I wanted to know how often this happened to him and what thoughts triggered it. I wanted to know how I could help. But that wasn’t the conversation that followed. No words followed. Instead he pressed his mouth to mine—hot, demanding, and full of a sudden need. He kissed me hard. He kissed with a kind of desperation.
In the dark, he moved on top of me.
He pushed up the fabric of my shirt, peeling it off of my body. Next, he had his thumbs hooked on the edges of my underwear. He slid them down. I was completely naked in his bed. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could feel him as he moved his hands and his lips to my skin. He pressed wet kisses from my navel up to my tightening nipples.
Oh God, I wanted him.
I’d stayed glued to the opposite side of his bed for over a week now—for this reason. Because the second he ran his hands over my skin, and moved his mouth to mine, I felt like I was buck-ass naked in the middle of a snowstorm—exposed and vulnerable—while Nick was the raging, relentless, icy wind against my skin.
I helped him tug off his shirt. I helped him work off his pants. I reached for him, feeling for his thick cock in the dark. I found his length; I felt all of him. He was hard. He was perfect. He practically had me drooling. I needed this man. I needed him inside me. Now. I needed to feel everything I already knew he knew how to give me.
He didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed my body, turned me around, pulling my back to his chest. He pushed my legs wide open, running a hand over my center, across where I was wet and screaming for him. Holy fuck!
“Nick,” I moaned, letting out a small cry, a small plea. Or maybe a small protest. I wasn’t entirely sure.
“Lock your fingers behind my neck,” he breathed against my ear. “Don’t let go.”
With shivers running all over me, I did as he instructed. I held onto his neck. He had his hands on my inner thighs. He touched me again in the center. He worked to move the head of his cock right fucking there. Then he guided himself inside.
I licked my lips, feeling all of him.
“Don’t move your hands from my neck.” His words were less of an instruction this time, more of a demand.
“I won’t.”
He pumped into me slowly. He circled his fingers over my clit. I held onto his neck like he’d asked. He was gentle. He was deliberately slow. When every ounce of me suddenly believed he was on the edge of being rough. A rougher version of Nick I’d never experienced before. I was here for whatever he needed right now.
“I want you to be mine,” he whispered against my ear. He pressed his lips against me. He moved his body, sliding his cock inside me in slow strokes. “Mine, Amanda, only mine.”
“I’m yours,” I breathed. I said it without thinking. I knew right then that I was his. He had me. In every way, he already had me.
“You aren’t. Not yet. But you will be.”
It was a little hard to put sense to his words while he was inside me. But I realized he said those words because he still thought Finn was the baby’s father. He didn’t know that Finn and I were only friends, or that we’d never had a relationship at all. He didn’t know it was only him I thought about, only his bed I wanted in each night after work, only him that I craved. He didn’t know because before our few minutes of real conversation tonight, we’d barely spoken about much of anything.
He barely knew me. That was my fault.
His tempo changed. He started pounding into me harder, faster, rougher. He kept one of his hands in place against my clit, moving against me, fucking torturing me with his touch. A second like this and he had me coming.
I cried out, falling apart so easily for him, my body buzzing from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. I tingled all over. It was pure bliss coming at me at full force, full speed. I held on tighter to his neck. He didn’t slow; he thrust harder. His hand moved relentlessly over my clit. One orgasm of mine melted into a second one.
He felt so damn amazing, but he kept going, kept thrusting his strength into me. He wasn’t slowing to give me even a second to come down. He pushed me into a third orgasm before he finally came too. He released all his energy inside me, squeezing my thighs tight, pushing me open wider against where he was already so deep inside me. If I wasn’t already pregnant, it would have felt like he was trying to put a baby inside me.
Fuck—was this him angry at me?
He was such a nice guy, but I realized... yes, he was angry. Knowing it, my heart raced. I think I’d just experienced my first ever ‘angry fuck.’ I’d enjoyed every bit of it, in a way, but he’d been controlling and a little forceful. Not the Nick I was used to. In the dark, I climbed away from him and felt for my shirt. I tugged it on once I found it.
