by Taryn Quinn
I was having a baby with this man. My child would grow up with this sort of everyday affluence, if Oliver truly wanted to be a full partner in this.
Something I needed spelled out. In detail.
I managed to wait until we’d finished the insanely delicious meal and moved on to the thick pieces of strawberry shortcake, drizzled with the berries’ sweet syrup and mounded with whipped cream. Decadent didn’t begin to cover it. As much as I wanted to dive in and lose myself in sheer caloric hedonism, I had to have clarification. We couldn’t just treat this like any other night and boink like bunnies since hey, no more need for latex! Booyah!
And jeez, people called me irresponsible.
“You’re not eating your dessert. Don’t you like it?”
Even without looking up, I knew he was watching me far too intently. “It’s wonderful. The shortcake part is so much better than actual biscuits. Not that I mind a good old-fashioned flaky biscuit, slathered in butter.”
Lookee there, I was babbling yet again.
I speared a strawberry half, chewed, and swallowed. My idea of fortification since liquid courage was out and not my drug of choice anyway. I usually leaned heavily on sweets. “I truly had no idea how you would react. I wasn’t going to bind you in any way.”
The tines of his fork scraped over the china. Oh yes, because we’d had to eat our late dinner on some family heirloom rather than Fiestaware. Or paper plates. They worked too.
“That so?”
“Yes. In case you feel hemmed in, I just wanted you to know that everything is voluntary. I’m not expecting anything. Not money, not…anything.”
He steeped his hands over his plate, just waiting.
“This isn’t a Seth and Marj situation,” I said, feeling behooved to fill the silence. Yet another one of my downfalls. “The right thing is what works for us. I’m ready to tackle this situation however you’d like. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.” I dabbed at my chin with my napkin. Freaking strawberry juice. “Okay?”
“What makes you feel comfortable then? If you could script a scenario for having your first baby, what would it be?”
“A scenario? I don’t know. What’s every woman’s scenario? Or most anyway?”
He spread his hands wide. “You tell me.”
“Well, ideally, marriage. A secure environment for the baby. No drama. No fights. No rush to get back to work so I could have lots of time with him or her. I’d like to take cooking lessons and would enjoy fiddling with my house. You know, staging it, but not for others. For my family. Making it warm and homey. A safe, nurturing place.” Hearing myself, I laughed quietly, shaking my head. “I sound like a fifties housewife.”
“You sound like you’ll be an incredible mother.”
“It’s all I ever wanted.” I shut my eyes. “Not that I got pregnant on purpose. Even though I didn’t take that morning-after pill, and despite what seemed like my indiscriminate process to lose my V-card, I wasn’t hoping for an accident. I wanted a fling. Something fun and casual. I wasn’t asking for more.”
“I know you didn’t get pregnant on purpose. I was there, remember?”
“But I mean in general. I wasn’t trying to hook up with someone so I could start squeezing out kids. No way. I’m still figuring out how to take care of myself, never mind a baby.”
“Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”
“John Lennon was right.” I toyed with the pile of whipped cream, finally taking a few bites. I was full, but I just couldn’t stop. It was so good.
Also stress eating was definitely a factor in my life. Especially now.
“My father adores you,” he said after a moment. “When we tell him about this baby, he’s probably going to move you into the main house, so he can make sure you’re taken care of in every possible way until the baby comes.”
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“You think so? Tonight, he asked if we were dating, and told me I’d better treat you right or I’d answer to him.”
It made me genuinely smile in a way I hadn’t in hours. “You should have seen him in the hospital room with Ally and Seth. He was beaming ear to ear. Couldn’t stop bragging about his new grandson.”
“As he will about this baby.”
Twice now he’d referred to our child as “this baby”. He’d said our before, but the word definitely didn’t trip off his tongue. I couldn’t blame him for that. This was all so new. For me too.
“So, what are your thoughts?” I cocked my head. “Surely, you can’t possibly be this well-adjusted about all of this. Didn’t Seth flip out with Laurie? Ally mentioned he went into fix-it mode.”
