No Regrets (The Ferrari Family Book 2)

by Hazel Parker

  And then, I was done.

  I collapsed in place, half-relaxed, half-exhausted beyond measure. Chelsea kissed me gently on the cheek this time. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to pull out. I wanted to stay here forever.

  Really, I did.

  All of this? This had shown me we had sexual chemistry like no one I’d had before. And it wasn’t chemistry born out of just physical attraction, just the ability to get into a certain position, or just the size or endowment of each of us. It was chemistry made from…

  Well, at least from a serious mutual liking of each other.

  “I could get used to this,” I said.

  Chelsea chuckled, rubbing her hands on my back.

  “Likewise.”

  Finally, feeling like I had some resemblance of strength, I pulled out. Oh, my cock was so fucking sensitive in that moment, it felt like a pleasure that bordered on pain, like too much of a good thing.

  But when I rolled over and Chelsea laid on top of me, it didn’t matter in the slightest. I felt like just as Nick had found Izzy, I had found Chelsea. I had won.

  ...and then I wondered how we’d reveal this to my family in an organic, non-suspicious way. Would it be odd if, just after two weeks, we were romantic? Would it be—

  “This was amazing,” Chelsea said, kissing me on the cheek. “Let’s do that again soon.”

  And just like that, Chelsea, without even realizing it, showed me that this was not the time to ask those questions, to have those thoughts. And even if so, we didn’t need to apologize or explain our attraction. It just...was.

  We could play it safe at work, or we could just be honest.

  So long as we did anything but “play it safe” here.

  “Give me ten minutes,” I said. “And we’ll be back at it.”

  Chelsea laughed.

  “I should set an alarm clock and test you,” she said. “Ten minutes, that’s pretty bold—”

  “Because I know I can,” I said.

  And sure enough, ten minutes later, we were right back at it.

  Chapter 18: Chelsea

  The month that followed could only be described in one word.

  Sexual.

  It was the best, the wildest, the most frequent, the most unrelenting sex I had ever had in my life. Instead of wondering when we were going to have sex, it almost—almost—got to the point where I had to start wondering if we would have to take a day off just to let our bodies rest. I finally felt like I could reveal my sexual side to Brett without fear of him playing me, and Brett, bless him, he had stamina and a sex drive like no one I had ever spent time around.

  The routine every day was the same. Wake up, have quick sex. Shower, get ready for work. Brett would go first, giving me about half an hour at his place or my place for me to relax. Given I was in the post-orgasm glow, this usually wasn’t hard. I’d show up at nine, say hello to him and everyone else. If anyone suspected anything, it would only have been because of how little suspicion we actually raised.

  When lunch came, we ate separately, but we took every opportunity to taunt the other, trying to see who could blush more from the raunchiest texts possible. We had no mercy on each other, and we spared nothing in trying to get the other to go wide-eyed. I had to admit, Brett was much better at this game than I was, but I liked to think I wasn’t that far behind him. Every so often, sitting in the lounge room, I’d catch him turning red at a text or trying to adjust himself. He wasn’t totally winning.

  After our lunch break, we’d go back to being consummate professionals. I had integrated myself well at Ferrari Wines, for everyone from the patriarch, Alf, down to part-time employees all knew me and seemed to like me. I didn’t get the sense that anyone was angling to stab me in the back or expose me, put it that way.

  When five o’clock hit, as per my schedule, I got up and left. I’d ask Brett if he needed anything before I went, and assuming he didn’t—he only had maybe once or twice—I ended with one of two lines.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you around.”

  The word signaled where to go after, his place or mine. “Tomorrow” was code for my place, “around” was his place. No one else was ever around to eavesdrop on us, but I felt it bad form to risk being public this soon. We were apparently only five months from the engagement part of this whole deal, but I felt that could come faster than some odd “instant love” type of deal.

  I would then head to whichever apartment was appropriate and kill time, relaxing with TV, listening to podcasts, or just otherwise lounging until I got the text from Brett.

