by Naima Simone
“Cole,” she pleaded, voice ragged, breathless. “Please. God, please.”
He couldn’t hold back any longer, couldn’t hold out on her. Curling his fingers, he rubbed a place high and deep, and sucked hard on her. On a choked scream, Sydney came, writhing and undulating. He kept at her, not stopping until she weakly pushed at his head, whimpering “no more.”
Giving her pulsing clit one last kiss, he drew free of her sex and rose to his feet, his own legs trembling with unfulfilled need. He slid his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean, and watching the renewed flare of heat in her eyes. Bending down, he grasped her hands and helped her to stand. Silently, he led her to the bed, helping her onto the mattress.
Gaze fixed on her sweat-dampened, beautiful body, he removed his clothes. He moved to the dresser and retrieved the newly bought box of condoms. She was pregnant, and so they could have sex without protection. But he’d... The box trembled in his hands. He’d only ever been bare with one woman. That particular intimacy—he didn’t know if he was ready for it. Didn’t know if Sydney was ready for that when she was carrying another man’s baby. So, he didn’t ask. Couldn’t ask.
Nabbing one of the packets, he climbed on the bed beside her. The rich musk of her release scented the air, and he breathed it in, fisting his cock, giving it a healthy, long pump, fisting the tip. She stared, eyes glazed, nipples diamond hard, legs shifting restlessly.
“You need time?” he asked, praying that if she said yes, he could respect it. Hell, survive it.
“No.” She shook her head for added emphasis and thank God. “I want you inside me,” she whispered.
Leaning over, he gathered her hair in his freed hand and took her mouth again, still stroking himself. The kiss was messy, raw, hot, his control shot. Before he reached the point of no return, he released her, tore open the foil, sheathed himself.
“What’s most comfortable for you, baby girl?” he asked, shifting and crouching over her. “Do you want to ride me?” His dick twitched in vote for that option. “Do you want me to take you from the back?”
“I want to look at you,” she whispered, a flush painting the slants of her cheekbones. “For this first time. I want you on top.” She cupped his jaw, swept a caress over his mouth.
He nodded, a little surprised by how much he wanted that, too. To cover her as much as he safely could. Reaching behind her, he arranged the pillows so she wouldn’t be lying flat on her back. He knelt between her spread thighs, splaying his hands on her skin, his fingertips grazing her glistening flesh.
“Look at me.” Echoing his earlier demands, she lifted her other hand and cradled his face, lifting his head and not giving him a choice but to do as she said. “Only you and I are here. When you’re ready, Cole. When you’re ready.”
He bowed his head, turning to press a kiss to her palm. He hadn’t known he’d needed those words—but she had. Granting him permission to let go of any lingering guilt, to be with her in this most intimate embrace.
Bracing one hand against the headboard, he gripped his cock and notched his erection against her entrance. He paused, pressed a hand into the pillow next to her head...and pushed inside her.
The rumble that clawed up his throat rolled out of his mouth and echoed in the room. Jesus. So soft. So firm. She was liquid fire, tighter than a fist and sweeter than a mouth. She was pleasure and pain. Heaven and hell. Shelter and danger.
She was perfect.
Drawing on a will he hadn’t known he possessed, he paused. Sweat dotted his brow, trickling down his temple. And yet, he stilled, his cock only half buried in her body. He opened eyes he hadn’t been aware of closing and peered down at Sydney.
Curls wild and gorgeous on his pillow, she strained under him, her breasts trembling with the tremors that rocked through her. Lashes lifting, she met his gaze, the dark brown hazy with lust. Her knees squeezed his hips before she rested her heels on the backs of his thighs.
“More. All of you,” she breathed. “You promised you wouldn’t hold back.”
“You sure?” It cost him to ask that, but he had to. Had to make sure. “This what you want?”
“All of you,” she repeated, sliding her palms up his arms and shoulders, her nails biting into his skin.
