The Roommate's Baby

by Penny Wylder

  He chews on the inside of his cheek for a minute. Then, finally, he lifts a chicken finger to his mouth and takes a slow bite. "I guess you're right," he says finally. "But fuck, man, that's intimidating."

  "You'll survive," I tell him, stealing another finger from his plate. "Can't be as intimidating as our Monday morning board meeting next week is going to be, now that both of us are on Spencer's bad side with all of our slacking," I point out.

  He groans and rolls his eyes. "Please, don't remind me. I'll take anything over that suffering."

  "Be careful what you wish for," I warn him. But as we throw out our trash and head back toward the office, I can't help feeling a twinge of worry. For all the confidence I had when I gave Chris advice, I don't feel any of that same security about my own situation. I can't take my own advice, not with Rina. Not with her trying for a baby, and all the extra complications that adds.

  If I tell her I've started to fall for her, then she might need to set up completely different arrangements. Find someone else who can uphold the whole No Strings Attached side of the bargain when it comes to sex and knocking her up. Start all over again with that guy, trying for someone else's kid.

  Just the thought of that, the idea of her asking someone else the same favor she asked me, of having some other guy put his dick in her, try to fill her belly with his seed... It makes me furious. It makes me want to tear that imaginary competitor apart. And it makes me want to steal her away, keep her all to myself, no matter what it takes.

  But that, of course, would be impossible by then. I'd have already broken our agreement, and it wouldn't be anyone's fault but my own.

  No. Rina and I are different. We're not like Lacy and Chris. We need to see this through, to the end.

  After her next cycle, I decide. If she gets pregnant this time, and she prepares to go on her own way, move out into her own place, then I'll tell her. Then I can take that leap, just in case. On the off chance that she might be willing to give me a chance, then at least, we'd have a real shot.

  And if not, well, at least I'll have the memories we made together. And at least I'll know, like I told Chris. And she'll have the baby she wanted. If she doesn't feel the way for me that I feel for her, then I'll uphold my end of the bargain. I'll stay out of things, away from her, no matter how much it kills me inside.

  That's what I need to do, I decide. It's the only thing I can do. Hang on through this last cycle, get her pregnant, and then...

  Then I'll face the music. Then I'll finally tell her how I feel.

  13

  Rina

  Cannon seems in a weird mood tonight. Ever since I texted to let him know I was ovulating again, he's been weird and distant.

  I wonder if he's getting sick of me. Maybe the pressure of this whole situation is weighing on him too much. Or maybe he's just anxious to get this over with so he can get back to his usual MO—philandering around town with his friends, hooking up with any girl he's interested in. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that he hasn't brought another girl home while we're doing this, even though, of course, since we're doing NSA, he would be totally within his rights. But I wonder if he's getting bored. Getting tired of this whole routine.

  That's why I decide to spice things up. I mean, we have one week of this left—hopefully, ideally. If all goes well, then I'll be pregnant by the end of the week, know within another couple of weeks, and we can both move on with our lives. So we might as well enjoy this last week together.

  So I text him to meet me at our favorite restaurant, a quiet, romantic little spot a few towns over where we're never recognized. I change at the office before we meet. I splurged a little, hoping to make this night extra special, and I don't want him to see me until we meet up later.

  Finally, when I'm ready, I step out into my car, navigating with only a small amount of difficulty in the spiked heels that I bought for this.

  Okay, so it might be a little much. But I don't care. It's totally worth it when I saunter over to our regular table and Cannon's expression lights up in something between shock and white-hot desire.

  I'm wearing six-inch heels, so high that I'm almost nervous to walk in them. But they make my calves pop and my legs look miles long underneath the dress I'm wearing. The dress is also new. It's skin-tight, bright red, with a hemline long enough to not be too scandalous, but short enough to draw Cannon's eyes right where I want them. Not to mention the scoop neck, where I've hung a simple pendant that nestles right at the top of my cleavage, hinting just enough to make him lick his lips as he studies my chest.