  “Headed home.”

  At that point, I did everything I could to make sure the apartment was clean and the bed was ready for us. Because the second—I mean literally the second—Brett opened the door, we were rushing to each other and having sex like two horny teenagers that had lost their virginity to each other. We could not get enough of each other physically, and it didn’t hurt that we both had sex drives that, though relatively unnoticeable in our public lives, manifested themselves in rather amazing style in private.

  Granted, I knew we were living in the blissful stage of our “relationship,” if one could call it that, and I knew that at some point, the thrill of twice-a-day sex and sneaking around at work would wear off. In fact, by the end of the month, I was already starting to have some questions pop to mind, though I didn’t think of them as signs that things were about to go bad.

  Simply, I didn’t really know if I just had the greatest fuck buddy of my life or if I had someone that I really could be in a comfortable relationship with. We could never erase the fact that this had started artificially, but if we could seamlessly transition into something real, would it really matter how we started? But I just didn’t know.

  Sex made it easy to look past those things, but questions about when we’d go on dates more, when we’d move in together, when we’d propose...I mean, maybe I was wrong, but a part of me worried that Brett just looked at those things as contractual obligations, and the two of us could just continue hooking up until the time came when we could amicably split and collect our financial reward. Maybe.

  But I didn’t feel like I could just ride the wave of sexual ecstasy from now until kingdom come. At some point, for someone that I spent more or less over ninety percent of my waking hours with or in the presence of, I needed to know more about them. And right now, I didn’t know enough.

  But, again, that sex…

  I looked at my phone. It was half an hour past five o’clock, and I was resting on the couch in my apartment, waiting for the “Headed home” text to pop up. I had on the TV and was watching ESPN, something that always pleasantly surprised Brett—although I think he got a little jealous whenever he saw his brother on TV.

  And then it came. “Headed home.”

  As usual, I hurried over to make sure everything was clean. Today, though, I wanted to make sure that we didn’t just have sex—I wanted it to be wild. I wanted him to take me in the kitchen. A little unsanitary, maybe, but I was feeling extra feisty today. I had an unusual kick in the sex tank.

  I cleaned out the area, made sure the ground was clean, and thought about what we could do. We’d had an absolute wild month of sex, all uninterrupted. I think there was one Sunday where we vowed to not touch each other, but that just meant we got up way earlier than normal on Monday to have some really hot early morning sex.

  Not once…

  Not once had anything interrupted it.

  Including…

  A momentary freeze overtook me.

  My period hadn’t come yet.

  It’ll come soon, probably tomorrow or next couple of days. Better get this in good while you can.

  Admittedly, the thought did not totally quell my concern. It felt like too dismissive an answer, one that wasn’t resolved by me checking my calendar for when it was supposed to happen. But I told myself that in any case, this wasn’t the time to worry.

  And in
any case, the instant Brett appeared a few minutes later, it became, as usual, impossible for me to think about anything other than getting naked. I went up to Brett and kissed him passionately, with much more vigor and force than I usually did. I usually liked to take my time on kisses, to feel the other person, to really be present, but my drive was so strong that I wouldn’t have minded getting taken from behind against the door frame.

  “Damn,” he said.

  I didn’t even let him get past the front mat. I slid down his body, unbuckled his belt, ripped off his pants, and started sucking him off right there. If the door was open—which it was not, I was not that kinky—people wouldn’t have even needed to poke their head around to see what was going on.

  “Oh my fucking God,” Brett said. “Where did this side of you come from?”

  I didn’t answer. I preferred to let my tongue and lips do the talking in a different way than normal. I slurped, I sucked, I twirled my tongue around him—I didn’t really want him to come right there, but I was doing everything I could to make him feel like he was going to. Oh, it was so fucking hot seeing how much he loved this.

  “You know what, come on, up,” he said. Now he’s getting into it.