Leaning his head back, he thrust home. Fully sheathed inside her tight, wet heat. Her walls embraced him, kissed his flesh. All of him. Just as she’d requested.
Buried so deep, he burned. Felt branded by her. And it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Pulling free of her until just the tip remained inside and the cool air brushed over his flesh, he levered off of her and watched, damn near hypnotized by the sight of his cock slowly thrusting into her. He gripped her hips, slightly raising her ass off the bed. Again. He withdrew and pushed back inside, electrical currents racing up and down his spine. Gritting his teeth against the ecstasy, he set up a steady pace, riding her, rocking into her, ever mindful of her comfort.
Loosening his hold, he fell back over her, a palm slamming on the headboard, his other cupping a breast and thumbing the rigid nipple. With a snarl, he bent almost double over her, sucking that tip into his mouth. Her sex tightened, tightened, quivering around him and caressing him from root to tip.
“Cole,” she whimpered, undulating beneath him, hands clasping his head and holding him close. “Cole, I need—I need, please...”
“I know what you need, baby girl.” He reached between them, stroked fingertips over her clit, circling it firmly. “Give it to me.”
Her scream ripped through the air, echoing in his ears. Her core clamped down on his dick, squeezing, rippling around him. She twisted, as if fighting to get closer while simultaneously escaping the pleasure that wracked her.
He rode her, whispering demands that she take it all. Don’t fucking stop until you take it all. And just as her tremors started to ease, pleasure crackled in the soles of his feet, traveling with lightning speed up his legs, zipping up his spine and then pumping into his dick. With a hoarse shout, he came, exploding, letting himself go into the oblivion that he’d been seeking.
The sweet oblivion she’d gifted him.
He didn’t think about tomorrow, later that evening or even ten minutes from now.
At this moment, as he fell to the bed beside Sydney, his muscles heavy and thick with fatigue, lungs laboring, he had peace. And as she curled into his side, her palm flattening over his still pounding heart, he welcomed it.
Even as a tiny voice whispered that it couldn’t last.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“OKAY, THIS IS GOOD. At least I think it’s good. Maybe.” Sydney squinted at the computer screen and the last few lines she’d just typed. “Dammit, it’s crap.”
Groaning, she lifted her arms above her head, stretching. The ache in her lower back had nothing to do with pregnancy this time, but because she’d been hunched over her laptop for the last three hours, working on... She huffed out a breath, setting her computer on the couch cushion and pushing to her feet. How sad was it that she couldn’t even think the words, much less utter them aloud?
“My urban fantasy book.”
There. She’d said it.
She’d put it out there. And there was nothing wrong with it. She’d almost completed the grant for the community center, so working on her secret book didn’t take time away from that job. Besides, she was a grown woman with great organizational skills. She could manage writing both at the same time. She didn’t have to answer to anyone for her choices. Yet, part of her still wanted to snatch that declaration out of the atmosphere and stuff it back inside where it belonged.
But the other half stubbornly ordered herself to stop being such a chicken.
This is my dream. I don’t need to make excuses, apologize or be ashamed of working on a project that makes me happy.
Sighing, she strode toward the kitchen, rubbing a hand
over her belly. Jellybean—oh how Leo hated the nickname Sydney had given the baby—had been more active lately. And every flutter, every roll and poke, was a treasure. Hard to believe that in just a little over three months, she would be able to hold her little girl. Smell her baby scent. Finally see whose features she’d inherited.
Her smile wavered a bit. It’d been four weeks since Daniel had arrived on her doorstep. And three since she and Cole married at the motorcycle rally. In that time, she’d contacted Daniel’s attorney and relayed the information about her marriage as well as her medical records from Dr. Prioleau. Per Sydney’s request, the physician would now email over information from her appointments. Cole had advised that she keep all contact with Daniel through him and her ex’s lawyer for the foreseeable future. He didn’t—and she didn’t either—trust Daniel not to record any conversation with her and twist it to bolster his future case. If someone had asked her even five weeks ago if Daniel would be capable of that kind of subterfuge, she would’ve disagreed. But now?
