by Leslie North
But as he scooped her up into his arms and guided her back toward the sectional in the living room, he realized that it was wrong to ignore this intensity. It was practically a sin.
Mila moaned through a kiss, and Grayson guided her back onto the flat, cushy surface of the sectional. He climbed on top of her, pushing his hands beneath the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. His palms glided over her warm, silky skin. She arched beneath him, inviting his hands to roam further. He cupped each breast in turn, dragging a thumb over pebbled nipples. Her breath shuddered out of her.
“Jesus, Grayson,” she breathed, sounding overwhelmed. “It’s too much.”
“Too much like, I should stop what I’m doing?” He dragged his lips over the swell of her belly. “Or too much like, it feels too good and you don’t understand why?”
“The second one.” She wriggled beneath him as he skipped kisses back and forth over her belly. Where their baby was growing.
“Well, I feel the same way too.” He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her pajama pants and tugged downward, revealing moss green panties. He shucked her pants and returned to the space between her legs, grinning at the damp patch between her legs.
“You’ve missed this,” he murmured, running his thumb back and forth over her mons.
She grunted in response. “Maybe a little.”
“Are you sure it’s okay that we do this?” he asked, pressing kisses along her panty line. She wriggled in response, her legs spreading. A silent plea to get his head down there. “With the morning sickness and all.”
“It’s making me feel much better,” she said, pushing her fingers through his hair. “In fact, this is probably the best thing you could do for me.”
“Hmmm.” He nipped at the damp crotch of her panties with his teeth. “Then as your baby daddy, I am legally required to assist.”
“Yes. Legally.” She hissed as he pushed his fingers beneath her panties, his thumb and forefinger immediately finding the stiff peak of her clit. She melted into the couch as he poked and prodded her. A feminine moan escaped her as he pushed aside the scrap of fabric and covered her clit with his lips. He eased his fingers in and out of her juicy pussy. She was wetter and tighter than he remembered. It had his cock begging for release, trapped under the buckle of his belt.
“You’re so wet,” Grayson murmured, swiping his tongue back and forth across her needy nub, his fingers making a slick noise as he pumped them in and out of her. “God, I’ve never seen anyone this turned on before. Have you just been dying for it, beautiful?”
A shudder wracked her body, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Yes. Oh, God, yes.”
“Mmmm.” He fingerfucked her harder, enjoying the splash of emotions across her face. “Then I need to give it to you, huh?”
“Please, Grayson.”
The desperation in her voice was enough to unravel him. He slurped at her clit, eager to give her the release she was craving. Eager to give her another release after that…with him. And maybe a third release later on, just because.
Mila arched her back and groaned, and then her thighs went rigid, her pussy tightening around his fingers. When her breaths turned into pants, he knew that she’d peaked. He pressed one last kiss to her throbbing clit before he sat back and began shucking his own pants.
“Holy crap,” she croaked.
“I’m not done with you,” he warned with a smirk. He stepped out of his pants, and then pushed his boxer briefs off. His cock bobbed in front of him, straining tall and hard. “Not even a little bit.”
Mila grinned, pushing onto her elbows. Once Grayson shucked the rest of his clothes, he eased back onto the couch, straddling her. He tugged her sweatshirt off gently, and then covered her body with his own.
“I’ve been missing this,” he whispered into her ear. All the places where their bodies met buzzed with anticipation. It was both erotic and tender and somehow reassuring. Being with Mila felt like coming home. He didn’t understand it, but hell if he could control it.
“Me too,” she said, and her voice faded into a gasp as he eased himself inside of her. Her pussy stretched around him, gloriously juicy and hot. A groan ripped out of him. How could they expect to say no to having this again? They’d managed to delude themselves for the past few weeks about this thing between them, but now? Going back to platonic would be impossible. He needed more Mila. All of the time.
Grayson pushed himself in and out of her, desire prickling through him, urging him faster and deeper. Mila dug her fingernails into the wall of his chest as he worked her, his own orgasm churning hot and fast inside him.
“You feel so amazing,” he murmured against her lips. The scent of her combined with the tightness of her pussy stretched all around him sent him into the stratosphere. He never wanted this to end, but with how good it felt to be buried inside her, he knew he wouldn’t be lasting much longer.
“Oh, my God,” she wailed, cinching her arms around his neck. She pinched her eyes shut, legs splaying further open. “Harder, Grayson. Please. I need it.”
It was impossible to ignore her plea. So he could only give her what she wanted. He fucked her as hard as he could, sweat prickling at his brow as he buried himself to the hilt, time and time again. Her head lolled back, mouth parting.
“I’m close,” Grayson warned, his lips skimming along the curve of her neck. With her, it was far too easy to fall over the edge.
“Ohhh, me tooooo,” she wailed, her fingernails digging into his biceps. A strangled cry escaped her, and then she arched and locked her thighs around him. Her pussy quaked and convulsed around him, her second orgasm pushing him into his own. He buried his face into the hollow of her neck and allowed him to fall over the edge and deep into his own churning bliss.
