Three Little Words (#dirtysexygeeks Book 4)

by Melissa Blue

  “Then that's what I want. I've been craving the Cinnabons from the mall for the past three days and at this point I'll settle for anything with cinnamon.”

  “Get settled in at the counter and then you can tell me why you're five hours early to the parent interrogation.”

  Chairs lined up along the high counter—all black, but the cushions were round and soft. He headed for the sink. Grease covered his hands, and he attacked that first. His fingers were long, his palms rough...Iris remembered that all too well. She climbed onto the stool and squeezed her thighs together to try and forget.

  “Porter, I have to confess.”

  He straightened from the sink. “Yes?”

  “I actually came by to see the state of your house.”

  “That was a wasted trip.”

  “Yeah.” She glanced around. His house was in better shape than hers at the moment. She had dishes in her sink. Panties and clothes were in the living room because she tended to get undressed as soon as she walked into her front door. “Your place is very clean and nice.”

  “Thanks, I think.” He moved on to a scrub brush to get under his nails.

  She smiled. He was fastidious. Something to add to her list of things she knew about Porter Hicks. “The only other thing we need is to get our stories straight. I didn't tell him the full story.”

  He finally shut off the water. Another moment passed then he looked at her. His face was unreadable. “What did you tell him?”

  The very air felt tense around them, but she could only tell him the truth. “That I was pregnant and the father was Ashley's brother.”

  He pulled a towel from the oven and dried his hands. She could see his mind shifting through her words and picking them apart for every unspoken meaning. “And your father didn't ask anymore probing questions?”

  “I told him the baby was a boy. I have a sister with four girls.”

  Porter folded the towel and placed it on the counter next to the sink. “Men, felled once again by their primitive ego.” He chuckled on his way to the fridge. “One of these centuries...”

  She bit her lip when he laid out buttermilk, eggs, cinnamon and thickly sliced bread. When he dug out a small bottle of vanilla from the cabinet, her brows raised. The quick glance inside proved he was, indeed a neat freak. The kitchen sink didn't have a dish and the counter lacked any dust. White and gray was the color theme in here too—it fit him because on the surface he seemed that simple.

  He began beating the eggs. His beautiful, beautiful forearms flexed with each movement. She gave up on not being aroused by the sight of him. Placing her elbow on the counter, she put her chin in the palm of her hand and enjoyed the hell out of the view.

  “Let’s recap so we’re on the same page,” he said. “You gave him the impression we knew each other for a while, and that we were a couple or used to be one?”

  “I...” She stopped the lie before she could finish it. “Big picture. I’m the baby of the family. Whatever my sister didn't do was left to me. I finished college instead of getting married right out of high school. I received my bachelor’s in business administration. I'm HR but I helped build Temp-to-Tech with Alan. My contacts were the ones who brought in the first customers. I'm not running a Fortune 500, but give me some years and I can build another mecca for tech like Napa or Seattle. I'll be behind the scenes because I do want a life. All of that is great and awesome. I know he’s proud of me for achieving it.” She swallowed. “But...”

  “You don't want to disappoint him,” he finished for her.

  That was the tip of the iceberg, but the salient point. “Yes.”

  He flattened his palms on the counter. “Or you didn’t want to tell him you would be another black man's baby mama?”

  She flinched. It’s not the words she would have used. Wasn’t that her sentiment though? “Porter—”

  “If I married you right now, I wouldn’t love you. Your father would be happier with that because you’re pregnant?” His scoff cut through her. “You and our child will never be homeless, hungry or alone, but it only matters you’re not married to me?”

  How did she keep shoving her foot in her mouth with him? “I doubt he would be happy you don’t love me. He wants the best for me. I want the best for me. I wouldn’t marry you just because I’m pregnant.”

  He pushed off the countertop. She could tell he was doing his best to tamp down his irritation. “You just subtly said some shitty things about your sister getting married out of high school instead of seeking higher education. And...shitty stuff about any unmarried woman with kids. So tell me what you meant. Tell me who you actually wanted to offend.”

