Proving His Worth

by Cari Quinn

  She’d awakened those desires inside him, and now he couldn’t turn them off. He didn’t want to. They’d started down this road together, and he yearned to see how far it went. How far they could go.

  “Before and after we make up from our fight, of course.”

  “Making up usually involves a discussion of serious issues. Of which we have many.”

  “Maybe, but they’ll keep.”

  “No. They won’t.” He forged ahead before his throat grew too narrow to speak. “Tricia never craved sexual contact from me.”

  “Never? Wow. Not the brightest bulb in the box, was she?” Then she blinked, slowly. “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh. I lied to you to get you into my home. It was an impulse, and I regret it.” There, he’d said what he needed to. Well, one of the things he needed to say.

  Perhaps she would feel a similar urge to unload.

  She sighed. “I suspected as much.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, I wondered. But eventually it didn’t matter as much. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. Piss me off, yes. Use your advantage unfairly, perhaps. But hurt me? Never.” Her throat moved. “I wouldn’t hurt you either. I swear.”

  “I know,” he said gently, imploring her with his eyes to keep going.

  Instead of revealing her deep, dark secrets, she traced a fingertip down her throat, stopping before the shadowy valley between her breasts. “Right now, I’m hurting pretty badly myself. Only one thing can make me feel better.”

  His breath stuttered as he stared into her witchy gray eyes. “And that is?”

  “You getting inside me before I lose my fucking mind.” She undid the last button and shrugged the dress off her shoulders, baring her skimpy peach teddy. It was more lace than actual fabric and pushed her breasts up so high that the nipples played peekaboo with the edges of the cups.

  His token protest died on his lips.

  As far as distractions went, it was rather notable. In another minute, he wouldn’t remember his social security number, and he’d had it memorized since the age of four.

  His hard-on pushed against his pants, threatening to tear right through as his gaze traveled lower to where a see-through panel guarded her pussy. A visibly soaked, see-through panel. Delicate curls pushed against the fabric, taunting him until he had no choice but to drop to his knees and bury his face against her.

  He’d meant to press his mouth between her thighs. Instead he kissed her gently curved belly, inhaling the raspberry scent that made him lightheaded and gave him laser-like clarity all at once. When they were together, he didn’t care about how quickly things were moving. Nothing else mattered but the two of them and how she made him feel.

  “If this is how you apologize, I like fighting with you, Ms. McFee,” he murmured, nipping her midriff through the teddy. “Though you should know this will be the first time I’ve ever misused office furniture.”

  “You’re overdue then.” Her soft exhale fluttered his hair as she bent over him, clutching him to her midsection. Holding him there while he stroked up the velvety soft insides of her thighs to where she burned. He nudged aside the panel and groaned at the liquid heat that greeted his finger. So hot. He massaged her swollen clit, exulting in her broken gasps.

  “I can’t disagree. Seems like I’m overdue for a lot of things.”

  “Besides, who says…” She trailed off, tried again. “Who says I’m the one who needs to apologize?”

  He dragged his lips over her needy cleft, absorbing the shudder that rocked her against his mouth. Then he went deeper, sliding on her wetness until he could lick her entrance. Her moan burst over his skin, inflaming his nerve endings, sending every part of his body buzzing with need. She sifted her fingers through his hair, gripping a handful as he plunged his tongue inside. Her hold intensified as he pushed in and out, sucking with every pass. Her juice flavored his erotic kisses, sweet and slick. He cupped her ass and shoved her against the desk, spreading her open until something fell off and shattered.

  Only when she was sprawled on his blotter, arching up on her elbows to watch him while she hissed air between her teeth, did he realize what he’d done.

  He’d thrown her across his desk. Wildly. Like an animal. Even now he held her thighs far apart, bathing her flesh with his own unsteady breaths while their eyes locked. The smell of her arousal was making him crazy.

  “Do not apologize, Sterling Vance,” she whispered. “Take a good look at me and tell me if I look like I’m hurting in any way but one.”