I did the same with my underwear too.
“The baby’s mine.”
He was out of breath as he said these words. But he said them with such certainty that his voice hit me like a slap in the dark. He knew? How did he know? Had he always known? I climbed out of his bed, searching for my leggings and shoes.
“Answer me, Amanda. I’m right, aren’t I? You lied to me. I’m falling hard for you. I hate it. I can’t control it. Every girl I’ve ever loved ends up hurting me. All I can think is how you aren’t going to be any different at all.”
Wow. Just... wow.
“Yes. The baby is yours,” I muttered. “Ding. Ding. You’ve got the correct answer.”
I knew his anger was my fault. I should have told the truth from the start. I knew it was also my fault we barely knew each other; I’d been keeping my distance. But for him to jump to such conclusions… to say I wasn’t any different than any ex of his. Then to add that to the way he’d just fucked me.
Like an object.
Like I meant so little to him.
I wasn’t about to stick around a second longer.
“I gotta go, Nick. Thanks for the pie.”
I left. I hadn’t even found my shoes. And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever come back. What an ass. When, up until this moment, I’d been thinking he was everything. But I was wrong. He could keep my damn shoes for all I cared.
~ CHAPTER 31 ~
AMANDA
The next few days at work were rough. I had to keep a straight face and go on like nothing had happened. The next day after the dinner, John Michaels came up to me, and commented on how he thought Nick seemed like a ‘good guy.’ I just nodded and agreed. Because John never, ever said stuff like that. He never went out of his way to make comments about anything. And for some reason, he chose to comment on Nick.
I couldn’t correct my boss and tell him he was wrong. That Nick wasn’t as perfect as he seemed. I also didn’t want to admit I’d been wrong, so completely wrong, about him either. I guess he fooled us both. Maybe Chaz wasn’t Nick’s only alter ego. Maybe ‘nice Nick’ was complete bullshit too.
So I kept my mouth shut and a smile on my face. Even though I felt pretty broken inside. I also didn’t mention a thing to Finn. I didn’t need him angry.
Finn would flip out if he knew Nick had hurt me. He’d get in his car, drive to Nick’s pretty rental house, and scream on his well-manicured lawn until he came outside.
I could picture it happening. It played out in my head like a bad movie.
I did nothing, said nothing. And I waited to see what Nick might do. Because this could be an easy out for him. He didn’t have to be part of the baby’s life if he didn’t want to be. He could walk away, not look back, and that would be the end of that.
It took a week. But Nick did come to see me.
On a random Thursday, about an hour before we closed, Patrick walked into my station. “Your last appointment is here. It’s Nick.” He winked at me. “I’m going to take off early then since it’s just you and Nick. Is that okay? I figure, we don’t both have to be here, right?”
Nick moved into the doorway of my station, standing there, his blue eyes on me. He was so fucking handsome that my eyes dropped to the floor. My heart started screaming at me. If he m
oved closer, he might notice that my hands were now trembling.
“Yeah, that’s fine, Patrick. Go ahead,” I said to him, not wanting to seem awkward, not wanting to show weakness. My voice came out surprisingly calm even if calm was about the last thing I was feeling.
“Thanks, Amanda. Don’t stay too late. You’ve been working a lot lately.”
“I won’t. And I’m fine.” I sat down, busying myself with my tattooing equipment. As Patrick stepped away, Nick stepped closer, sitting down in my chair. Why did he have to smell so damn good all the freaking time? Because I swear, every time I was around him, his smell so intoxicating, it made me want him no matter the circumstances. And I hated him for that. Really, I did.
“Hi Amanda,” he said to me. Plain. Simple. Easy going.
“Hi. Where the fuck are my sanitizing wipes?” I muttered to myself, searching, still avoiding his eyes.