  How exactly could she tell him about the pressure put on her from a young age to be...perfect? She was admonished for laughing too loud in her own room with her sister. B grades weren’t good enough. The girls in church who had boyfriends at sixteen were fast. The ones with kids before marriage were pitied and gossiped about. As an adult she worked hard to unlearn those habits, to unpack her judgments—hell her unchecked misogyny, and yet...here she was.

  She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “My father wants me to have what he had with my mother. They loved each other, supported each other so when shit got hard. They weren't ever alone.”

  “But you won't be alone. You'll have me. You'll have Ashley. You'll have my friends. We believe in the whole ‘it takes a village.’ We take that shit quite seriously.”

  She could believe that of Grady. The man wore his heart on his sleeve and his unconventional family was his heart. “If I tell my father that, he'll think I'm blowing smoke up his ass.”

  He turned on the stove, sliding the pan over the open flame. “I can see that. He doesn’t know me or my friends. I can tell my mother to help smooth out any wrinkles. She’s good at that.”

  That was the second time he’d talked about his mother like she was an unstoppable force. “What is with your mother?”

  “She’s...a fighter, and I know she’ll have our back no matter what.”

  Our back. He’d made them a unit in his mind already. She rolled her shoulders to shake off the weight of that. “So your advice,” she said slowly, “is that I tell the unvarnished truth?”

  He threw in some butter into the pan. It sizzled, and her stomach growled at the rich scent filling the room. He glanced at her at the sound and then focused on the food again. “What's there to be ashamed about? I used a condom. It broke. You were on birth control. That too failed. Our son wanted to be here. End of story.”

  Sounded simple. She knew it wouldn’t be. “And us?”

  “We're doing our best to be good parents.”

  Methodically he dipped the bread into the batter and dropped them into the pan. She closed her eyes and just breathed in the smell of cinnamon and egg. The tension pounding in the back of her head didn’t ebb, but her focus shifted. “Make at least four pieces for me.”

  His shoulders went up and stayed tight. “Are you fine with telling your father we’re co-partents? If we lie to him, we have to lie to my mama and everyone else.”

  Her hunger ebbed at the weight of her reality. This was her life. It wasn’t anything she’d planned or could have dreamed up in her worst nightmares.

  She looked at him, her stomach twisting. The easy way involved embracing the lie. Her father wouldn’t be happy, but things wouldn’t implode.

  But could she ask that of Porter? Wouldn’t the lie eventually blow up in their faces? Untruths always came to the light. Look at what happened with Porter. Iris had decided to not mention anything to Ashley. Her first excuse had been to not create drama for her friend, not while Ashley was off on her honeymoon. When Ashley came back from Hawaii, Iris had convinced herself her friend didn’t need to know at all. It was a fling. She hadn’t given Porter her number, and he hadn’t hunted her down.

  Little did Iris know she’d have a souvenir of their one night that took nine months to show up.

  She pushed her shoulders back
. “I'm a grown up. Screw what he might think of our situation.” She tried that on. All she could see in her mind’s eye was her father’s angry face and his balled fist banging against a table like he was trying to pound away all the ugliness inside her.

  Porter watched her then shook his head. “You don’t believe that. Let me know what you decide,” is all he said.

  She tilted her head. “What did you tell your mother?”

  “I got a woman pregnant. She reminded me of the type of father I didn't want to be and then sent me a link to every baby naming site there is.” He dropped in the fourth piece of bread to fry in the butter. “Though she let me know Giselle was a pretty name for a girl.”

  She imagined her father saying that. Iris swallowed down the sudden bitter taste in her mouth. “What did she suggest for a boy?”

  He threw a grin over his shoulder. “Junior.”

  “She did not.”

  “Porter is a good, strong name. Throwing that out into the ether.” He moved over to the cabinet again and took down a plate. “Want some fruit? Water, or orange juice?”

