by Chloe Liese
I grinned playfully and it broke through her cloudy demeanor just like I’d hoped.
She smiled and the sun came out from behind a cloud at the same moment. “That’s now how I see it, that I’d be stuck with you.” Her face sobered. “This isn’t an ideal situation, no, but I do want the baby.”
My shoulders fell in relief. “I know it’s shit timing, and things have been stressful, but it’s also really hot, you know,” I mumbled against her lips as I kissed her, gently.
Her eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Is it now?”
“Hell yes.”
Nairne laughed hard. “Well, in that case...” she whispered against my jaw.
Touches escalated. The intensity of the last month, of the day alone, lent a gravity and urgency, and before I knew it, I was yanking off my shirt, kicking off my boxers and jeans, and dragging down her leggings in a rapid frenzy. She ripped her shirt off and I lay against her, glorying in the bliss of bare skin on bare skin.
“Nairne, these are bigger.” I cupped her breasts softly in my hands. “I’m not imagining it. I knew I wasn’t imagining it.” I groaned, sucking one of her soft round nipples deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue and nipping the skin.
“They’re even more sensitive…be a little gentler.”
Nipple play was a necessity for Nairne to get off. Her upper body was keyed up to a whole new erogenous level and I would never, ever complain about that. I could lick and bite and suck her gorgeous breasts, strum her clit for a little while, and she’d go off like a firework. If I had to traverse that terrain a little more carefully and still give her pleasure, I would do it and happily.
I gave each rosy nipple the attention it deserved, fondling both tenderly as I ground my cock against her. “Just tell me, if anything else…”
She nodded quickly. “I will.” She grabbed my hips and tried to pull me to her.
“I’m steering this ship, fragolina.” I reached down, softly swirled my fingers around the silky skin of her sex, smiling when I felt how wet she was.
“Zed.” She bit her lip, clawed my shoulders.
I pressed myself inside her, filling her to the hilt.
“Goddamn.” I breathed out slowly, felt my arms shake. I could come right at that moment, so I breathed a few more times, before I looked up at her. When I did, the truth fell into place inside me. I’d known for a while how endlessly I wanted her, loved her, unlike anyone I ever had. But something deepened in that suspended moment. Our bodies connected, the raging current of energy humming through every nerve of my body that fused me to her. The tiny piece of Nairne and me flickering inside her, nestled between us. It coalesced explosively as I laced my fingers with hers and kissed her sweet lips. I rocked into her and had to bite my cheek so I wouldn’t go off. Jesus, the woman undid me.
“You’re being gentle,” she said. “You’re never gentle. I need you, Zed. The real you.”
“I’m gentle…sometimes.” I kissed her again. “I don’t want to hurt you or be too rough for the baby.”
“You won’t. Oh, yes,” she said as I stroked her nipple, because that wasn’t going to hurt anything.
“You sure?” I whispered and pressed my forehead against her.
“Yes, I promise. You won’t hurt either of us.”
“You’re the scientist in the family. So, I’m taking that as an expert opinion.”
I threw her arms back, pressed them down as I linked our hands. I drove in hard, watching her breasts bounce as she writhed under me. I licked and bit the underside of them, sucked and teased. Felt her body start shaking after an indeterminate time of steady strokes. She was so fucking close. I sunk my teeth into the delicate side of her neck, and she shot off into the stratosphere.
Head back in silent joy, she throbbed around me and squeezed my cock so hard it threw me over the edge with her. I called her name, like the prayer it was to me, the devotion that expressed my love for the woman who owned my soul.
When I blinked awake, Nairne was fast asleep, her breathing soft and even. Slowly, I sat up, grabbed the quilt we’d thrashed to the foot of the bed and pulled it up to cover her. I stepped over to the window and slid it down quietly to shut out the cooling breeze. Then I tugged on my clothes and slipped downstairs, grabbed my hoodie and our suitcases, and padded as softly as I could back up the creaky wood steps into her room.
Once I had my sweatshirt and a ball cap on, I sank down into the rocker near the door and watched her sleep. Sitting there, rocking silently, I noticed it was single-source lighting—the evening rays skittering their long orange beams over her cheekbones, her hair, her bare shoulder that had escaped the blanket. She shifted slightly, perhaps warmer now that the window was closed, and pushed down the blanket. It barely covered her thin hips and the small patch of auburn that marked my favorite spot.
Reaching for my suitcase, I flipped open the lid, fished out my small sketchbook and tin of charcoals. I found a fresh page and started sketching, my eyes flicking rapidly from her to the paper, which gradually took on her greyscale likeness. About halfway through, I paused, and my hand hovered over the page. I’d been so caught up in rendering her, I hadn’t even processed the change in a form that I’d sketched countless times. A tiny shadow at the base of her stomach. The smallest indication of the enormous reality that lay beneath.
I swallowed and rubbed over the ache in my heart that felt insurmountably full of love for her. Then I brought the charcoal pencil back to the paper, and thought about what life could be, now that we’d escaped our pasts and their haunting reaches into our future. She was safe, and I was free. Two unfettered people with a new tie between us.
A baby.