  But the biggest change, the one that has him glancing at me again and again, studying me with wide, lust-filled eyes, is the wig I tossed on. It's simple, just a black bob wig, but it makes me feel like a totally different person. Like a Bond girl stepping out of one of the action thrillers and sitting across from him at our table.

  "Rina," he murmurs when I finally slide into the chair across from his, crossing my legs with a demure yet sexy smile cast in his direction. "You look... Holy shit."

  My grin widens. "You like?" I lift one eyebrow.

  His gaze sweeps across mine, hungry as ever. "I have to admit," he says after a moment, "I still prefer you as a redhead. But the black is a fun change." He reaches out and catches a curl of the wig, spins it around his fingertip. "Is this your sex goddess alter-ego?" he asks with a smirk.

  "Yes," I reply with a lift of my eyebrows. "That's Ms. Smith to you."

  "I see," he replies, at the same time that he drops a hand under the table and slides his fingertips up the inside of my thigh, starting at my knee, then inching higher, higher, higher...

  I tense when he reaches the spot where my thighs are pressed together, and cast a glance around the restaurant. There's only a couple other tables in here, and our table has a long linen cloth draped around the sides. But it won't disguise what we're doing if Cannon keeps going. Not for long.

  "I ordered already," he adds, as though in afterthought. "I hope that's all right. I got the usual."

  "That's fine," I say, and he takes advantage of my distraction to slip his hand between my thighs. He works them a little higher, until his fingertips graze against the thin, silky fabric of my sexy, barely-there panties.

  "Hmm." His eyes light up with that animal look of lust that I savor so much in him. "New panties, Ms. Smith?"

  I hold my head and consider him with a widening smile. "I wanted to match my new persona. So, you know... I needed something... particularly scandalous."

  "I see." He hooks his forefinger through my panties and tugs lightly against the silky fabric. "I hope you don't mind if I wind up ruining these before the night is through," he says, his voice dropping so low it's almost a growl. "I find I can't help myself around you, Ms. Smith. Especially not like this." His gaze sweeps back over my body, lingers on my chest, on the spot where the dress dips low enough just to hint at my cleavage.

  At that moment, the waiter swings by our table with the first course, and we jump apart—or rather, I do, while Cannon watches me from beneath hooded eyes, laughing softly in amusement. The waiter, for his part, just leaves our food, makes sure everything is okay, then bows and exits without a comment about my wig or the nervous, bright red flush that's come over my face.

  "What's the matter?" Cannon asks, once he's gone and we've returned our attention to the food at hand. "I thought you liked getting dirty in public, Ms. Smith." He slides one foot along the inside of my calf, tracing up and down my leg, driving me wild just from that light touch alone.

  My eyelids flutter to half-mast, and it takes all my concentration suddenly not to drop the fork I'm holding in complete distraction at the sensations he's shooting through every nerve in my body. But two can play at this game. I hold his gaze and then take a long, slow, purposeful look around the restaurant. At the same time, I slide my foot up his inner leg, mirroring what he's doing to me. But I go higher, higher, and then I reach down to unhook my stiletto. Let the heel drop to the floor, be
fore I slide my leg along his lap, to inch my toes between his thighs until I feel the telltale hard, thick press of his cock.

  Naturally, he's already rock hard. I love knowing that I can still have that effect on him. Whatever else might happen between us, I always know how to get him excited, whenever and wherever I want.

  So, just for tonight, I try to forget about everything else. About the promises we made each other, about the feelings that I can't help, but sort of hate myself for developing. I forget it all and I just focus on this, on him.

  I trace my foot along the length of his cock, curling my toes around him through his pants. His mouth parts faintly, and his eyes glaze over with that hunger that I enjoy watching happen so much.

  But he's not content to just sit back and let me work. He never is. He has to take control, every time. And as frustrating as that can be sometimes, I won't lie—I love it.