  “Whatever fruit you have and water is fine.”

  He threw some blueberries and sliced cantaloupe into a bowl before bringing her everything. He turned right back around to clean the mess he'd made.

  Funny, he shared that quality with her dad, yet Iris’s fingernails weren’t digging into her palms watching him. “Clearly you’re not in the mood for French toast. What are you going to eat?”

  “Already ate.”

  She stopped and took in her plate. She'd crashed his place, wanting him to lie to her father and by proxy his mother and friends, and he’d fed her without complaint.

  She swirled another piece of the bread in syrup while that settled on her. “Is this what Ashley means when she says you're not a bad guy?”

  “I've been a hardass to her since the day she was born.”

  That was probably half-true and half a lie. Iris no longer doubted how much he loved his sister. “She loves you, Porter.”

  “Despite my better judgment, I wouldn’t trade her for anyone else. Having a sibling is an affliction.”

  She drowned her next bite in syrup and groaned after chewing it. “I promise to not tell a soul you can cook this good.”

  He folded the towel and hung it over the sink. “I remember that moan.”

  She put her fork down, no longer hungry for food. A chastisement should have come next. They weren’t supposed to venture into territory that complicated the complicated, but she could remember the way he groaned, how wet that simple sound made her.

  “I think I’m done eating.” He put out his hand for her plate, and she waved him away, sliding from the chair. “My hands still work just fine. Or are you one of those people who must do it yourself so you know it’s done right?”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the sink. “Since I refuse to cook for the guys, I’m always stuck cleaning. You go right ahead.”

  She breathed. The tense moment had passed. “By the way, what were you doing up this early?”

  “I had to get started on the chicken. I marinated the steaks last night, but the rest needed to thaw.” He paused, frowning at her. “What?”

  She turned on the water. He remained only a foot away from her. She was not going to linger on that. “I’m just thinking of how wide my ass is going to get if I keep letting you feed me.”

  Without fail, his gaze dropped to her hips. “Iris...”

  “Stop looking at my ass, Porter.”

  “Once again I have to wonder, why did you ask if you didn’t want me to react in a predictable way.”

  That was one hell of a question. The unfortunate truth was she’d wanted him to check her out. Again. She wanted her skin to feel tight, and for her sex to get all achy. “I’m hormonal and feeling very unsexy.”

  “That’s it?”

  Fuck, no. She plucked the towel from the edge of the counter to dry her dishes.

  “What more do you want, Iris?”

  “A nap,” she said. It was partly the truth. The carb overload had settled on her limbs and weighed them.

  “Vigorous activity helps the sleep cycle.”

  “Did you really just say that?”

  He slipped behind her and rested his hands on her waist. “I will recite any and all bullshit theories if that means I get to touch you.”

  She placed her hands on the sink and tried to ignore how good he felt spooned against her. His mouth brushed her nape, and it felt like they breathed in unison with the next inhalation.

  “And,” Porter said, his voice rough and low, “if we’re lying about our relationship, I want to know how far are we going to prove it?”

  “I feel like we should tell the truth now.”

  His low chuckle did wonderful things to her insides. “Wuss.”

  She turned around. He was so close and smiling at her, mischief damn near a gleam in his eyes. “Egging me on now?”

  He cupped her face. “Tell me you don’t want to fuck me, and I’ll pretend like your ass isn’t perfect.”

  Her heart did a somersault while her gaze went to his mouth. “Porter, co-parents don’t screw each other.”

  “Bullshit. What else you got?”

  She licked her top lip and wished his taste was already imprinted there. “I have to think about the health of our son. I’ve been tested for everything, given a clean bill of health, and now I have a baby bump to ward off men.”

  He dipped his head and brushed his mouth along hers. She moaned. He tasted like she’d remembered—crisp, male, and so damn good.

  His thumb traced the pulse in her neck. “You were my last bed partner.”