  He opened his drawer, withdrawing the object he’d bought for no real reason except she’d put the idea in his head and it had burrowed there like a sliver, impossible to get out.

  The metallic clink of the cuffs caused her eyes to widen, especially when he held out his hand. “Give me your arms.”

  She didn’t hesitate. Her easy trust would’ve floored him had he not been too turned on to fully appreciate it. Seeing that playful pink metal close around her wrists brought a growl to his throat, one he let loose when he set aside the key and took in the picture she made. Tousled, short cap of dark hair, breasts tilted high, legs akimbo. Wrists bound and lying limply above that triangle of heat between her thighs that beckoned him like nothing—and no one—else ever had.

  Or ever would.

  “I’m not going to apologize.” He reached for his belt, tugging it free and going to work on his zipper. “You were a bad girl.”

  He waited for her to laugh. Instead she writhed. “Yes. I was. So bad. Please punish me with your cock.”

  Christ, this woman was going to kill him.

  He shoved down his boxers and stepped forward. Totally worth it.

  “Put your hands over your head.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. Gravelly, thick, raw.

  She obliged, arching her back so that her breasts nearly tumbled free from their constraints. He reached up and yanked down the fabric, revealing them to his hungry gaze. And eager fingers. He twisted each nipple in turn, taking his time to work them good.

  “Please.” She threw her head back and sent something else crashing to the rug.

  Some men might’ve prolonged the agony. He wasn’t one of them. He’d already waited his entire life for her.

  Pushing aside the panel of lace, he lined up his cock and shoved in deep, savoring her loud cry. Her head bounced off the edge of the desk and he winced inwardly, but he didn’t stop. Later, much later, he’d kiss away every hurt he’d caused. Now his one and only mission was to deliver her every bit of the pleasure she deserved.

  “Please. More.”

  “Yes. More,” he gasped back, wondering how his lungs didn’t simply explode from the pressure.

  She was helpless, bound at his mercy, and he couldn’t do her hard enough to suit the unrelenting anvil of need pounding at the base of his spine. The root of his cock. Drumming inside him so loudly he could barely hear her frenzied moans.

  Tugging her closer, he wrapped her legs around his waist, hauling her upward so that he could surge in and out in long, endless thrusts. Her heels dug into his flesh as she squeezed her inner walls, milking his cock. Circling her pelvis to match his crazed strokes. His thumb slipped over her slick clit, fast and hard, her heat scorching him through the skin.

  Shivers overtook her, proof she was on the verge of release, and he couldn’t hold back. He had to spill himself inside her, to fill her in that primal, utterly male way. “Let me feel you come,” he murmured, his only focus her sweat-streaked, utterly magnificent face.

  “Oh yes.” She flexed her bound wrists, fingers clawing through the air. “There.”

  His balls throbbed, the anticipation cresting inside him with a furor he had no control left to stop. He pinched her clit and slammed home one final time, hoping like hell she came along for the ride.

  Her scream shattered him in two, encouraging the flames that licked him from the inside to come out to play. He groaned her name, reveling in the rhythmic pulses of her pus
sy contracting around his length. Mindlessly, he kept thrusting, driven to burrow as far inside the warm, wet haven of her body as he could go. And she took him, still moaning, still shuddering, her hips bouncing with each stroke.

  “Oh shit,” she gasped, and she spasmed again, her sex fisting him over and over again while he dug his fingers into her hip and continued to caress her clit. She whimpered, tossing her head back and forth. “I can’t. No more.” But she was still coming, clasping him deep inside, soaking him all the way to the balls.

  Balls that started to tingle, on the verge of filling again to match his already stiffening cock. God help him.

  “Baby, I’m pulling out now. Or else we’ll be doing this again.”

  “Okay.” She quivered. “I’m game if you are.”

  Grinning, he gripped his cock, inordinately proud of how wet she’d gotten him. Maybe he had some prowess after all. Unless she’d reached the increased moisture stage of pregnancy, but even so, he was taking the victory.