He let out a gruff cry, his abs going rock hard as he released inside her. Everything behind his eyelids went bright and starlit. He scooped his arms beneath her, bringing her body against his so that every inch of him could feel her heartbeat and passion and bliss.
When the orgasms receded, his chest heaved and he was sweating. He grunted, reversing their positions so that she lay on top of him while she watched him with a wild look in her eye.
“Damn,” she breathed, dragging her forearm across her forehead. “I think you fucked me into next week.”
“Only because you were begging for it,” he panted, staring at the ceiling.
“God, that was good.” She laughed weakly.
“Better than good.” He groaned, lifting his head so he could press a kiss to her shoulder. “The best.”
And that was the most confusing part of it all. Starting a family of his own—or even the prospect of a serious girlfriend or wife—had felt like something he couldn’t begin to consider for the next decade or so. And yet, despite all his plans, there was something comforting and right about being with Mila.
He didn’t know what it all meant. He still didn’t know the way forward.
But somehow, just being with Mila seemed like it was enough for now.
14
Mila woke up the next morning in a cocoon of contentment. It took her a little bit to realize that she was buried in Grayson’s embrace back in her bed, where they’d retreated at the start of round two. Completely hugged by him, their bare feet touching, his biceps rock solid around her. She burrowed deeper into his embrace. Had they spent the whole night like this? She sort of hoped so—she hadn’t woken up once, and usually she was a light, fitful sleeper.
She yawned, stretching her arms, which made Grayson rouse. He peeled himself off of her, groaning with a big stretch.
“Morning,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. He was adorable in the morning—bedhead and bleary eyes, the overnight shadow of a beard dotting his jawline.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, poking a finger into the flat plane of his chest.
“Like a rock.”
“Me too. Which I almost never do,” she confessed. It was one detail among many that had her mi
nd flying high and thinking crazy thoughts. And though she wanted to blame it on the pregnancy…she couldn’t quite rid herself of the idea, which had occurred to her last night somewhere between rounds two and three of mind-blowing sex.
The idea was simple: why don’t you mention trying your hand at a relationship after the challenge?
Because waiting until after the challenge seemed wisest. With that out of the way, they would be able to put their full attention on the next most pressing issue: their unborn baby. And sure, the pregnancy hormones probably played a role in her wanting to be able to curl up to Grayson and know that he was hers. But this feeling vibrating inside her had been there since the beginning. Since the moment he walked into her boutique and snatched her breath away with his easy grin and crystal blue eyes.
Handsome men were a dime a dozen in San Francisco. But nobody had ever made her feel like this before. And now that she was both carrying his baby and working alongside him on a project, she was coming to realize she had more than enough bandwidth to invite him into her life and focus on her new business. He didn’t detract from her attention—he actually added to it. She thought of him showing up last night, worried about her after getting her text. After a full day of pendulating between feeling blah at best and miserable at worst, he was the first thing all day that had made her feel good. Maybe they were better together—could face everything ahead of them as a team.
And maybe this is why pairing up with another businessman was secretly smart. She hid her grin in his shoulder, relishing the cedar scent of him mixed with sweat. He was pure masculinity. Rippling muscles and fervent lovemaking and big strong hands trailing over her body. Dammit, she was swooning again. Grayson made it too easy.
“Why are you giggling into my shoulder?” Grayson asked. “Did my armpit say something funny?”
She laughed sharply. “No. But I bet of any part of you, your armpit would be the funniest.”
He feigned a hurt expression. “Are you saying I’m not funny?”
She snickered, pressing a kiss to his lips. “No. You’re hilarious. I promise.”
They hung out in bed for a while, teasing each other between morning breath kisses. Normally, when she let a guy spend the night, she’d be the first out of bed to brush her teeth and put on mascara at least—just to look ‘presentable’ in the morning. But with Grayson, she didn’t feel the need. They were having too much fun to interrupt it. Even if her bladder was aching.
It was only when Grayson’s phone began buzzing incessantly that they were forced to end this sweet morning reverie. Grayson attended his phone call while Mila went to the bathroom. When she came back, he was pulling on his pants with a frown.
“Well, beautiful, that was the call. I need to head into work.”
“On a Sunday?”
“Tech stops for no one. But I’ll text you later. What do you have going on today?”
She drifted toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist without even deciding to. It was too easy to fall into him. And without even realizing, she’d gone head first.
“My mom invited me to a dinner this evening. We do it twice a month usually, but I don’t always go. My family can be a little…difficult.”
Grayson nodded, stroking her hair. As she looked up into his piercing blue eyes, a thought trekked lazily through her mind: and I would have invited you if you weren’t working. Because it was the truth: after the night they’d shared, she felt ready to bring him into the picture a little more—introduce him to her family. No matter what they might think about tech guys.
But maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Now she could mull over things…take her time…let the challenge wrap up before she took the leap and asked Grayson to become a permanent part of her personal life, beyond the baby.
They shared a few sweet kisses before Grayson took his leave. Once Mila was alone in her apartment, she finished cleaning up the unwashed dishes from their mac n’ cheese last night, made herself eggs, watched part of a movie, and then took a long, lazy bath. Sundays were always dedicated to self-care for her, and it was even more important now that she was carrying life inside her.