  The words barely penetrated. He was so close. They were breathing the same air. God, she ached. Iris didn’t mean to nip his bottom lip, but it was right there tempting her. She closed her teeth on the plump flesh. How many times had she’d done that exact thing the night they’d spent together? Too many to count. He had lips that deserved teeth imprints. A mouth that needed to be swollen and sensitive to the lightest touch.

  Her touch.

  Iris grazed her tongue over his bottom lip because the scent of oil and man and Porter needed to be tasted. She’d stop once she got her fill. Wanting him, wanting something like this hurt. She’d ignored the way her bones seemed to grind together. The only time she indulged the need for something sweaty and raw was in her bed, at night. Alone.

  His tongue slid along hers. Iris told herself she’d quit when she needed air. It had just been so long, and he kissed so good. She forgot her head spun, her heart kicked, and her sex clenched every time he licked into her mouth.

  He grazed his knuckles down her chest. She’d stop after he touched her clit. Just once. That’s probably all she needed to come anyway. Probably not even that. All he needed to do was scraped his fingernails over the damp spot in her panties.

  That thought pounded into her, and she couldn’t remember why they shouldn’t fuck and fuck hard. The throb hardening her nipples only got stronger when he tugged at the tips. He groaned and cupped her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her nipples in slow swipes.

  Porter only had to say panties and she’d come.

  When had her breasts become this sensitive? She lifted to the tips of her toes and gripped the nape of his neck to keep his mouth on hers. It had been too, too long if a kiss, a grope felt this potent. His thumbs were rough and perfect teasing her nipples. His mouth something to worship. It wasn’t nearly enough.

  With her free hand, she guided his under her dress. He nipped her mouth but needed no further direction to slip his hand into her panties. She cried out, and shuddered from the intensity of his touch.

  He tore his mouth from hers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

  She moaned in frustration until he sucked her neck. Her fingernails dug into the taut skin of his nape. He uttered no complaint. Better, he slipped one finger inside her. Her head fell back.

  “More,” she
panted.

  And that’s what he gave her. Took him only a minute to work up to three and fuck her with his fingers. It was stupid and reckless to let him touch her like this again, but she was starving for touch, to come without aid of a toy.

  Why hadn’t she let him do this to her weeks ago?

  But who cared? Porter was using that wonderful mouth now. His fingers were slick with her pussy juice as he curled his fingers, stroking her blind. She dug her nails deeper and threw her head back to let out the scream building in her throat. His mouth found hers again in time to swallow his name. Heat singed her scalp, flushing every inch of her. The tremble started in her knees. She clung to him, his breath heavy against her cheek now.

  Iris saw stars. She thought that shit was a myth.

  Finally, when her heart tried to steady, their gazes clashed. His was dark, hungry for more.

  A smile tugged at his mouth, though his fingers stayed buried inside her. “That escalated.”

  It escalated because he’d breathed on her, and she jumped him. She swallowed then pushed him back. Her skin pebbled with goose flesh at the rush of air along her nipples.

  Still...Iris wanted more. She wanted that flash of heat harder, deeper. She pushed him again until he stood three feet away from her. It was the only way to keep from jumping him again.

  Iris fixed her dress, refusing to look him in the eye just yet. “I wasn’t thinking,” she said and had to swallow again when she caught sight of the erection pressing against his shorts. “And now I’m sure more than ever we shouldn’t lie about being in a relationship.”

  He adjusted his shorts then scoffed. “How about we come back to this conversation when I can no longer smell your pussy on my hands?”

  Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

  Holmes + Watson

  Porter said. “My room’s the first door on the left. Can’t miss the bathroom door once you’re in there.”

  She gripped her duffle bag and gave him a tight smile. “You don’t mind me being in your space?”

  Porter had had his hand up her dress no more than fifteen minutes ago and she was worried she’d be in his personal space? He bit out, “Iris, it’s fine.”