“Right there.” He pointed at them. They were two inches from my hands. “You look nice, by the way. You always look nice.”
I took a deep breath. I stopped pretending to be busy. I stared straight at him. “What, Nick? What do you want? What are you doing here?”
“I have an appointment.”
“Like a real appointment?”
“Yes. I called and set it up. You’re hard to get an appointment with these days. It took me a week to get in. My tattoo isn’t finished. It’s just lines, and I can’t live with just lines on my ass forever.”
“Right.” If I could have strangled him with my eyes, I would have. “Well, take off your pants then, I guess. Lay down.”
He stared at me for a moment—a long moment. His face was so hard to read. Then he stood, tugging off his jeans, pulling off his underwear, letting both fall to the floor, before he lay stomach first on my chair. I swallowed hard, busying myself again with my tools, and pretended like seeing him half-naked had absolutely zero effect on me. But I did glance at his ass and at my previous work. Besides his original tattoo, the rest of the work I’d done on him was kind of a half-finished mess of lines.
I took a minute, finished getting my equipment ready. Then I touched him. I had to touch him to redraw everything all over again on his skin. I touched him, and it made me feel all jittery and shaky inside. It made my already-aching heart crack just a little more.
“You know, I’m not here for the tattoo,” he said, his voice not quite as steady as before. “I really don’t care about the tattoo. Or if I have random lines on my ass for the rest of my life. I came today because it’s my baby inside you. You’re showing by the way. Finally, I can tell a difference in your stomach. It’s a small difference. But today I can tell a difference. You’re sexy just the same, by the way.”
I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t sit here, do his tattoo, and have a conversation like this. Not now. Not when I was feeling about ten different emotions, my heart was thudding against my ribs, and my stomach was in knots. “Nick, I can’t finish this tattoo. I just can’t. Maybe you should schedule an appointment with John or Finn instead.”
~ CHAPTER 32 ~
NICK
Once again, I was using ink on my ass as an excuse to see this woman. I’d called the next day after our argument to make this appointment. I know I’d been a little rougher during sex than I should have been. That was inexcusable on my part. I shouldn’t have acted on the emotions I was feeling post-panic attack. But I did. The primal fear, anxiety, rage—all of it bled straight into sex with her.
The sex had been damn good though. I think she’d partially agree with me on that. Because I know I’d gotten Amanda off several times. But when she grew upset afterwards, it made me realize she wasn’t hanging around me for the hookup. For my cock, essentially. For the orgasms I could give her.
She wanted something more from me, and I loved her for that. I did. She’d gotten pretty deep under my skin. But she’d also lied about the baby all along. Why? Why would she lie so convincingly like that?
I waited a few days to see if she’d come sneak into my room again, so we could work this out, figure this out. But she never did. That was when I knew this appointment might be my only chance to speak with her.
“Maybe you should schedule an appointment with John or Finn instead,” she told me, kind of shattering me a little bit more.
“I obviously don’t want either of them finishing this tattoo.” I sat up. Moving off her chair, grabbing my pants to pull on. I couldn’t have such an important conversation without any pants. I got them back on and sat on the edge of the chair.
She peeled off her gloves, tossing them aside, putting her hands on her knees, shaking her head at me. “I’m not finishing it.”
“I don’t care about the tattoo.”
“You should. It looks awful.”
“I don’t care. I’m sorry I wasn’t as gentle as I should have been with you.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, saying nothing.
“I’m sorry. I let too many emotions come out all at once. I try—” I took a deep breath, tugging my hands through my hair. I sure hoped Patrick was long gone at this point, so he wasn’t hearing any of this. “I try to control everything I’m feeling all the time. My whole life is me working every second to maintain control. And I lost it for a moment with you. I’m sorry I let that happen. I’m showing you more of me now than I’ve ever shown anyone else. And all my control just slipped away that night. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“I feel like you ‘hate fucked’ me.”
“What? That wasn’t hate.”
“Then what was it?”
