by Kay Maree
I thrust upward harshly, making her inner muscles clamp down on my shaft and her limbs convulse. Farrah’s arms wrap around my neck tightly as I plunge in and out of her cunt like a man possessed. My sides ache where her knees have fallen shut to clench my hips, and even though she’s disobeying a direct instruction, I can’t bring myself to punish her. After all, I’ve had fantasies about her damn legs for years. How they would grip me and hold me prisoner while I fuck us both into next week.
But those are thoughts for a different day because nothing about this moment can be categorized as fucking. Tonight, I’m making love to Farrah. Maybe I’m being a little rougher than I planned, but it’s hard to hold back when I finally have the only woman I’ve ever actually wanted beneath me. In fact, it’s fucking impossible.
As I feel my release building, Farrah’s body strings tight, and she comes screaming my name. I’m not far behind her, slamming my cock into her tight, hot cunt half a dozen more times before I can’t hold back anymore. “Farrah,” I roar as the first jets of come leave the tip of my cock with so much force that white spots begin to dance behind my eyes.
“Jake. Oh, yes, Jake,” Farrah mewls, riding out the last of her climax as her sweet, wet pussy milks every last drop of come from my balls.
“Fuck, but I love you, baby,” I finally say when I’ve managed to catch my breath.
I roll us to our sides and spread one hand across her belly protectively and brace my other arm underneath her tits. Inhaling the scent of her hair – the subtle hint of mint and something else I can’t place that I’ve always attributed to, Farrah – I listen as her breathing evens out, making me believe she’s fallen asleep.
Closing my eyes, I wait for sleep to claim me, but before I can join her I hear, “There aren’t enough words to tell you how much I love you, so Bean and I are just going to have to show you.”
I don’t reply, reveling in Farrah’s sleepy promise. Instead, I fall asleep with a smile on my face and my heart full of hope for our future.
Chapter Eleven
FARRAH
“You do understand you’re all being ridiculous, don’t you?” I yell at no one in particular. As far as I’m concerned, all four men “helping” me move into Jake’s house deserve to be on the receiving end of my anger.
When I woke up to people banging around and muted voices trying not to yell at each other – unsuccessfully I might add – I just assumed it was Jake and Simon working out in the living room like they sometimes do. I was wrong. What I came face to face with as I wandered into my kitchen in search of my beloved ginger ale – the only thing that’s helped in my losing battle with morning sickness – was not two sweaty, shirtless men, but four. And sadly, they were not working out.
What they were doing was asking to get their asses kicked. Albeit, I won’t be the one inflicting said ass kicking since I can barely lift my foot up to paint my toenails, but I am seriously contemplating calling in reinforcements. If these guys think they can get away with packing up my entire life and throwing it into a truck without my permission, they’ve got another thing coming. Let them explain this shit to their wives; I dare them.
“Baby, we talked about this,” my soon-to-be-bruised, irritating excuse for a fiancée says. And yes, you heard right. I did indeed say, fiancée. Although, at the rate Jake’s going, this is probably going to be the shortest engagement in recorded history.
Propping my hands on my ever-widening hips – being six months pregnant will do that to a girl – I give Jake a look that says he’s lost his ever-loving mind. “No, we most certainly did not,” I snap frustrated at the infuriating man.
Regardless of my tendency to forget to put on shoes before leaving the house, putting my cell in the refrigerator, instead of the milk, and possibly flooding the bathroom once, I would definitely remember the conversation Jake’s referring to.
“Yes, babe, we did,” he huffs, hefting another box into his arms.
“Put that down. I mean it, Jake, stop loading my stuff into the damn truck because I’m not going anywhere.”
Eli, who until now I considered the only sensible man here starts laughing at Jake and I facing off while chaos reigns around us, which earns him a snarl from Jake and the finger from me. “Hey, don’t get angry at me. I’m just enjoying the show.”
“Fuck off,” Jake growls before scooping me into his arms and carrying me down the hall to my bedroom.
“What are you doing? You’re going to break your back,” I shriek as Jake drops my ass onto the mattress and kneels in front of me.
“Look at me, Farrah,” he coaxes, tipping my chin up until I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Tell me what this is really about. I know you; you’re not pissed about moving in with me, or how I went about making that happen. It’s something else, and you’re not leaving this room until you tell me what that is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
The truth is, that Jake’s right. As highhanded as this is – moving me into his house without my agreement – that isn’t what’s bothering me.
Everything is changing, moving so fast that I can barely catch my breath. One minute, I’m single, having a drink with my best friend at a club, and the next, I’m engaged, pregnant, and relocating. Granted, that might be a little melodramatic – I’m literally only going to be five blocks from here – but this was my home. My new home at that. I just finished unpacking the last box a week ago, and now it’s starting all over again.
It’s not that I don’t want to live with, Jake, I do. Hell, in less than three weeks I’m about to say those exact words to him along with till death do us part. We’re having a baby together in a hair short of three months for God’s sake; if that isn’t me tying myself to him for all eternity, I don’t know what is. So why do I feel like I’m trapped? Why do I want to jump in my car and just keep driving until I run out of gas or can’t keep my eyes open anymore?
