Wild for You

by Kendall Ryan

  “I have to ask,” Sara says once we’ve untangled our mess of limbs. “What’s going on with you and Grant?”

  Elise chimes in before I can even open my mouth. “Yeah! Justin said he’d been housing all of your stuff in his fancy condo ever since you-know-who got demoted.”

  “Good fucking riddance,” Bailey says.

  I flash them all an appreciative smile. Agreed.

  “Grant has been . . . a really, really good friend to me.”

  “Just a friend?” Sara’s eyes narrow on me in that scary lawyer way.

  Before I can come up with another non-answer, the door buzzes.

  “That must be the pizza!” Elise says.

  When no one makes a move to answer the door, I remember that this my apartment and that would be my job.

  “Oh! I—I’ll get it,” I stammer, my cheeks warm. The other girls chuckle amongst themselves, but not in a mean way. I don’t mind the teasing, actually.

  I’m digging through my wallet for small bills to tip the guy when I swing open the door.

  “Hey, hold on one second—”

  “Pizza’s here!” Becca bellows as she parades through the door, holding the pizza box high over her head.

  I drop my wallet in shock, covering a gasp with my hands. “Becca?”

  The women in the living room positively roar with laughter. Becca charges ahead and sets the pizza down on the coffee table before them, turning to take a bow.

  “I thought you weren’t coming!”

  “It was a surprise. I didn’t have time to buy you anything, so this is my present to you,” Becca says, gesturing to herself. Stepping toward me and placing two warm, pizza-scented hands on my shoulders, she gives me a very stern look. “Ana.”

  I stand at attention, my eyes locked on Becca’s.

  “I am an exhausted mother of a crazy newborn gremlin,” she says. “I’m tired and emotional all the time. I’m a walking corpse. But I’m also living proof that your life will not end when you have a baby. You will still go out, you will still have fun, and you will still have your friends at your side through it all.”

  I choke on a sob, covering my face with my hands. What did I do to deserve these friends?

  “You made her cry!” Elise says, mockingly accusing Becca.

  “She’ll be fine.” Becca laughs, pulling me into her arms and rocking me from side to side.

  Yes. She’ll be just fine.

  24

  * * *

  Cherished

  Ana

  When I look down, I can’t see my toes anymore. My belly is so big, so full of life. It’s so big, in fact, that I had to call Grant to help me set up the crib. This baby is due in less than eight weeks now, and judging by the way she’s doing entire dance routines in there, she’s eager to make her entrance into the world.

  I can only hope to match her level of energy when she’s no longer confined to my womb. Watching Grant put the crib together on the floor of the otherwise bare nursery, I remind myself that I won’t be alone.

  “Can I help in any way?” I ask, nervously rubbing my belly. That’s a new thing, the belly rubbing. It’s almost compulsive at this stage.

  “Absolutely not.” Grant grunts, poking his head out from under the wooden contraption with a sly grin.

  My heart flip-flops. Pregnancy hormones have magnified all the attraction I have toward this man, and let me tell you, it is distracting.

  “Okay,” I say, conceding for only a moment. “How about tea? Would you like some tea?”

  Grant eyes me from his vantage point on the floor. Seeing how desperate I am to help, he nods. “I could drink some tea.”

  “Caffeinated?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Coming right up.” I toddle off to the kitchen, happy to have a mission.

  My phone sits untouched on the kitchen counter, abandoned, tossed aside after a tense call with Jason earlier today. I’d reached out, stupidly, to ask for his new Wisconsin address.

  Earlier this week, the two paternity test kits I ordered arrived at my doorstep. I bought them on a whim . . . an emotionally unstable whim, perhaps. A big part of me doesn’t want to know who the biological father of this sweet, innocent child is. A big, cowardly part. And I can’t decide whether it’s because I want Grant to be the father, or because I don’t want Jason to be.