  “What?” I said in fake innocence, stroking his cock as I spoke.

  “Come on, up,” he said.

  I did as commanded, and he did not disappoint. He pinned me against a nearby wall, removed my pants, and put himself inside me. He grabbed my hips with his full strength and rammed himself against me as I pressed my hands into the wall.

  “Oh, fuck yes, Brett!” I growled.

  I spoke probably a little too loudly. Anyone in the hallway could probably hear us at this point. Oh well. I was feeling too good to care.

  I closed my eyes, talking the dirtiest way I could. I was never one to speak especially naughty things, but I knew Brett loved it when I told him how much I wanted him to finish in me. I knew it was like pressing the easy button to get him to finish. And though maybe this session wouldn’t last as long as others, I wanted the intensity of it to be unparalleled.

  And sure enough, it was only a matter of minutes before I could feel Brett’s cock swelling inside of me, the impetus to get me to moan and groan even louder. It wasn’t in my nature to be the loudest person during sex, but I knew Brett liked it, so right when I knew he was close, I’d do everything I could to get him to finish.

  “I want your cum inside of me so bad, Brett,” I said. “Let me feel you finish in me. Come for me, Brett.”

  Brett was reduced to incomprehensible language, utterances that, if they had subtitles, would make less sense than any foreign language. I braced myself against the wall as his thrusts became more spastic and sporadic, trying to push the last little bit to the edge where it could release. I closed my eyes, relishing the moment.

  And then I felt his tip expand and release, the rush of his seed pouring into my body.

  “Oh!” Brett groaned.

  He shouted far louder than he usually did and with much more force, as good a sign as any that this particular round of sex was what I’d hoped it would be—one of the best sessions yet. His hands tightened so hard around my hips it started to hurt, but the pain of that paled in comparison to the psychological pleasure of getting this hot stud to finish inside of me. Almost nothing could overtake that feeling.

  When Brett had pumped all that he could into me, he leaned back, almost like he had suddenly gotten dizzy. I turned to him, lifted my panties up, and grabbed him.

  “You OK?” I said with a laugh.

  “Fuck me,” he said. “That was...wow.”

  Sex fog was the best kind of fog.

  “I can’t remember a time that an orgasm felt that...forceful,” he said. “I don’t even know what to say. Sometimes, it just…”

  “How do your legs feel?”

  “Like the best kind of jelly,” he said. “Damn. Gonna be a while before I have something like that!”

  I led Brett to the couch, his pants left by the front door, but even though I had a pretty face on, “gonna be a while” reminded me of the period concern. Not wanting to worry Brett, I kept talking to him as I went to grab my phone.

  “I sure hope not,” I said. “I didn’t even come, and it was amazing.”

  “Oh, shit, well—”

  “No, this was my gift to you,” I said. “Seeing you flat out on the couch like this is better than any orgasm I could have. So no, you don’t do anything else. You just lie there and enjoy what happened.”

  Brett let out a long “ohhhhh” as I pulled up my period calendar. I kept a smile on the whole time.

  And then it went from being a natural smile to one that I had to maintain as an actress, for the app confirmed what I really knew, even if I did everything I could to prevent myself from admitting the truth.

  My period wasn’t supposed to start soon. It was supposed to have started five days ago.

  Maybe one day wasn’t so bad. Maybe two was excusable. Five, though...five worried me. Five had me wondering and assuming the worst. If it was just my body being shocked by the sex, then that was one thing. But…

  “You know, we keep this up, I’m going to have to quit my job at Ferrari Wines,” Brett cracked. “It’s hard to concentrate knowing that you’re waiting for me at the house.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Like, damn, being a sommelier is cool and all, but when you’re as lucky as I am to have someone like you…”

  “Right?”

  “You OK?”

  I looked up.

  “Oh, sorry, I, uh, realized I didn’t wash yet,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I headed straight to the bathroom, which at least was in character for me and really anyone post-coitus. But after cleaning off everything, instead of just using the bathroom, I had to face the biggest fear of all.