“Babe?” Jake prompts.
Releasing a long-suffering sigh, I drop my forehead onto his shoulder and inhale his masculine scent. Jake smells like sweat and soap. He smells like home. Which leaves me asking myself again, why the fuck is this so hard for me?
“I’m scared,” I eventually admit. It’s not a lie; I am. I’m terrified that Jake will wake up one day and have changed his mind about the baby and me. I’m frightened that I won’t make a good wife or mother. And I’m equally worried about what is going to happen with my job while I’m off on maternity leave.
I haven’t discussed this with Jake yet, but I hate my job. As in, despise it. But especially my boss. He is an arrogant, egotistical, sexist pig. And as if the first three weren’t enough, he has a little man complex too, which makes working for him a blast. Not.
“Of what, Farrah. You’re going to have to spell this shit out for me, babe, because I don’t have a fucking clue what about moving in with me could scare you badly enough to throw a shit fit.”
Scoffing at him, I shove his shoulder. “That was hardly a shit fit, but I’m happy to demonstrate if you need a comparison.”
“Stop deflecting and talk to me,” he says, pinning me with a hard stare.
“Fine,” I grumble. “I’m scared I won’t fit my fat ass into my wedding dress. I terrified that I won’t be able to squeeze this gargantuan baby out of my vagina without needing reconstructive surgery afterward. There’s a good chance I will be a terrible mother, considering mine was a verbally abusive alcoholic. My feet hurt. My pelvis feels like it’s on fire twenty-four hours a day thanks to your kid’s big head. I have to leave my new house because my bossy fiancée deems it time for me to move in with him. And I think I’m about to lose my job.”
If I weren’t so stressed out the expression on Jake’s face would have been comical. His face flashes between amused, slightly horrified, to concerned, and then angry. “What the fuck do you mean, you’re about to lose your job? If that motherfucker is giving you a hard time, I’ll pay him
a visit and get him to ease up.” To say Jake hates, my boss, Marco is like saying fucking a man with a thirteen-inch cock won’t hurt. It will, and he does.
The first and only day Jake came to work to pick me up, Marco was in my office screaming at me for not landing a new client we had presented to the week before. Marco was so busy telling me what a shit job I was doing that he didn’t notice Jake standing behind him. However, Marco didn’t miss the hand that clamped down on his shoulder or the way Jake’s eyes filled with fire when he called me a bitch.
Being an account exec at an upscale advertising firm was once upon a time my dream job. I worked to pay my way through college, even though my trust fund would have more than covered it, and went door to door dropping off resumes and all but begging for a job after I graduated. But what I thought would be fun and exciting has turned into the equivalent of having your fingernails pulled out at the root; torturous.
The hours are long, clients are constantly changing their minds and adding to my workload, most of my co-workers are catty bitches, and my boss is an asshole. Maybe not every firm is like, MacDougall and Hawke, but in the marketing and advertising industry it tends to be a dog eat dog world, only pariahs and men need apply.
Shaking my head vehemently, I cry, “No! I don’t need you to pay him one of your patented visits. Every time you do, someone always ends up crying or bleeding. I mean, I’m grateful that it’s not you, but we have a baby on the way, and I don’t plan on having to explain why his daddy is always dressed in orange.”
“I’ve had some experience with this shit, babe. I wouldn’t get caught, and you know it,” he scoffs as if I’ve offended his delicate ego.
“That’s what they all say. You’re not invincible, Jake Hansen and you’d do well to remember that,” I chastise with a frown.
“Still not the fucking point, though, Farrah. Sure, your boss is a fucking douche, but we already know that. And so what if you lose your job? I earn more than enough to support you and however many kids we have comfortably. I own my place free and clear; same goes with my truck, the SUV I bought you, and my bike,” he shares, but I already knew all that.
Jake and I sat down after he finished his last assignment for D.I.C.E. and discussed our finances. While he isn’t rolling in money, Jake has quite the nest egg tucked away for a rainy day. And with my trust fund and what’s in my savings and checking accounts, our kids will never want for anything, that’s for sure.
“So you going to tell me what the real problem is, baby, or am I going to have to fuck it out of you?” he asks with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Don’t even think about it, buddy. Your son is too busy playing kickball with my vagina right now for me to even consider letting you and your huge cock anywhere near it.”
“If I ignore the whole kid thing, it’s fucking hot to hear you talk about my cock,” Jake smirks. “So hit me. What got your pretty little panties in a wad this morning?”
“A, I’m not wearing panties. And, B, you didn’t ask. You do shit like this all the time, and just expect me to be okay with it. Well, guess what? I’m not okay with you organizing the guys to come and pack up my stuff. I’m not okay with you doing it without any input from me. And I’m not okay with having to worry that this is what it’s going to be like all the time when we’re married,” I blurt out.
“Fuck,” he hisses and clenches his jaw.
Reaching out and touching him because I can’t help myself where Jake’s concerned, I soften my approach a little. Not a lot, though, because Jake has to understand he fucked up on this one. “I love you, and your house, Jake. Nothing would make me happier than not having to drive twenty minutes at the end of a long day to come and see you, but I would have liked to have been part of that decision, not an afterthought.”