“Yes, well, Seth was much younger.”
“Laurie’s four. That’s not all that long ago.”
“I’m not my brother.” He rose and picked up his plate, clearing the table with his usual efficiency. Damn tattooed forearms on full display, making me clench my thighs.
Halfway out of the room, he stopped and glanced back. “Do you want me to run you a hot bath? With or without bubbles.” At my stare, the corner of his mouth rose. “I keep some here in case I bring Laurie over. She loves them.”
“What about with or without penis?”
His smile grew. “That too is optional.”
I sat back in my chair. He still hadn’t detailed his intentions as far as being in the child’s life or not, but he seemed to be acting as if he’d be around. That would be the best-case scenario, of course. I didn’t want to shut him out of his own baby’s life. I also didn’t want to force a connection he didn’t feel.
It was early days yet. And just maybe it didn’t all have to be figured out tonight.
“If you don’t mind.” I ducked my head, feeling shyer than I had a right to be, all things considered. “A bath sounds really nice.”
“I don’t mind. I’ll even wash your hair.” His heavy-lidded expression told me in no uncertain terms he was happy to wash—and dirty up again—any part of me I’d like.
Stalling and not sure why, I went back to the strawberry shortcake. I’d polished off half of it by the time I heard water running upstairs, as well as Oliver puttering around in the bathroom. As much as he ever puttered.
Once I’d eaten as much as I could, I wandered into the huge rustic kitchen and did a little pivot to take it all in. Between the gleaming appliances, hand-carved cabinets, and the miles of granite countertops, the opulence was clear. Somehow the space still managed to feel homey rather than cold. Inviting rather than showroomesque.
I cleaned off my plate and put it in the dishwasher before heading upstairs. Lord, I had to pee again. Hello, baby.
Stopping in the doorway, I started to speak. “Hey, I need to—”
Then I blinked. And blinked again.
The main light had been left off and a soft glow came from sconces high on the wall, plus the half dozen candles lit on surfaces around the bathroom. Oliver was on his knees, sleeves rolled even higher, sinewy muscles shifting as he trailed his hand through the fragrant, bubbly water.
“T-this may be a fire hazard.”
He chuckled. “And I’m the unromantic one. Don’t worry, I snuffed out the ones in the living room.”
“Good. It only takes one to start a forest fire. With all those woods back there…” I gestured behind me.
As he moved back, my gaze locked on something else. Pale pink petals—roses?—floated on the surface of the water, and a couple squat vases of blooms had been placed on the shelves around the tub. I swallowed deeply, rubbing my throat to keep everything moving.
“From Valentine’s Day,” he said simply, and I wanted to cry.
How had everything gotten so screwed up?
Rather than ask that question, I blurted something even worse.
“I have to pee.”
He rose and left the bathroom without another word. I did what I needed to, washed up, and quickly stripped. I didn’t even bother studying my appearance this time. M
y hair was still out of control, and my makeup was probably long gone. I was too weary to care. That warm bath full of bubbles and roses was beckoning to me.
I slipped into the water and let out a moan that bordered on obscene. Sweet heavens, I must be achier than I realized, because the heat seeping into my bones offered unspeakable comfort.
As did the door opening before his dark head peeked inside. “Okay?”
“Better than okay. It feels amazing. These bubbles are like silk on my skin.” I splashed my hand through the water.
“I’m glad you like.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll just—”
“Don’t go.” There was no keeping the plea out of my voice. I needed him.
Just needed so much.
He stepped inside but not too far, lingering near the door. “Do you want me to join you? Or should I just,” his voice dipped, “watch?”
Sixteen
Sage
I rose out of the water just enough that my breasts skimmed the surface. My nipples might as well have been connected to his voice. “Join me.”