  Months ago, when I told Jason over the phone that I was pregnant, his reaction was to be expected. Are you sure? How is that possible? Did you mess up your birth control? What am I supposed to do? I just moved here, do you expect me to move back?

  After assuring him that I had it all under control and only reached out to him as a courtesy, I hung up, cried for an hour, and got the hell on with my life. But that’s not to say it’s been easy.

  Everything sets me off these days, even well-meaning strangers when they make comments about how excited my husband and I must be.

  “Don’t have one of those,” I always say.

  “Oh, your boyfriend then,” they say with a tight-lipped smile.

  “Don’t have one of those either.”

  Just as before, the phone conversation Jason and I had earlier this morning was quick and strained. I should have known better. Asking him to take a paternity test could only lead to one thing—him accusing me of cheating on him.

  “Why would you need that? Were you fucking someone else?” he spat out, his voice as harsh as I remember it getting during our worst fights.

  And to think he might have changed.

  “For the record, that’s none of your business, Jason,” I said with a clipped tone. “But no, I did not cheat on you, and I would really appreciate it if you could take this. For me.”

  “I’ll bet you would.”

  “Jason, please.”

  “Not until you tell me the truth.”

  I ended the call, then and there. Jason doesn’t deserve to know about Grant. He doesn’t deserve to know anything about my life anymore. Bastard.

  Listening to the low whistle of the teakettle warming on the stove, I check my phone for the first time in hours. Two missed calls from Jason, naturally, and a text from Georgia.

  Thinking about you. Let me know if you have energy for a girls’ night. I’ll come to you! Can’t wait to see the new place. xoxo

  The message warms my heart. God, I’ve missed her. We still see each other at work, of course, but we haven’t hung out in months.

  I’ve been giving her space since I dropped the baby bomb on her, uncertain of how she’d react. Looks like our friendship is going to be just fine, after all.

  The kettle whistles loudly, pulling me back into the present. Armed with a warm mug of mint tea, I reenter the nursery. The crib is upright and secured, from what I can tell. But Grant’s nowhere to be seen. Odd.

  I hear the front door open and peek my head out into the hall. Grant shuffles inside, two giant woven baskets in his arms, filled to the brim with shopping bags. He looks up and catches my eye, knowing he’s been caught.

  He smiles, a big goofy grin. “Had to make a trip to the car. Got you a few things this morning.”

  I roll my eyes playfully, unable to stop the smile spreading across my lips. I swear to God, this man has no boundaries. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

  For the next hour, we set up the nursery, embellishing the walls with decorative baby animal portraits, filling the dresser drawers with fresh cotton sheets and fleece blankets for the crib, and putting night-lights and protective covers in every available outlet. By the end, I’m sweating a bit, hands on my hips as I admire the nursery, which now looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a magazine.

  Grant takes a sip of his now lukewarm tea and nods in approval. “There’s one more thing,” he says, already on his way down the hall toward the front door.

  “Can I help?” I call, rubbing my belly anxiously. I hope it’s nothing too big.

  “I got it!”

  What he carries through the door,
not five minutes later, brings the whole damn world to a halt.

  “How?” I let out a shocked breath, leaning against the wall for support as I watch with wide, teary eyes as Grant carries my mother’s chestnut rocking chair down the hall. Oh my God.

  “I reached out to your dad,” Grant says as he walks the chair into the nursery, positioning it in the corner between the hamper baskets. “I hope you don’t mind. I just know how close you were with your mom, and wanted to see if that rocking chair you were telling me about was still around. He was happy to help. I had it shipped here and picked it up yesterday.”

  While he explains, I walk up to the old, familiar chair, touching one curved arm with shaking fingertips. Grant steps away to give me space, but that’s the last thing I want right now. What I want is him.

  “Come here,” I say, my arms outstretched and my eyes misty with emotion.

  Grant complies, stepping into my arms and wrapping his own around me, careful not to squeeze too tightly. My heart hammers, my breaths shaky and uneven.