And I do, love his house, that is.
Jake bought a craftsman cottage that was renovated inside and out. Aside from loving that it’s only five blocks from the apartment I used to share with my brother, I fell in love with the huge addition the previous owners had added not long before they were forced to sell it.
The main house has four bedrooms, three full baths, an open plan kitchen, dining and living room, and a gorgeous back deck that looks over the landscaped gardens. It’s on a big section, so Jake’s garden is almost as large as the house itself and big enough for the pool I’m trying to convince him to put in. But it’s the extension that makes the house.
It was originally built as a parents’ retreat. The former owners had four teenage girls, and needed somewhere to call their own every once and a while. I don’t blame them, either. Four girls aged thirteen to seventeen is terrifying.
The addition is bright and airy, probably because save the walls sectioning off the bathroom from the rest of the space, it is entirely open. Large picture windows off the living area open it up to the back garden, and French doors out to the hot tub let the breeze in in summer. All in all, the house is perfect for a family, or a couple like us who intend to have a big one.
Jake and I both want, at least, three kids. Maybe more if all goes well. As a twin, but with no other siblings, and me just having, Simon, we both want our kids to have more than one brother or sister to rely on. It was hard growing up, depending on Simon for everything. I often felt like I was a burden on him, and only let me hang around so much because he didn’t have the heart to tell me to leave him alone.
Looking back on it, I know I was wrong to think like that; all Simon did was because he loves me, not because he had to. Nevertheless, Jake and I don’t want any of our children to feel that way, hence the decision to have a big family. That is if we don’t kill each other first. Some days, like today, the struggle is real.
“I’m sorry,” Jake says, meaning it.
“I know, and so am I,” I exhale. “I don’t mean to be such a raving bitch, but you’ve been so busy with your case, then everything just started piling up, and I didn’t know what to do.”
My admission spurs Jake into action. Sliding me further back onto the bed, he comes down on top of me, caging my head in with his muscular forearms. “You come to me. You always come to me, baby. No matter what I’m doing, you are my priority. You and our baby when he’s born. No, but’s; you need me, Farrah, and I’m there. I’ll drop whatever shit it is I’m doing and get to you as quick as I can.”
Crashing his mouth to mine, Jake kisses me deeply, plunging his tongue into my mouth. When he eventually pulls back, we’re both breathless and panting, but he manages to get out, “Tell me you get me, baby. Tell me that the next time you’re feeling overwhelmed, you’ll come to me.”
“I promise,” is the last thing I say before, Talon knocks on the door and ruins what could have been some amazing mid-morning sex.
“Sorry, but there’s a crazy chick at the front door threatening to shoot Ford if he doesn’t let her in. You want to handle her, or let him?” Talon asks with a smirk.
There’s only one woman I know crazy enough to go head to head with Ford and that’s, Sophie. Fingers crossed she can control herself long enough for Jake and me to get out there, because I happen to know for a fact, Sophie is carrying a 9mm in her purse.
Chapter Twelve
FORD
“Who the fuck are you? And why the fuck do you think I’d let a stranger into Farrah’s house?” My deep voice booms through the tiny room.
“We already went over this, Gigantor; I’m Farrah’s best friend. Now who the hell are you, why are you in my friend’s house, and can you please put a damn shirt on?” The tiny woman in front of me sasses.
I’m telling you, I must be a fucking Saint or something, because somehow I manage to rein in enough self-control not to spank her gorgeous, tight, perfectly rounded ass.
Now, I’m not an ass man, or a leg man, or a boob man; I’m an everything all at once man. I want a woman’s legs wrapped around my waist so that I can slam her up and down on my cock while suck her nipples into my mouth and s
pank her ass at the same time. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’d do to this delectable little morsel staring at me through narrowed eyes and pursed lips.
“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t give a shit if you’re fucking Santa Claus, but I’m not letting you in.”
“We’ll see about that,” she huffs, pulling her cell out of what I can only describe as a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. How she isn’t weighed down by that thing is beyond me, but then again, why the fuck do I care?
“Simon,” she says sweetly to the man on the other end of the line, and irrationally my blood boils. I don’t want her sharing her sweet with whoever this asshole is, I want it for myself.
Holy shit! Where the hell did that come from? I don’t do relationships. I don’t even date. If they’re lucky, I buy the woman I’ve picked up for the night a drink before I take her back to her place and fuck her, but that’s about it. Ever since I lost my wife to cancer five years ago, I haven’t wanted a bar of another woman, except by the looks of it, this one.
“Can you kindly tell Gigantor that I am who I say I am and to let me pass? I have to talk to, Farrah. It’s important,” she says, her face falling as she says the last word.
Handing me her cell, I put it to my ear and grunt. The guy on the other end tells me his name, that he’s Farrah’s brother and that Sophie – the angel currently attempting to blink back her tears – is, in fact, his sisters best friend. With a brief goodbye, I hang up and hand the phone back to her, letting my fingers brush across her skin briefly.
That was a mistake. Now that I know how petal-soft her skin is, I want to taste it. But tasting it would lead to licking, licking would move onto sucking, and then we’re entering dangerous territory.