  She gasped when he followed through and pulled out, though her body’s slick suction made his eyes roll back. Christ. He hadn’t been lying. He really could go once more. She’d turned him into some kind of raging beast.

  For that alone, he wanted to kiss her senseless.

  He braced a hand on the desk and leaned across her, careful to keep his weight off her belly. His lips skimmed hers. “Remind me not to be sorry ever again.”

  She only laughed.

  Chapter Eleven

  For her birthday, he bought her a slinky nightie with a little room to grow, a pair of ladybug nipple clamps and a pink stuffed elephant for her No Doubt About It Baby.

  It was, by far, the best gift she’d ever gotten, and that wasn’t even saying anything about the night they spent afterward. They hadn’t touched the clamps yet or resumed the back-door loving convo. Hell, plain ol’ missionary sex with Sterling rocked her world.

  Not that she minded venturing into uncharted territory with him. Nope, not at all.

  Ang smiled and sorted through her notes for her first article for Tech Edge. Telling him about her new job had allayed some of his concerns regarding her work at the bingo hall, though she hadn’t agreed to quit yet. Surprisingly, he hadn’t pressed the subject. Or whipped out his spreadsheet. She half expected him to attach a digital clock to the wall over his bed, counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until her baby’s due date.

  Her smile widened. It had become their bed, at least for the moment. That was all she was counting on and enjoying right now. Moments. Wonderful, perfect moments.

  For the last week and a half, they’d been spending tons of time together. Watching old movies, having dinner in little out-of-the-way places, taking long walks. Just getting to know each other in a different, even better way.

  Last night they’d roamed around the zoo, holding hands. The zoo, for God’s sake. She’d never gone to the zoo on a date, even in high school. But with Sterling it didn’t feel hokey or boring. He made her laugh with all his sounds for the animals and bought her something to eat or a souvenir at every stand they passed, despite her protests. When someone pushed a stroller past, he’d clutched her hand that much tighter and murmured how he couldn’t wait to meet her beautiful baby.

  All the while, she’d been wishing it weren’t only hers. She wanted her child to be theirs, as dangerous as that was.

  She also needed to deal with the specter of Pete. Pete who continued to text her, asking if she’d made up her mind about signing the papers yet. The clock was ticking. As if she could ever forget. Not that she had much choice. If Pete didn’t want to be in her child’s life, then he wouldn’t be. Besides, she’d never allow him to do anything to harm Sterling. But before she signed the papers, she’d made an appointment with a lawyer to make sure everything was on the up and up. She needed to find out if a signature really meant Pete would be out of their lives for good.

  Her cell chimed and her heartbeat kicked up in anticipation. Maybe it was one of Sterling’s dirty e-mails. She hadn’t retired GothGeek, though she knew she should. She wasn’t nearly as active though, except in the naughty photo department. They sent each other those regularly. Occasionally she battled a raging case of jealousy that Sterling continued to engage in sexy talk with GothGeek while sleeping with her, but more and more she’d begun to wonder if he had her number. Sometimes he said things that made her think he knew exactly who she was. Other times he appeared blissfully clueless.

  If she hadn’t known deep down to her marrow that Sterling wasn’t a cheater in any sense of the word, she might’ve been angrier. Or more jealous. The possibility that he’d discovered her deception and continued to humor her until the guilt got to her and she came clean was very real. He was just that diabolical—in a sweet way, of course.

  That didn’t alleviate her guilt. Whether or not he knew, she had to tell him what she’d done. Soon. She’d be damned if she would keep that lie between them.

  Part of her, the cowardly part, was tempted to send him a picture of her burgeoning belly and let that do the explaining. Finding the words—and the courage to say them—was so hard. They were finally happy, and dammit, she was selfish. She wanted to enjoy things for a bit longer before she popped his balloon. Their balloon. But she would. She owed him the truth. And if he didn’t know she was GothGeek? She would kick his ass for continuing to send dirty e-mails to another woman. And probably bawl her eyes out.

  The clock was ticking, in every possible way. Hoodies wouldn’t hide her condition much longer, and she’d finally reached a big decision that morning.