Just a few months ago, fresh off my escape from my stilted life in Boston, Nairne had been adamant about releasing me for a season of self-discovery and prioritization, telling me to play and live where I wanted, and trust that if we were meant to work, we would. I’d pushed against that, hoping to show her that life and work in London together worked for both of us. But she still had that damn apartment, persistent about her independence and self-reliance that I wasn’t sure she’d find compatible with the notion of marriage.
Marriage. I’d seen a good one—my parents’—cut tragically short. I’d seen plenty others fall apart. Was marriage essential? Nairne and I were modern people. We didn’t give a shit what other people thought. We lived our lives as we believed was right. Was marriage right for us?
That was a rational inquiry, but not a personally honest one. My gut, my heart, my instinct said I desired that promise between us. To swear myself to her, pledge my body and life. Because she was worthy of a bone-deep oath. She always had been.
But just because she was pregnant with my kid, didn’t mean she owed me anything, except the opportunity to love him or her. Would she perceive a proposal as coercive, given the baby? God, I hoped not.
What if I could show Nairne a world in which her autonomy and strength could coexist with my adoration and protection? A home that reflected her as much as me, that afforded her space and freedom while letting us find our way as parents to a child we hadn’t been trying for, but would both figure out how to care for and love.
I groaned as I counted the hurdles to that possibility, and set the sketchbook down. Nairne hated expense. She loathed fussing and fancy houses and materialism. She scoffed at romanticized notions of marriage, and preferred relying on scientific theories for dependability over human fallibility. What had Nairne called marriage? “An oppressive institution that fails more than it succeeds.”
Jesus.
And my answer to that had been to knock her up.
After all that being in a relationship with me had dragged her through already, now I wanted to splurge enormously on a house that would be gutted and made perfectly accessible, then try to get her to marry me and settle down.
It was daunting when I laid it all out. It wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing about Nairne and I had been from the moment we first locked ey
es across a boardroom. Our volatile environments, the biproduct of our elemental pull toward each other, the sparks and clashes that came from contact. But our undeniable connection had deepened from lust and chemistry, to passionate intimacy and companionship.
Time and again, through all the shit the world had thrown at us, we’d told the world to fuck off, and fought for each other. We were companionable equals who clashed as much as we clicked, and I knew she was the only woman I was ever meant to do that with. Marriage between us, if I could convince her, wasn’t going to be about the paper or the societal significance. It would be declaring and upholding a loving partnership that linked us as deeply as possible. Forever.
But could Nairne feel that same way? Could she look past the trends in an unpredictable human institution and believe us capable of being one of those happy outliers? When I held my heart in hand before her and asked her to want it for the rest of her life, would she accept it?
“Zeddo,” I mumbled to myself. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
THE END
Nairne and Zed’s story concludes in They’re a Match, Book Three of the Tough Love Series.
Acknowledgments
When I had my first daughter, I was told more times than I can count that it takes a village to raise a baby. Well, it takes a village to make a book, and I’m so very grateful for my village.
My beloved friend, and the father of our supergirls. You supported me from the first moment I disappeared into Nairne and Zed’s world. When I read to you, you laughed, whistled, and freaked at the suspense in all the right places. You believed in me, and told me whatever it took to publish my books, you’d make sure it happened. Thank you.
My girls, for dealing with Mommy making some really underwhelming meals, for being distracted with plot lines as she drove, for loving me and inspiring me to write women you’ll admire for their intelligence, independence, passion, and bravery.
My tribe of women who love me and all my quirks. Some of whom beta read this book on their phones while making dinner, waiting for business meetings at the bar, on airplanes and during vacation. You gave me honest, encouraging feedback, and it meant the world to me.
My editor, Stacy, who knows exactly how to tighten up language and let it out in all the right places, like a dress fitting that ends in that perfect twirl of delight. This story is its best self because of you.
My dear friend and talented artist, Jennie. I showed you a bunch of unrelated pictures as I described what I saw in my mind’s eye, and you captured those nebulous ideas brilliantly, in your creative, unique way, and made a slamming cover.
Finally, you, dear reader. Thank you for taking a leap of faith, for diving in to my world and falling for my characters. For purchasing my book, for supporting my work and creativity. Your readership, your interest, your opinions, matter, and I’m deeply grateful for each one of you.
I began my writing journey with an idea in my head and a need in my heart to create characters whose quirks and circumstances might be a little larger than life, but who were ultimately quite relatable. I’ve written characters with foibles and oddities, challenges and fears, passions and dreams, some of which may echo in your life. I hope that as you’ve followed them, you’ve enjoyed both an escape into an unexpected world, and a coming home to an emotion or an experience that resonates with you.
Writing is an iterative process, and only gets better with constructive critique. If you have the time and inclination, please leave an honest review. Your feedback is invaluable to me!
About the Author
Chloe writes stories that, like people, resist categories. Her contemporary romances are hot, witty, full of heart and keep you on the edge of your seat. She’s an avid reader, Harry Potter lover, and eats more peanut butter cups than she probably should.
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Books by Chloe Liese
He’s a Brute (Tough Love, #1)
She’s a Spitfire (Tough Love, #2)
They’re a Match (Tough Love, #3)