  This time, when he leans forward, he doesn't hesitate. He forces my knees apart and runs a hand between them, straight to my pussy. I'm already wet, but I only realize how much when he begins to stroke my pussy through my panties, and I can feel the wetness coating his fingers even through the fabric.

  "I love how hot you get for me, Ms. Smith," he murmurs.

  "As excited as you get for me," I reply, tilting my foot to drag along the sides of his cock, one after the other.

  "You know what I want to do to you right now?" he asks, his voice low and thrumming with heat.

  "Tell me," I reply, continuing to stroke his cock with my toes. It takes effort, and I’m forced to give up when he pulls his chair around to my side of the table, pressed close against my side. He pushes my panties aside and runs one finger along my slit, between my lips, making my eyes unfocus and my lips part with need.

  "I want to pull you out of that chair, throw these plates to the floor, bend you over this table and fuck you right here, in front of everyone," he murmurs. At the same time, he begins to stroke my pussy faster, not entering me, not yet, but circling my clit with his thumb at the same time that his fingers stroke along my slit.

  My mouth parts, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to remain sitting upright. I grip the edges of the table with both hands.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the waiter looking our way, and I freeze, worried he'll be able to tell what's happening underneath this long tablecloth.

  Cannon doesn't stop, though. He just keeps stroking me, faster, rougher. "Does the thought of that make you hot, Ms. Smith?" he whispers. "The thought of being fucked right here in public, bent over this table, having your dress yanked up around your waist? Exposed to the world..."

  I lick my lips. Try to regain my composure, my self-control. But fuck, it's hard when he's touching me like this. And talking like that. "Yes," I admit in a low whisper. "I like thinking about you taking control." I lean closer, lower my voice to a sultry whisper. "I like it when you take what you want from me, whenever and wherever you want it."

  "And if I want you here?" he murmurs, bending closer across the table. "Now?"

  I lick my lips. Lock eyes with him. "Where do you want me, sir?" I breathe against his cheek.

  He searches my gaze. I wonder if he's checking whether I mean it, whether I'm serious. But he must know me by now. He knows how much I'm up for.

  Finally, his mouth quirks into that dangerous, deadly grin that I love so much. "Bathroom," he murmurs. "I'll meet you there."

  I swallow hard. We're really doing this?

  The movie theater was one thing. It was dark, mostly deserted. Chances of anyone actually seeing us or overhearing us when I was going down on him in the middle of that movie were slim to none. But now, this... The restaurant is pretty empty. People will notice if we both leave the table, and don't come back.

  Then he curls his fingers and pushes one inside me, gently, slowly, an inch at a time. I grind my hips against the chair, against the heel of his hand where it cups my pussy, pressing my clit against his palm, and I decide, fuck it. I don't care. Let's do this.

  "Wait a minute before you join me," I hiss. Then, with a tremendous surge of effort and self-restraint—because my body wants to stay right here, wants to keep his fingers inside my pussy, stroking me until I come—I force myself to stand, smoothing the hem of my dress back down around my thighs as I rise. I flip my shoes back upright under the table, step back into them, and then, with a deep, steadying breath, I stride away across the restaurant. I smile and nod to the waiter as I pass, then duck into the bathroom, heart racing.

  Luckily it's a single stall, one of the big handicapped ones. And surprisingly clean, though I guess that makes sense for a small restaurant out this way.

  I barely have enough time to check my face in the mirror, make sure I still look more put-together and less out of control than I feel, when there's a faint knock at the door.

  I open it just wide enough for Cannon to slip inside and slam it shut behind him again, turning the lock.

  "That was—" I start to say, but he cuts me off by grabbing my face, cupping it between both hands, and pulling me into a searing hot kiss. I forget what I was about to say. I forget about the restaurant, the world outside. I forget about everything but his tongue sliding between my lips, his kiss hungry and desperate and wanting. His hands slide down my hips, grip them and pull me flush against him, and I wrap my arms around his waist, grab for the hem of his shirt, pull it up and aside so that I can push one hand under the waist of his pants and down to grip his ass, hard.