  I had to see if I was pregnant.

  I grabbed a test, used it, and looked down. A thousand thoughts ran through my head, probably nine hundred and ninety of which came from a place of fear and terror. I wasn’t ready. Even if I was, I wasn’t ready to be pregnant with Brett’s child. Even if we were, I wasn’t ready to have to face his whole, conservative, Catholic family.

  I gulped.

  It was positive.

  I…

  I…

  I was pregnant?

  I was pregnant.

  It had to…

  No, it wasn’t a mistake.

  There was no getting around it. I could lie and make excuses all I wanted. I could try and say the test was broken, maybe having just had sex threw off things, maybe, maybe, maybe—but I knew the truth.

  I was pregnant.

  I was pregnant with Brett’s child. The man that I was supposed to marry, the man that had turned into the best fuck boy ever, the man that I still wasn’t sure was going to be someone I even wanted to spend my time with long term…

  He was going to be the father of my child.

  Suddenly, I was linked to the Ferraris in a way that I had hoped would never happen. I mean, I suppose I could get an abortion, but that brought with it its own list of horrors and concerns. For other women, I supported the right to get one, but for myself, I knew that if it ever happened, I’d have to accept the consequences. I wanted to be a mom.

  Eventually. Not right now.

  “Chelsea?”

  A knock came at the door, making me jump. Of course, it was Brett, but I was so in my head that I couldn’t think straight either way.

  “Yes?” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound so cracked and weak that it would lead to more questions.

  “Everything OK?” he said. “You’ve been in there for a while. Are you…”

  “I’m fine, just, you know how it is.”

  “Right, right,” he said.

  He stepped away, and a few seconds later, I flushed to make it seem like I’d done something else. But I couldn’t flush away what had just happened.

  I walked out of the bathroom, put
ting on a smile that I prayed with every fiber of my being did not look suspicious. Maybe it was really a false positive, and maybe in two or three days, I’d have my period, I’d laugh my ass off to myself, and I’d move on.

  You know the truth.

  “For real, you OK?” Brett said, his usual smile gone. “You don’t look so good.”

  Did I dare to tell him the truth? Did I need to let him know what was going on right now? What if the pregnancy terminated early? What if I didn’t need to worry about anything?

  And what...what kind of impact would this have?

  What would happen?

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I just felt a little lightheaded. But I’m fine.”

  “Oh, OK,” Brett said, but I knew he didn’t completely buy what he said, which wasn’t hard for him to do considering I barely sold what I was saying. “Well, long as you’re feeling better by Friday.”

  “What happens Friday?” I said, trying to remember if the contract had said anything about a month in.

  “Oh, I’m telling Grandpa we’re dating now.”

  “What? He owns the place!”

  I was on edge. Of course, he’d know eventually.

  “Relax, he won’t fire you or me,” he said. “For someone really conservative, he’s surprisingly relaxed about workplace romance. In his mind, as long as both of us can do our jobs, he doesn’t care what happens outside of them.”

  Like if I get knocked up outside of marriage?

  “OK,” I said.

  But I was anything but relaxed right now. I was anything but calm right now. I was a fucking hot mess.

  But I kept my mouth shut. I decided to let things play out and see what happened.

  I, however, had a terrible feeling that that was going to backfire in the worst way possible.

  Chapter 19: Brett

  Something was up.

  It didn’t take a guy like me, who had sharp intuition, to know that something was wrong with Chelsea. A health scare? A real dizzy spill? Maybe she was knocked up?

  The first part seemed so much more plausible, although I had to admit, we never really did have a conversation about birth control. We’d never used condoms, because if we weren’t going to use it the first night, why the hell would we use it any night thereafter? I just figured that she would do her part to make sure that we didn’t have any kids, and it wasn’t like I always finished inside her; sometimes she swallowed, and sometimes I pulled out.