  The time to tell her parents everything had arrived.

  She’d done the adult thing and called her mother to set up a visit. They held monthly family dinners with a few close relatives, and she’d blown off last month’s meal for obvious reasons. This month, she was going. She’d even asked if she could bring a guest, despite her nerves about asking said guest to attend. He would want to, she was certain. He’d come in guns blazing and announce they were together to God and kingdom, which thrilled her on one level, scared her on another and made her worry on a third.

  Her father had a temper. She didn’t put much stock in ethnic stereotypes, but Marcus McFee claimed he’d gotten his hotheadedness from his Irish and Italian heritage. She really didn’t want Sterling caught in that crossfire. He hadn’t given himself enough time to decide if he truly wanted to be in her and her child’s life long-term. His sense of responsibility and dedication was admirable, but she’d be damned if he threw himself on any swords for her benefit.

  Stop stalling. Answer the frigging phone.

  She grabbed her phone before the call went to voicemail. “Hey Mom. You got my message?”

  “I did. I’d almost forgotten your voice, so it was a welcome surprise.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch.”

  “Your father’s worried. He’s been asking your friends in town about you, though no one admits to seeing you except Brandilyn, and she’s been quiet on the subject. He even asked Sterling to—”

  No Sterling talk. Not yet. “Look, Mom, I know Daddy’s concerned, and I promise to explain everything soon. Really soon, in fact. I’d like to come to dinner this weekend.”

  “Are you okay?” She lowered her voice. “You can tell me the truth, sweetie. I don’t like keeping secrets from your father, but if you need me to forget I know something for a bit, I will. You’re my little girl.”

  Ang gave a watery sniffle. God, she couldn’t wait to be unpregnant so she wasn’t such a weepy mess anymore. “Not as little as I once was,” she whispered, slipping her hand over her belly. Her stomach was changing, becoming more solid, and that warm mass offered her so much comfort. She rubbed in slow circles, hoping her baby took the same comfort from her. “But I promise I’ll catch you both up on everything this weekend.”

  “Angelina, you’re scaring me. Tell me you’re okay.”

  She cupped her stomach, frowning as it ripp
led deep inside. Maybe chicken burritos hadn’t been the best choice for lunch. “I’m fine. Better than fine, honestly. It’s been a busy few months.” To say the least.

  “You’d tell me if you were in trouble?”

  Depends on your definition of in trouble. “Mom, I swear I’m good. You’ll see that for yourself this weekend.” Along with a bit more she hadn’t intended to see, like her only child’s big belly.

  “I’m trusting that you’re telling me the truth, sweetie. Are you dating anyone?”

  She bit her lip. “Uh, can we discuss that on Sunday too? It’s all kind of the same thing.”

  It wasn’t, but she didn’t want to get into one subject without mentioning the other. She definitely didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. Plus, she’d need to warn the authorities beforehand in case there was any bloodshed.

  In time, her father would accept her and Sterling being together. Yes, things would be awkward at first. He’d have to come around eventually. If she and Sterling actually became a couple for real. Everything was so new.

  Her stomach rippled again, even more strongly. She shifted from rubbing to patting. Jeez, no more Mexican for her while preggers. Message received.

  “All right, honey. I’ll wait until Sunday. How is sch—”

  “So how are you and Daddy? Are you still taking that cruise to Cozumel in January?”

  “Oh my Lord, there was a problem with booking. Did I tell you about the airplane mix-up?”

  Ang smiled, relieved the spotlight had shifted momentarily. “No. What happened?”

  By the time they got off the phone twenty minutes later, Ang felt a little more centered about her big reveal and a little less calm about her Mexican-induced gas. Was this a Mylanta situation? Dammit, she really should’ve done all her required reading. Sterling would know what she should take and how much.

  She pushed herself to her feet—whoa, that wasn’t as easy as it had been a few weeks ago—and took a determined step toward the front hall. Walking couldn’t hurt. That was a known gas remedy, right?