  He walks backwards, keeping me pinned against him, our mouths still locked in the heated kiss, as he shoves one shoulder off my dress off. Only then does he break away from the kiss, and just long enough to shove my bra down and kiss and suck at my nipple, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin while it hardens into a pebble between his lips. I gasp, letting my head fall back, and he takes advantage of my distraction to hoist me onto the sink, perching me on the edge as he continues to lick and suck my breast, his hands sliding down to my waist to hold me in place.

  "Rina," he moans against my skin, and I can't help it. The sound of my name in his deep voice sends a thrill straight through all my nerve endings, a plummeting feeling in my stomach.

  I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist, tugging him closer to me. At the same time, I grab his shirt, begin to undo the buttons as fast as I can, my hands trembling with the combination of adrenaline and the pleasurable sensations that fly through my veins every time he strikes another nerve ending, biting or kissing or licking just the right spot. He kisses his way back up to my collarbone, along it, and then up the side of my jaw. My head falls to one side, and I gasp aloud as his teeth rake across the sensitive spot just below my earlobe, where he always loves to kiss, to drive me wild.

  I push his shirt down his arms, and he pauses in his caresses just long enough to yank his hands out of the sleeves and let it fall to a puddle at his feet. Then he's back, grabbing me around the waist and pinning me against the mirror, my ass arching against the sink, my hips angling toward him. Through the fabric of his pants, I can feel the hard bulge of his cock, and it makes me want to rip those pants off, just to get them out of the way, to get what I want.

  His body, naked, against mine. His cock inside me, filling me. Making me feel closer to him than I ever thought possible. Taking his pleasure from me even as he gives me so much ecstasy in return.

  But he's teasing me tonight. Cannon leans back to study me, his eyes drinking me in while his hands roam from my waist to my ass to grip tightly, pulling me against him. "God, I love watching you get all worked up for me," he murmurs against my neck, his lips grazing my skin as he speaks.

  "You know just how to do it," I breathe against his cheek, even as I run my hands up his back to his broad shoulders to grip tightly, bracing myself between him and the sink.

  "What can I say? You're a fun mark to learn," he murmurs. At the same time, he slides one hand up my skirt again, pushing the fabric until it bunches around
my waist. In one swift motion, he tugs my panties down my thighs, exposing my bare pussy to him. He gazes down at me in appreciation, and I notice his eyebrows rise as he sees. "Did you get waxed for me?" he asks, a sly grin on his face.

  "Maybe," I admit, shifting against the counter, angling myself to grant him a better view. "What do you think?"

  He breathes out sharply, in a sound that's almost a sigh, almost a groan. Then he slides his hand along the plane of my stomach, down to my smooth mound, which he traces with his fingers, exploring me, savoring the smooth, bare skin. "I think it's sexy as hell that you did this for me," he admits, and for a second, our eyes lock, our breaths hitching in sync.

  See. Moments like this. In moments like this, I feel like I glimpse another side of Cannon. A side that's normally hidden behind the miles-high shields he has up around himself, protecting himself. But moments like this, I can see through that into his heart. And there, I get a glimpse of what he really wants.

  And I think, just for one, impossible, magical, insane moment, that that might be me.

  He might want me, just the same way I want him.

  "Rina..."

  Then he breaks his gaze from mine, and the spell shatters, the illusion gone. It's just us in this tiny bathroom again, the heat rising as he draws me against him, pulls me in for another deep kiss, his tongue penetrating my lips, toying with mine, his scent and his unique flavor flooding my senses, while his hands move my legs, fold me up to yank my panties the rest of the way off, and drops them on the floor beside us, before he grips my waist and suddenly flips me around.

  "Let's try something different," he suggests with a sly grin.

  I gasp as he shifts our positions, bending me over the sink in front of him. From this angle, it's easier for him to keep stroking my pussy, spreading my lips and caressing me, his fingers exploring every inch, slowly, maddeningly. I buck against him, and he laughs softly.