He undid his tie, looping it over his head. His shirt was next, the fabric peeling away to reveal golden skin swirled with more of that dark ink that covered his forearms and muscles that rippled in the low light. He undid his belt slowly, seducing me with his movements as much as with his steady focus on me. I watched him avidly as he dropped his pants and boxers, shedding them along with his socks and shoes. He allowed me to look my fill, his already long, thick cock seeming to grow even more under my gaze. I couldn’t look away. He was so freaking hot, and not having him for even a few days had felt like an eternity.
“You still owe me that Valentine’s Day orgasm.” I trailed my hand through the water, reaching up to cup my breast. The move felt foreign, awkward, but his inward breath made it worth it.
“I always repay my debts. With interest.”
Hesitantly, my thumb circled my stiff nipple. I didn’t know what I was doing, and it was probably painfully obvious how little I knew about my own body.
He’d already taught me so much. God willing, he’d teach me more.
He stopped beside the tub and undid the clip in my hair, setting it free. Slowly, he worked through the tangles, his touch soothing me as it always did. I turned my cheek against his thigh and his cock was right there, so stiff and proud. I cupped it and tentatively swept my tongue around the tip, never letting up the pressure on my nipple. It was a poor substitute for stroking my clit, which was where I really needed attention, but I could tell from the heat in Oliver’s eyes he liked what I was doing.
“Keep going,” he urged, and I wasn’t sure if he meant my attentions on his shaft or my hand on my body. Assuming both, I shifted to the other breast, squeezing harder as I took the domed head between my lips, sucking lightly. He cursed and fisted a hand in my hair, hauling back my head. Breaking the connection between my mouth and his erection. “Touch your pussy.”
The word made me tremble, as it always did when he talked dirty. I was still a virgin in so many ways. Still so uneasy when it came to exploring my sexuality. But I wanted to learn.
I slipped my hand lower, pausing for a moment over my belly. Our gazes locked. So many things unsaid. I didn’t know if I’d imagined the way his pupils blew wider before I continued on, my hand disappearing beneath the surface of the water. I ran my fingers over my mound and the neatly trimmed strip of curls, then slid down over my swollen, slippery lips. The instant my thumb skimmed my swollen clit, I gasped, and he drew my head back farther, his focus divided between my arm in the water and my face.
“Can’t see,” he muttered. “Show me everything you’re doing on your face. Don’t hide from me.”
Did he have any idea what he was asking of me? The intimacy this required? It wasn’t just sex. This meant baring everything, exposing myself to him in the most vulnerable way.
I rubbed my clit, keeping my eyes on his even when I wanted to avert them. I could feel the heat climbing my chest and neck, flaming in my cheeks. He was riveted on me, his fingers lacing deeper into my hair as my breathing grew shorter and my touch bolder.
I caressed myself harder, slipping farther along my folds until my finger poised at my sensitive entrance. I sank inside with a long groan, my knees falling open in the tub, my shoulders lowering into the water. But his grip on my hair anchored me, as well as that dark, demanding gaze that only increased the tightening in my core.
“Two fingers,” he said, and I did it without thought. I wrapped my other hand around my breast, squeezing rhythmically while I pleasured myself. The heel of my hand brushed my clit with every pass and a jolt shimmered through me, making my hips jerk and water splash out of the tub. Drops slid down his abs and that killer vee that led to his cock, but he didn’t wipe them up. Instead, he fisted his cock with his other hand, pulling on it with such force that I had to press my thighs together. Trapping my fingers inside.
“You’re close.”
It wasn’t a question, and I couldn’t answer in any case. I just moaned as he worked himself from root to tip, his hand in my hair guiding my head backward so that our eyes were inexorably linked. My fingers moved faster, my need growing until I couldn’t hold back my panting breaths.
His cock was right beside my cheek, full and hard, and I wanted it in my mouth. My lips parted and he gave me the tip, resting it there while I whimpered and used my body for our combined enjoyment. Salt burst across my tongue and he groaned and pushed forward, sending me over the edge. I cried out, never releasing him, sucking on him as my fingers plunged again and again, wringing out every ounce of pleasure.
