how to do one-night stands, but also because what if he didn’t think of me the same way I had him? “I gave you more than just my body that weekend, Braxton. I was scared to risk getting hurt.”
My hand sweeps up and down his spine, hoping he understands.
His eyes soften in a way that tells me he gets it completely. He pulls out of me slowly, his dick still semihard, and even softening he’s still glorious. He pulls me with him as he sits back on his knees until I’m straddling him, my arms draping over his shoulders.
Then he does the sweetest thing I’ve ever experienced, perhaps far more intimate than what we just experienced together.
His hands slide to the back of my neck, up into my hair, and he massages my scalp.
“I will treasure every single part you give me, Cara, you have my word.”
My breath catches. There isn’t a hint of doubt in his voice or his expression, and my lips part, surprised at the depth of the emotion I see etched into his features.
It’s not an admission of love, it might be too soon even though I definitely feel myself falling in love with Braxton.
Before I can respond, he pulls me against him, my forehead to his shoulder, his hands at my head, and he holds me—hugs me.
It’s the least sexual thing we’ve done, but it’s the most tender, the most loving.
I close my eyes, feel the rhythm of my heart beating against my chest, and I realize I’m wrong.
I’m not falling for Braxton Henley.
I’ve already landed.