Besides, she needed the downtime before heading to her parents’ house. Being rested and in a good head space was critical before facing her family. Even for a casual Sunday dinner, the risk of the conversation going south was great.
Once six o’clock rolled around, she was knocking on the ornate front door of her parents’ Victorian house in the Cathedral Hill neighborhood. Her brother, Philip, pulled open the door and ushered her inside after pulling her into a hug. From deeper inside the house, she could hear her mom and dad arguing about the oven timer. Ahh. Home.
“Mila! There you are!” Mila’s mother drifted her way with outstretched arms. After a peck on the cheek, her father kissed her other cheek. “We’re almost ready. Tonight is spaghetti and meatballs—your favorite.”
Yeah, when I was six, Mila thought but didn’t say. She allowed herself to be swept toward the dining room table, where Philip and her father began discussing the insanely high selling price of a nearby home.
“That’s almost thirty thousand more than they were asking last month,” Philip said with wide eyes. The conversation almost always focused on money in this house—who had too much money, who was spending themselves into ruin, and who wanted to have money but simply didn’t. Mila supposed she rang in at the last category. Raised in relative wealth, fighting to make her own way, and craving the financial security she just couldn’t obtain.
“Here, honey. Try this new prosecco I got yesterday.” Her mother handed her a champagne flute and flitted back into the kitchen. Mila’s mouth parted as she stared at the sparkling liquid.
“Don’t look so spooked, Mila,” Philip teased, reaching for his own flute. “Let’s have a toast, everyone. What should we toast to?”
Their mother returned to the dining room and the four of them lifted their glasses. Mila knew what was about to come out of her mother’s mouth—one of four trademarked toasts that she cycled through on repeat. All of them having to do with their profession of choice, success, and money.
“To the accountant,” their mother blurted. “The person who tells you what to do with your money after you’ve done something else.”
Mila’s family each tipped prosecco into their mouths while she smiled nervously. If that wasn’t the story of her life. “I can relate to that,” she murmured.
“I suppose in our little family of four, one of us was statistically likely to be something other than an accountant. Aren’t you going to try your prosecco?” her mother urged.
While Mila struggled to find a believable excuse, Philip smirked at her.
“Maybe she’s pregnant, Mom,” he teased.
“Oh, please,” their mother scoffed. “That’ll be the day.”
Something in her mother’s tone rubbed her the wrong way. Now that she was firmly into the morning sickness and emotional hormone leg of her pregnancy journey, every interaction—hell, every day—felt entirely new to her. Every interaction held a new sensitive underbelly that hadn’t been there pre-pregnancy. And for the first time, her annoyance was churning into something else. Normally, she’d let the comment slide and just keep her mouth shut. But today, she’d had enough of the subtext and the passive-aggressive commentaries.
“Actually, I am pregnant,” Mila said, as casually as she could while her mother brought in a big bowl of garden salad and a serving platter of roasted chicken.
The dining room went eerily quiet. All eyes burned on her.
“Are you serious?” her father asked in his usual low rumble. Her mother tutted, dismissing her with the wave of a hand.
“That’s funny, Mila, but you really shouldn’t joke about things like that.”
“I’m serious.” Mila reached for the serving spoon. She certainly hadn’t planned to announce the news today, or in this fashion, but why pass up a perfectly good opportunity to make her mother’s jaw drop? “
I’m almost three months in. It’s real.”
Her mother blinked about a hundred times, staring at Mila. “You’re kidding.” Her voice was firm, insistent—as if Mila would back down and say it wasn’t true if her mother just made her expectations clear. This was her mom’s usual response to news that she didn’t want to hear.
“Mom, I don’t think she is,” Philip said quietly.
“But how could you get pregnant? You’re not even seeing anyone.”
“It wasn’t an immaculate conception,” Mila intoned. “Besides, I am seeing someone.” She shoved a forkful of salad into her mouth. She figured she could fudge the truth slightly for today. Just to get through this awkward conversation alive and in one piece on the other side. “You just didn’t know about him.”
“My God,” her father said, looking across the table at his wife. “We’re going to be grandparents.”
“Holy shit! Congratulations, little sis. I’ll drink your wine.” Philip grabbed her untouched prosecco and lifted it along with his own glass. “This is the real thing we should be toasting to.”
Her mother didn’t lift her glass, her green eyes sharpening to hard gemstones. “So is your business stable? Do you have enough monthly income to support yourself and a child?”
“I won’t be doing this all alone,” Mila reminded her mom, “but yes. It’s getting there.”
“Getting there.” Her mother frowned, forking some chicken onto her plate. “Not what we like to hear.”
Her father sighed, clearing his throat. “And who is the father of our grandchild-to-be?”
At least she could count on her father to ask the right question, even if he didn’t seem to be more than mildly excited. “You don’t know him.”
“Will we ever?” Mila’s mom asked.
“Yes, you will. Someday. When the time is right.” Mila offered a tight smile.
“And what does that mean?” Her mother pushed salad around on her plate. “Is the right time before or after the baby is born?”