by Rose, Ranae
He rubbed his fingertips across the bud of her clit, eliciting a sigh from her, then touched her below, where he slowly pushed two fingers into her perfect heat and pressure, breathing a sigh of his own.
She widened her thighs, sending him sliding deeper, until her knees were precariously near the edge of the couch cushion. “Here,” he said, withdrawing his hand from between her thighs and gripping her gently by her hips, guiding her until she climbed over his lap, straddling him.
In that position, she was completely open to him, her legs resting on the outsides of his. He pulled down the waistband of his underwear, tugging his jeans lower too, so his cock was free to meet her slick flesh.
The head bumped her clit, then slid higher, gliding against her smooth skin. He grasped himself by the base of his shaft and guided it back to the swollen nub again, rocking his hips a little.
Her thighs trembled against his as she gripped his shoulders, anchoring herself to him with a grip so firm he’d probably have little bruises there the next day. Taking that as encouragement, he continued to massage her clit with the head of his dick, teased by the wetness that was dampening his erection, courtesy of her pussy.
When she rocked her hips too, grinding against his shaft, pleasure tightened the muscles in the small of his back, pooling at the base of his spine. The feel – and sight – of her rocking up and down, breathing faster as she rubbed against his dick, was too good. Her breasts bounced, and he focused on them, ceasing to move his hips and lowering his head to capture one of her nipples again.
She arched up and into him, losing her rhythm as she stilled, panting instead of moving as he sucked hard, knowing it was the only thing keeping her still, the only thing keeping him from coming then and there.
Uncomplaining, she breathed harder, then moaned when he cupped her breast from below, massaging and hoping the tender touch would make up for the scrape of his teeth, the light bite her wild sounds drove him to give her.
She moaned, swore and whispered his name between breaths, her nails buried in his shoulders. That was it – he had to be inside her. Releasing her flushed and swollen nipple from between his teeth, he leaned back and gripped his dick, guiding it between her thighs.
The moisture coating her folds made it easy to slide past them, and soon the head of his dick was tunneling inside her, parting tight flesh he’d only dreamed of for the past three months. He drove in all the way to the root, pausing when he was buried inside her, right where he’d wanted to be ever since that first night.
In that moment, he didn’t regret anything – not even their carelessness. How could he when it had led to this, when it had drawn them back together? Rocking into her, he said her name, hoping the two little syllables conveyed what he couldn’t spare the breath to say, which was that he’d never in his life felt anything better.
She moved her hips too, much like she had minutes ago, only this time she was taking him – every inch of him – deeper instead of merely grinding against the underside of his shaft. He fucked her and relished the way she fucked back, like she had that first night – he hadn’t stopped thinking about the rolling motion of her hips since then.
They established a rhythm and got lost in it for a while. Her body was so hot and the couch cushions so plush against his back that he began to sweat. Sensing release building low inside him again, he slipped a hand between her thighs and sought out her clit, pressing fingertips to its tiny swell.
He rubbed her there until her thighs trembled on either side of his and her breath came harder than ever. A sharp rush of breath and an internal wrenching of muscles marked the moment she began to come, and he thrust harder while maintaining the massage that had pushed her to the edge. The pull and squeeze of her tightening pussy was heaven; he couldn’t think of anything else, could only keep doing what he was doing, reaching for the same kind of release.
His dick was still being buffeted by a few last, soft contractions when he began to come, finally relinquishing the control he’d barely managed to hold on to over the past half hour.
Rocking hard and deliberately, he went a little more slowly than he had a minute ago, savoring each push and pull into her tight depths. This – the feeling of absolute pleasure, absolutely letting go – had haunted him through the summer and followed him into fall, too. Spilling everything he had deep inside her made him moan and threatened to take his breath away afterward when he leaned back against the couch cushions, his nerves humming with relief and satisfaction.
“I feel like I just ran a marathon,” she sighed, easing up and off of him, letting his dick slide free.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, guiding her head to rest against his shoulder. As she settled against him, clearly fatigued, he experienced no guilt; her obvious satisfaction kept that emotion at bay. She’d been right; it would’ve been stupid to hold back any longer. For the first time since July, he let himself exist in the present instead of the future or past.
* * * * *
Abby cast a last glance down at her black t-shirt as she hung her jacket on a hook and walked down Hot Ink’s aisle, forcing herself not to hurry into her half-booth. The tee she’d worn was one of the loosest she owned, and black helped to mask all kinds of bumps and bulges, didn’t it?
As she sank down into a chair, she wasn’t so sure. Sam had said the night before that she looked different, and she could definitely tell that her body had changed. Surely it was only a matter of time before other people started noticing, too – like the rest of Hot Ink’s staff, who saw her several times a week.
She still hadn’t told anyone besides Sam, Natalie and her parents about her pregnancy. Having crossed into the second trimester, now was clearly the time. Still, the idea of spreading the news beyond Sam and her closest family members was daunting. They’d be bound to see her differently, but how differently? She valued her place at Hot Ink; it was unbearable to think of the others wondering whether she was fit to keep it anymore.