All too soon, he withdrew. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
I didn’t know what that meant. “What’s—”
He hooked his hands under my arms and lifted me up, giving me no choice but to wrap my dripping limbs around him as he carted me from the room. Drying me off didn’t seem to be a concern. I clung to him, weak from my orgasm and slightly dizzy from the steam.
Still so eager for more.
He crossed the hall and entered a bedroom, covering the distance from the door to the huge bed in several steps. I glimpsed more candles and additional flowers by the bed, along with something silky draped over one of the posts. Dimly, I made out dark wood beams in the high ceiling and a fan paddling lazily overhead.
He lowered me gently on top of the sheets and opened my thighs, spreading them obscenely wide as he kneeled between them. Then his mouth was on me, and I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but be. His erotic kisses were so much more aggressive than my ministrations had been, and I needed that too. I needed his raw greed, the way he splayed me open and just feasted on me as if I was the most delectable thing he’d ever tasted. The sounds he made, the scruff buzzing over my flesh, the rasp of his teeth on that taut little bud that was tightening again already. Just for him.
But he had something else in mind. He eased back, licking his lips by the glow of the candlelight. Wetness gleamed on his chin and rather than being embarrassed, I shivered. He rose and lay back against the pillows, pulling me on top of him. I kissed him eagerly, always aroused by the taste of myself on his tongue. He murmured something, too low for me to hear, and nipped my lower lip, the sting of pain arrowing right to my clit. Mindlessly, I grinded against him, rubbing up and down, the sensation of his hard length right where I needed it driving me wild.
Then I noticed again that length of silk looped around the post. I reached for it and his jaw flexed. Not just, say, a tie to a robe. This had a much different purpose.
“Another part of your Valentine’s seduction?” I asked huskily, trailing the material over his shoulder as I rose, my breasts dangling so close to his mouth. He buried his face between them, cupping and kneading them in his big hands as my head dropped back, pleasure rolling through me in a wave. I nearly came on the spot.
“So sensitive now,” he said against me, and I moaned even at the heat
of his breath on my rigid nipples.
I fumbled to hold onto the tie, sliding it along his arm. “You want to tie me up?”
The idea didn’t frighten me. Maybe it should have, considering how precarious everything between us was. But he’d mentioned handcuffs that first night in the hotel, and between that seed he’d planted and how surprisingly exciting it had been to be held down, I was curious.
“You liked the possibility of handcuffs.” His tone was almost lazy. He wasn’t pushing. Just inviting. Encouraging.
“You’re introducing me to all manner of dirty things.” I squeezed my knees around his hips and he lapped at my nipple, his gaze roaming my face. “Tie my wrists,” I murmured, “but I want to be on top.”
He gave my breast another kiss and reached for the tie, whipping my arms behind my back and binding them loosely before I could so much as squeak. I felt off-balance and so exposed. The position pushed out my breasts, making the rosy nipples seem to point straight out. He must’ve agreed, because he latched on to one, pulling hard while I squirmed against his cock.
“Not sure I can do this. I’m going to fall.” The worry didn’t make sense. My knees were securely on the bed. But something about the pose left me unsteady, although the way he was devouring me with his eyes definitely didn’t.
All my curves were on full display, and he was examining me as if I was a damn work of art.
“I’ve got you.” He gripped my hips and let go of my nipple with a pop, switching his attention to that spot between my neck and shoulder that always made me crazy. Almost silkily, he slipped inside me, pushing forward in one glide that stole my breath.
“Fuck. That feels…” What were words? I couldn’t remember. Grunts. That was what I’d been reduced to. And him too, low, dirty ones against my breast.
“Goddamn, you feel good. So wet. Hot. Jesus, never fucking with a rubber again.” He pulled back and drove into me, so hard that I threw my head back again to drag in air. My fingers curled into fists beneath my bound wrists. My arms were starting to hurt, but the way my breasts were thrust forward gave him easy access. And he made good use of it, sucking and biting my nipples while he dug bruises in my hips and stroked his cock in and out.