  “Thank you.” I sniffle wetly into his shirt.

  He runs his hand over my hair, still holding me close. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, his lips pressed to the top of my head.

  I pull back, searching his eyes. He towers over me, a pillar of strength I’ve come to depend on. And for once, I’m starting to think that’s okay.

  Standing up on my tippy-toes, I pull Grant down to me with a gentle tug of his shirt. When our lips meet, all the time apart vanishes in an instant, and I’m sucked right back in time.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, straining for him, straining for his kiss. Grant cups my cheek, his mouth covering mine in a hungry kiss. Outside the nursery window, rain begins to patter against the glass, another storm rolling in. He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine as our panting breaths collide between us.

  “It’s raining,” he says softly.

  “I know.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes dark with passion, but his brow is creased with familiar concern.

  “I’m perfect.” I sigh happily, brushing my lips to his again. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” he says with a growl, and presses his lips to mine.

  I’m dizzy, drunk from his taste and smell and the feel of him in my arms. And despite my balloon of a belly, I can feel his kiss all the way down to my toes.

  “Do you want to go to my bedroom?” I choke out, gasping when Grant finds a particularly sensitive spot on my jaw in his slow journey toward my neck.

  “Yes.” He groans, clearly wishing we were there already.

  Normally, I’d be happy to get down and dirty on the floor. But with this belly, I need some support.

  “Let’s go.” I giggle, pulling him by one hand out of the nursery. I turn back to him with a smirk when we reach my door. “Don’t judge, okay? My body doesn’t look like it used to.”

  “You’re beautiful, Ana,” Grant whispers into my ear, sending chill bumps racing down my spine.

  Once inside my room, he spins me around, but not too fast. I’m a little top-heavy, so he’s sure to handle me with care. Untying my maternity dress with slow, steady fingers, he continues whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that? You knock me out.”

  Eager to show him exactly how beautiful I think he is, I press my hands under the hem of his shirt, needing to feel the warmth of his skin, to touch those deliciously defined muscles again. Grant releases me only for as long as it takes to rip his shirt off, his hair tousled and his eyes wild with desire. I press my face to his pecs, flicking my tongue out to taste him. His chest vibrates with a deep, guttural moan as he slides his fingers into my hair.

  “Let’s lie down,” he says, his voice hoarse.

  I can tell he’d like nothing more than to bend me over my dresser and take me right here and now, and truth be told, that very fantasy has played in my head more than once. However, I’m startlingly pregnant, so however we’re going to do this will have to be one hundred percent safe for both me and the baby.

  Grant strips out of his pants before sitting down on the edge of my bed, where he watches me peel the maternity dress from my shoulders and drop it to my ankles. In my underwear, I’ve never felt quite so exposed in my life. And oh God . . . they’re maternity underwear.

  Just kill me now.

  “Come here,” he murmurs, one of his hands gently massaging his bulging erection through the cotton of his briefs. It’s distracting as all hell.

  My heart skitters as I watch him. He’s so bulky and gorgeous and just . . . big all over. I step closer until I’m standing in between his powerful thighs.

  When my gaze lands on his, his eyes are filled with adoration and desire, and there’s nothing but heat between us. Without breaking our eye contact, he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. It falls to the floor, joining my dress. My heartbeat is so fast and loud, I’m not sure how he doesn’t hear it, but Grant stays focused. He’s looking at me like I’m the best, most desirable thing he’s ever seen.

  His eyes are dark with pleasure, and the way he watches me sends chills racing down my body. It’s hard to breathe with him looking at me like that. And then his gaze drops lower, settling at my breasts, and he sucks in a ragged breath. They’re larger than they’ve ever been. And more sensitive too.

  “Oh fuck, these things are amazing.” His voice is raspy, full of hot emotion.

  Cupping the weight of one lush breast, Grant rubs his thumb across my nipple. A bolt of heat sizzles down my spine. He leans forward and kisses the top of one breast, then the other, and I release a shaky exhale.