Happy, at least, that she felt good enough to work, she made her way through two appointments. They were only a drop in the bucket when it came to the sessions she had scheduled, but it felt good to give her clients exactly what they’d wanted, to avoid having to disappoint them with a reschedule. By the time Zoe approached her booth and asked if she wanted to go down the street for a dinner break, she was ready to stretch her legs and get something to eat.
They settled in at a little deli, heading to a corner table with trays laden with sandwiches and pretzels. “I know it’s none of my business,” Zoe said, sitting poised with half a turkey and rye in hand, “but Abby, are you pregnant?”
Abby froze with a pretzel halfway to her mouth.
“Don’t be offended if you’re not!” Zoe said, putting her sandwich down. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Abby shook her head and sighed. “I am. Pregnant, that is. I’m three months along. I just didn’t think anyone at work knew yet.”
“The guys probably don’t have a clue.” Zoe smiled and rolled her eyes. “And I won’t say a word. I’ve just been wondering ever since that day you got sick. You haven’t been yourself since, and your stomach has always been so flat that I can already see a tiny little bump.”
“It won’t be tiny for long – I’m having twins.” Calling it tiny now was generous; even in her baggy t-shirt, she didn’t look like her pre-pregnancy self.
Zoe’s carefully-shaped brows rose at least an inch. “Really? Wow!”
Abby nodded. Whenever she really thought about it, she still felt a lot like Zoe looked – shocked. “I know, right?” She laughed despite herself.
“So, uh…” Zoe looked a little sheepish, but a distinct light gleamed in her dark eyes. “The father – are you two together?”
Abby nodded, grateful in the extreme that Zoe hadn’t asked her that a couple of weeks ago. It was a relief to be able to say yes, to not have to confess how she’d gotten pregnant and then be forced to deal with others’ shock, sympath
y, or whatever else the early truth would’ve inspired.
“I didn’t even know you were seeing anybody. I mean, I know you’re quiet, but I can’t believe you kept us all in the dark! So you two are serious?”
“Yes.” Abby couldn’t help smiling. She was still glowing inside as a result of what she and Sam had done the night before, and the act of passion had erased some of the awkwardness that had lingered between them despite the consequences of their first time. Finally, she felt like one half of a couple.
Zoe waggled her brows up and down. “What’s he like? I can’t believe no one at the shop has ever seen him.”
“Actually, you have seen him.” There was no point in holding back; the situation she and Sam were immersed in was anything but casual and members of Hot Ink’s staff were bound to see him again at some point. “Remember my reschedule about a month ago – tall muscular guy, dark red hair? That’s Sam.”
Zoe’s eyes went almost as wide as her plate. “Why didn’t you say anything? I thought he was some creep trying to get you alone in the parking lot!”
“Things were a little tense between us then. They’re better now.” It was a lame explanation, but all she was willing to reveal. She hadn’t even told her parents that she and Sam hadn’t been a couple when she’d conceived the twins – only Natalie knew. Why bother letting people in on that particular detail when she and Sam were together now? “I was still in shock over my pregnancy; I just wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.”
Zoe’s expression belied enduring curiosity, but she didn’t press. “Well, congratulations. On the pregnancy, I mean … and Sam. Wow, he’s hot!” She fanned herself with her napkin, and Abby couldn’t help laughing.
An intimidating thought cut her mirth short. “If you figured out I was pregnant on your own, I guess it’s time for me to tell everyone else.”
* * * * *
“Hey Abby, you’re not at work, are you?”
“No.” Abby spoke into her phone, cradling it in one hand while she flipped through a rack of t-shirts with the other. “Just doing a little maternity clothes shopping before I meet Sam after the end of his shift – we’re going out to dinner.” She owned a couple items already but needed more; she’d exhausted her supply of extra-stretchy non-maternity garments, pushing them to their limits before finally packing them away and heading to the mall.
“Don’t buy too much – I still have some maternity clothes, and you’re welcome to have them. God, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before.” A shriek sounded in the background, followed by high-pitched laughter. “Actually, maybe I can – between Ava and Lucas, I can’t hear myself think, most of the time. Anyway, you should stop by sometime soon to pick up the clothes. I have something else I want to show you, too.”
“What is it?” She plucked a purple top from the rack, wondering if it would fit her all the way through month nine.
“I finished the story for Book 2.”
“Really?” Abby forgot all about the shirt she held in one hand.
“Yeah. It’s hard to get anything done around here, but I’ve been working like crazy when Ava and Lucas are down for naps. I finished it yesterday – I feel like I’ve finally got it right.”
“I can’t wait to read it. I know we worked on the outline together, but you’re so creative that I’m always surprised by the finished story.”
“I won’t pretend I’m not dying for you to come over and take a look. Make sure you bring the illustrations you’ve been working on – I’ve been looking forward to seeing those ever since we finished Book 1.”