She frowned, filling the teakettle and setting it on the stove. That she and Daniel had come to this saddened her. Their divorce had been relatively amicable, and she’d hoped that their co-parenting would be the same. She hated that their relationship had turned so contentious.
The front door opened, jerking her from her thoughts. Then Cole entered.
Three weeks, she’d been his wife. Three weeks, she’d been his lover.
So, she should be used to that beautiful, masculine face. That tall, muscled, wiry body.
But even now, her breath snagged in her throat. Her pulse skipped and raced. Pinpricks of awareness danced down her bare arms and spine. Arousal spilled through her like the hot tea that boiled on the stove.
She turned and headed toward the cabinet for a cup. Not that removing Cole from her direct line of sight did anything for the tightening of her nipples or the hollow ache between her thighs. Jesus, the man should be locked up for her safety. She’d read about pregnant women experiencing a boost in their sexual drive, but this was ridiculous. Besides, she suspected this persistent and deep need for him had nothing to do with hormones and everything to do with him. And her reaction to him.
But the question that frightened her most—could she get over it? Would a time come that just looking at him—inhaling his earthy scent, staring into his whiskey eyes—wouldn’t leave her hot, hungry and...unsatisfied?
As much as the question frightened her, the answer scared her more.
So, she chose not to dwell on it.
She opened the cabinet door, but before she could retrieve a mug, a hard chest pressed against her back and a long, muscled arm reached over her head and nabbed one. Her favorite “Not today, Mugglefucker” Harry Potter cup. She ignored the flutter of butterfly wings in her stomach. The baby. That was the baby.
“What’re you doing?” Cole lightly scolded. “You know you’re supposed to be taking it easy and definitely not stretching your arms above your head.”
He moved around her and removed a tea bag from the box. The kettle whistled, and he poured the steaming water into the cup with the bag. She stood back, watching him. And trying not to... She shook her head. Can’t go there. Yet, when he constantly did these sweet, thoughtful things, as if they were just second nature, she slid closer and closer to there.
Which presented a huge problem. Because Cole was the definition of heartbreak. The certainty of that grew with each passing day. Her stomach had grown a little bigger in the past three weeks, and unless they were having sex, Cole didn’t touch her stomach. Barely even looked at it.
She understood why. Panic had to be setting in. Even knowing that Dr. Prioleau deemed her pregnancy normal with no complications so far probably did nothing to lessen his anxiety. After all, Tonia’s appointments had been the same. He was distancing himself from her; she felt it. Except for when they were naked, and he was inside her. Then, she’d never felt as connected to another person. Not even Daniel. Still... That didn’t mean Cole’s pulling away didn’t hurt.
Especially when she needed him to want her just as much as she wanted him.
She had to guard her heart. Not just for her sake, but also for her daughter’s.
Stuffing her wayward—and frankly, depressing—thoughts into the lockbox where she stored all her worries and fears, she smirked. “That’s an old wives’ tale. I’m pretty sure Dr. Prioleau said I should continue to be active. And I think she would file getting a cup of tea under ‘active.’”
“Smart-ass,” he grumbled. He hiked his chin in the direction of the living room, a smile flirting with his mouth. “I’ll bring this in.”
She returned to the couch, and he followed, waiting until she was settled before handing her the tea. Blowing across the top of it, she stared down into the mug.
“What’s this?”
She glanced up, horrified to see her laptop in Cole’s hands. No. Horrified to see her laptop in his hands as he read the document she’d stupidly left open.
“Nothing.” She quickly set the tea on the coffee table and snatched the computer from him. Heart pounding, she minimized the novel and closed the top. The whole mantra she’d repeated to herself moments earlier about not being embarrassed or ashamed jumbled in her head.