“Not hate.”
“Okay. Thanks for clarifying.”
She had my stomach twisted. I gently put my hands on top of hers as they rested on her knees. “Hey,” I muttered. I needed her to look at me. Because she wasn’t, and I couldn’t talk to her without having her eyes on me. At my touch, her brown eyes rose to mine. “I promise that wasn’t hate. I would never ‘hate fuck’ you.” I could barely repeat the words. The idea that she believed me capable of that and had been believing all that this past week made me feel sick. “Can I show you what that was?”
She gave a small shrug. “Whatever. Sure.”
I removed my hands from her hands. “Not hate,” I muttered again. I touched her arms. My fingertips traced slowly upward until they reached her shoulders. I curved over them then moved my touch up her neck. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wasn’t doing this to turn her on. I just wanted to show her what she meant to me, how much I savored every time and place I got to touch her. Cupping her face, I ran my thumbs along her jaw. “So far from hate.”
I kissed her.
All soft and slow and controlled.
Or was I in control? I could feel my heart was speeding away from me. The fear of losing her—I felt it buzzing on my skin. She could break me, I realized. So easily. If this was our last kiss, it would cripple me. At some point I’d given her my heart, without even realizing how or when, and now she had me at her mercy.
She pulled back first, and I moved away.
Blood was thumping in my ears. My whole world hung on how she would respond to that kiss. Did she feel even a fraction of what I felt? Her eyes weren’t on mine.
“I’d really love if you came over to sleep in my bed again,” I said to her. “Just sleep. You can have your side. I’ll have mine.”
“Or... you could come sneak into my house. Into my bed. There’s a door in the back. I’ll leave a key under the mat.” She shrugged. Fuck, she was stubborn. And terrified to show me too much—a thought that suddenly dawned on me.
“I’ll come later tonight.”
“Do whatever you want. It’s not like I’m going to wait up for you.”
“I’ll come. Same time you always came to my room. Bye Amanda, see you in a couple hours.” I got up to leave but paused. “I am going to wait in my car in the parking lot first and make sure I see you get to your car safely. Since it’s just you closing up alone now. So, think
nothing of that.” I started to go again but paused for a second time. “Even if the baby were Finn’s, I’d still have come here tonight just the same. Even if there were no baby, just the same. But I am glad it’s mine.”
I left her then.
She’d given me permission to come over later. The last thing I wanted to do was say too much and have her change her mind. But I’d show up and I’d keep showing up however many times it took for her to finally let her guard down.
~ CHAPTER 33 ~
AMANDA
I heard a bang in the kitchen. It was Nick. He was here. Again. He’d been coming over nightly for the past week, and every time he came into the house, always around midnight, he’d stub his toe or trip over something. I smiled to myself because tonight was no different.
He made it to the bedroom. I always pretended to be asleep at this point. He crawled into bed, sticking to the right side.
I stuck to the left.
Now that he was here, I closed my eyes. He’d be gone when I woke up in the morning. He always was. We were good at this—the sleeping in the same bed with zero interaction thing. I often wondered what he was getting out of it. Why he kept showing up. But he kept showing without fail. Once, he even left me take-out breakfast in my fridge. I hated that he’d seen my tiny, rundown house, including my 1980’s refrigerator now too, but I guess it wasn’t deterring him from coming each night.
After so many days of not talking to each other, again, really for no reason at all, tonight he spoke. “I got my job back. Finally,” he said to the dark. “Or a job at least.”
I guess he knew I was awake.
Or maybe he was testing to see if I’d answer.
“You weren’t working?” I whispered.
“I quit when I planned to leave. Then I went back for my job and they’d filled my position. Which was upsetting, but I couldn’t do much about it. My old boss called today. The North Carolina Aquatic Preservation Society received some grant money, enough to hire another marine biologist, and they asked me to come back. It’s temporary. It’s not as much money as I was making before. It’s good for as long as the grant money lasts. Which will be about two years.”
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