A thread of guilt wove its way through Abby’s conscience. “Okay, but I’ve been working a lot more slowly than last time. I didn’t mean to take so long, but I’ve been swamped with work lately, and then there’s the pregnancy…” It seemed like a feeble excuse when Natalie had managed to write two entire books in the company of two shrieking children.
“It’s okay. Just bring what you have; I’m excited to see.”
“I’ll stop by this evening, if that’s all right with you.”
“Perfect. And I can show you the list of publishers I’ve put together to query.”
“You have a list?” Abby nearly dropped the top she held, but reestablished her hold at the last second.
“I’ve been working on it for months. I think it’s time to get started.”
Twenty minutes later, Abby left the shop with the purple top and a pair of jeans, her thoughts lingering on the conversation she and Natalie had had.
Might a publisher really be interested in the books they’d been working on?
Maybe not, but it was cool to fantasize about, if nothing else.
Her fantasies took a decidedly different turn when she met Sam at an Italian restaurant.
“Hey,” she said, climbing out of her car and hurrying to meet him on the sidewalk. “How was work?” Suppressing her disappointment that he’d already changed out of his uniform, she admired the way his broad shoulders stood out beneath his civilian jacket.
“All right.” He turned to face her and she stopped in her tracks, rocking back on her heels a few inches from him.
“What happened to your face?” His lower lip was split by a line of dried blood and a shadow of a bruise darkened one side of his jaw.
“Busted a few guys for possession and intent to distribute at work today – they resisted.”
Suddenly, Abby didn’t feel so hungry anymore. The air felt a little colder, too. “Are you okay?” She stepped closer, her belly bumping his hip as she scanned him for any other signs of injury.
He shrugged away her concern. “It’s just a busted lip – I’m fine. You ready to get something to eat?”
“Sure.” After a moment’s hesitation, she inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of oregano and homemade tomato sauce, trying to revive her appetite. Sam was right – a busted lip wasn’t a huge deal. But what if it’d been worse?
The thought hung over her like a shadow, chilling. It wasn’t like she hadn’t realized police work was dangerous; this was just the first time she’d been confronted with the reality of it. Facing the facts felt a lot like having a bucket of ice water tossed in her face.
“Mackenzie,” Sam said to the hostess when she asked for a name. “How long will the wait be?”
The hostess shrugged apologetically. “About half an hour.”
He nodded. “It’s not a problem.”
The half a dozen chairs in the waiting area were filled up. “Want to go for a walk?” Abby asked.
“Sure.” He took one of her hands in his, and the heat of his touch dispelled the chill the sight of his bruised face had left her with.
“Hey, look.” Abby motioned toward one of the businesses lining the sidewalk. “There’s an arcade.”
“You wanna play?” He sounded amused.
“I want to win,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Do you want to play?”
They entered the arcade hand-in-hand. The geometric designs that decorated the carpet had once been neon but had faded to duller colors, and the machines looked even older – perfect.
“What game are we playing?”
“Ms. Pac-Man, if you’re up to the challenge. I have to warn you – I made my sister cry a few times when we were kids playing this game.”
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing – I was just that much better. She hated watching me play forever after she’d lost all her lives.” Abby grinned.
So did Sam. “Let’s see if you can make me cry.” He pulled out his wallet and gathered a handful of quarters.
“Tell you what,” she said, wrapping a hand around the joystick, “if you can beat me, dinner’s my treat.”
He didn’t stand a chance.
“Ladies first,” he said, feeding change into the machine.
Abby relinquished her hold on the joystick. “Since we only have half an hour, why don’t you go first?” She flashed him a teasing grin. “I wouldn’t want to take up all the
time and not leave a turn for you.”
Sam shrugged. “Have it your way – just remember it wasn’t my idea for you to pay for dinner.”
“Good luck,” Abby said as Level 1 appeared on the screen. He’d need it.
The familiar music played for all of fifteen seconds. “Well, damn it.” Sam relinquished his hold on the joystick. “There are only three lives? How are you supposed to get anywhere on only three lives with all those ghosts running around?”
“Haven’t you ever played this game?”
“Ages ago, when I was a kid.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t played for years either.” She gripped the joystick.
“Three lives and four ghosts – it just doesn’t add up. You’ll see.” Sam crossed his arms as Abby began her turn.
“Level 2,” she said after losing her first life. “Damn it.”
“See?” Sam loomed behind her.
“I’m just a little rusty. Wait until my next turn.”
“Something tells me we’re not going to need the whole half hour.”
Whenever he lost another life without progressing past Level 1, she prepared to prove her claim.
“Well, at least I cleared another level.” Her ten year old self would’ve been horrified to see her die again at Level 3, but she was still firmly ahead of Sam.
“They should let two people play at once, as a team – you know, have two joysticks and everything. We’d get a lot farther that way.”
“Betting wouldn’t be as much fun.”
He raised a brow. “Since you like betting so much, want to up the stakes?”
“Like how?”
He wrapped an arm around her, letting his hand settle in the vicinity of her jeans pocket, and squeezed. “Let’s just say that the loser will owe the winner a favor.” His voice deepened on the last word, infusing it with unmistakable meaning.