“Nothing, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Scavengers on souped-up ATVs and undead carnivores. What? Are you writing a grant proposal for The Walking Dead, now?”
She flinched.
“Whoa, whoa. Wait.” He shifted on the couch, leaning forward, a frown marring his brow and concern darkening his amber eyes. “What was that about? I was only kidding.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, briefly closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her hand, meeting his gaze. “I guess I’m a little...oversensitive about...” Not able to say the words to him—because a part of her still didn’t trust opening herself up to ridicule—she waved in the direction of the laptop.
But she should’ve known Cole wouldn’t just leave it at that.
“What is that, exactly?” he pressed.
“You read enough to guess what it is,” she hedged, reaching for her tea again. Anything to deflect attention.
But he clasped her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers.
“Sydney.”
She scoffed, yanking her hand free and retrieving her tea before he could stop her again. “It’s nothing. Stop making such a big deal out of it,” she said, grasping for flippancy and landing on irritability.
“Then why are you making it one?” he asked quietly. “And why does the fact that you’re working on a sci-fi book embarrass you?”
“Urban fantasy,” she mumbled the correction. Then set the tea down again. Damn. At this rate, she would never get to drink it. Well, not before it lost all its heat. “I’m not embarrassed because I’m writing an urban fantasy novel. It’s you knowing that I’m working on it that I’m...uncomfortable with.”
Cole studied her for several silent moments. “Daniel.”
She grimaced and glanced away, unable to hold his unwavering stare. “Yes. No.” She blew out a breath, her hand fluttering in a nervous gesture. “I mean, it’s my fault, too. It was my responsibility to make my needs known. But it was just easier not to.”
“Remember when I asked you if it was a habit to accept the blame for others’ bad behavior? I also said it was one you needed to break. Baby girl—” he covered the hand that bunched the front of her skirt, halting the restless action “—if Daniel made you feel so embarrassed about sharing this with him, then that’s on him, not you. He must’ve done something to instill that in you. The blame is squarely on him if his wife couldn’t trust him with something important to her. You hid it from him, Sydney. And I know that because you’re still hiding it. That’s his shame, not yours. But I’m quickly coming to learn that your ex isn’t big on owning his shit. So, tell me about this.�
� He waved toward the laptop. “Trust me, baby girl.”
How did he dig right to the heart of the matter? How did he...see her so clearly, but couldn’t do the same for himself? Daniel had harmed her. And the emotional bruise had been so deep, she’d hidden part of herself away, afraid of being injured again. It was lonely living like that. And she didn’t want to be that person—afraid to trust, fearful of rejection—any longer. At least, not with this.
She parted her lips, but nothing came out. Apparently being brave didn’t just happen because you wanted it to. Licking her lips, she swallowed. Tried again. Forced herself to stop being such a chicken.
“In college, I started a book,” she said, finally. “It began as fan fiction for Resident Evil, but I kept expanding it until it was my own world, characters and story line. I was excited about it. I was proud of it.” A faint echo of that exhilaration and pleasure rippled through her. “I enjoyed grant writing, but the novel... It was my creative outlet, and as the world and the plot solidified, I started to dream about one day submitting it to publishers. I’ve always read books—it’s one of my joys—but I never allowed myself to envision seeing my book next to the authors I admired.”
She lifted her gaze to Cole’s face and glimpsed...what? Pity? Patronization? Humor? What would’ve been worst out of that trio? Didn’t matter, because she didn’t have to choose. His amber eyes held none of those. Just patience and understanding. No judgment. It bolstered her confidence to continue.
“One day not too long after we were married, I told Daniel about the book and shared a couple of chapters with him.” The memory of that impulsive decision still retained the power to burn her cheeks with humiliation and hurt. “He read them, then complimented me on my effort and initiative, but said that I was wasting my time on foolish projects. He told me to focus on the grant writing because I was good at it, and it would earn me money.”