  When he sucks one perky nipple into his mouth, I tremble. And when he sucks the other just as firmly into his hot mouth, I almost fall apart on the spot. It’s too much sensation, and not enough at the same time. The rough scratch of his stubble creates a welcome sting, and I moan, arching my back to get even closer.

  Reaching out, I stroke his eager erection through the fabric. “Grant . . .” I moan as he nuzzles into my breasts. “I need you,” I say with a stuttered breath.

  His eyes meet mine with a solemn expression that for a second I can’t read. Everything grows quiet between us, and the moment drags on with uncertainty.

  Does he not want to? Maybe I’m too pregnant.

  Oh God . . . My face heats in embarrassment.

  His fingertips skim over my hips as he admires me, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I don’t have a condom.”

  Oh. “I don’t care.” I pause and then look at him again. “Unless I should?”

  He shakes his head. “I haven’t been with anyone else.”

  “Me either.” The second the words leave my mouth, his lips quirk up, and I realize how ridiculous that sounds. I’m nearly eight months pregnant. It kind of goes without saying that suitors aren’t exactly lining up around the block for me.

  “Come here,” he says on another groan.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed, holding my belly with one hand and using the other to help lower my torso onto the bed, until I’m nestled into his arms. My back is to him, but that doesn’t deter him one bit. Before I can try to turn, his hot breath is in my ear again.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asks, his hands seeking my most sensitive spots, cupping my breasts again, caressing my cleavage, my nipples . . . my belly.

  “Yes.” I moan, loving the way his huge, warm hands envelop my belly, making me feel so small again. So protected.

  Grant kisses my neck and shoulder, his tongue drawing lazy circles across my tender flesh in the most distracting way. I press my ass into his engorged cock, which twitches excitedly against the soft material of my underwear. His hand slips into the front of my panties, and he lets out a low growl.

  “How do you want me?” he asks, pulling his hands away to slide his briefs down his legs.

  “Like this.” I whimper, bumping my backside against the firm ridge in his boxer briefs again.<
br />
  With deft fingers, Grant pulls my underwear down my legs. Bringing his hand between my thighs, he presses gently against my clit. I gasp, bucking into his hand, absolutely wild for that delicious friction.

  I reach back, one hand touching the hair at the nape of his neck, and the other grabbing his ass. He obeys my unspoken command, lining himself up with my warm, wet center.

  “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmurs, his lips at the back of my neck.

  “You’re not. Please,” I say on a needy groan.

  He moves with slow, purposeful intention, pressing forward inch by broad inch until I’m so full of him, I can hardly breathe.

  I cry out, rocking my hips into his, deepening our connection. He feels incredible, and hot lust rolls through me, pushing away every thought and worry I’ve had over the last few weeks.

  I wanted to learn to stand on my own two feet, and I have, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have needs. And right now, my pregnancy hormones are dictating that I need this right here. His strong arms around me, his rigid body moving inside of mine.

  Grant nibbles on my neck, pumping in and out while he rubs my clit with expert precision. Only a few minutes later, I feel my orgasm barreling toward me. Holy unexpected . . .

  “I’m c-coming.” I gasp, the waves crashing over me harder and faster than I’ve ever experienced.

  Grant grabs one of my plump breasts as he fucks me into his own orgasm, a strangled moan filling my ear as he empties himself inside me. We’re a sweaty, breathless mess for the next few minutes, both of us just trying to slow our heart rate while we listen to the rain fall outside.

  “Wow,” I choke out, still panting.

  “Yeah,” he says, gathering me close.

  “Could you help me turn over?”

  Grant complies, helping me sit up and shift my body so that I’m now facing him. We curl into each other like we’ve done this our entire lives.

  “How do you feel?” he asks, one hand reaching down to caress my belly.

  “I feel amazing,” I say with a chuckle.

  “Me too.” He smiles, pressing his lips to my forehead in a precious kiss.