The Knocked Up Plan

by Lauren Blakely

  When I open the door, Ruby beats me to it, barking and jumping like a jack-in-the-box. “She’s happy to see you.”

  He strokes her head and whispers sweet dog nothings to her, then meets my gaze. “Are you?”

  “Happy doesn’t even cover it.” I step closer, wrap my arms around his neck, bring my lips to his ear, and say please.

  He groans, drops his bag, kicks the door shut, and heads to the kitchen to wash his hands.

  Bless this man.

  After he dries them, he scoops me up in his strong arms. As soon as we reach my bedroom, he sets me down on the bed, cups my cheeks, and stares into my eyes. “You need to know I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

  My happiness bucket tips over. “It’s been four months.” There’s wonder in my voice.

  He presses his forehead to mine. “Four long, hard months. Wanting you the whole time, too.”

  I whimper. Please, may he end the drought this second. I’m not above begging. I have no shame when it comes to the bottomless pit of desire I possess for Ryder Lockhart. “I haven’t been with anyone, either.” I pull back to meet his eyes. “Unless you count my vibrator.”

  His lips twitch in a grin.

  “But that was only, maybe, fifty times.”

  He arches a brow as he fingers the hem of my skirt. It’s loose and flowy. “Fifty isn’t too bad.”

  “That was just this week,” I say.

  His laugh is deep, and it echoes in my home. It fills my chest. It spreads in me. I want to bottle the sound of his laughter. Play it over and over when I need a pick-me-up. His deep, husky voice is my good drug.

  His tongue is, too.

  He presses a soft kiss to my lips. As his dust mine, he murmurs, “Missed you. Missed this.”

  “Me, too,” I say against his mouth. “So much.”

  His kisses are gentle, but full of need. With his hands on my face, his tender touch tells me he’s longed for this. His husky groans say I’m the only one he wants to kiss. When his tongue slides between my lips and I open for him, my kiss says I’m desperate. I need you.

  Kiss me harder, take me soon, drive me to the edge.

  I moan against his mouth and try to pull him closer, wanting so much more of him. I’m the one who kicks things up another notch until I’m wriggling, panting, dying. It feels like I might die if he doesn’t put his mouth on me everywhere.

  “You eager for something, baby?” he asks, toying with my libido in overdrive.

  I grab his face, his jaw rough with stubble. “Please. Have mercy on the horny pregnant woman.”

  “Define what this mercy entails.”

  “Go. Down. On. Me.”

  See? I’m not afraid to make demands, either. I’m about to dry hump the air if he doesn’t put me out of my misery.

  He scoots me up on my bed, and I sink down on the pillows. He places his big hands on the inside of my thighs, and I quiver. I’m easy. God, I’m so easy right now. It’s possible my panties are already soaked.

  “Are you just worked up, or are you worked up for me?”

  “Don’t torture me. It’s you, Ryder. It’s you. I need your mouth on me. I need you to go down on me. I need you.”

  The noise he makes is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. Carnal and dirty, it’s a rumble from deep within him. I arch my hips, begging for him to bring his face between my thighs.

  He reaches for my panties and removes them in record time. Seriously. That’s just gone down in the record books as the fastest removal of underwear ever, and then . . .

  My world is a blur.

  A white-hot neon haze.

  His lips are on me. His hands spread my legs. His tongue flicks against me. He moans and groans, and murmurs my name in some kind of dirty prayer of lust. My hands grab his head, my fingers slide into his hair.

  And I lose myself.

  I lose the world. I lose my mind.

  This man. His desire. My need. It all smashes together in one radiant moment of erotic bliss. I rock my hips into his face, I curl my hands around his head, I cry and moan and pant, and I fuck him.

  I absolutely fuck his face.

  But it feels like more than fucking.

  It feels like so much more than mere bodies coming together. It feels like he knows me, like I know him, and together we can let go and give in.

  That’s what this is.

  It’s surrender to everything inside my heart.

  As I writhe and moan and thrust and grab, I surrender to how much I need him now, and in my life.

  He gives me everything. His tongue strokes me, his lips kiss me, his mouth consumes me.

  I’m not a difficult one when it comes to coming. Tonight, I’m a piece of cake. I reach zero to sixty in less than three minutes. Everything in me tightens and tightens, and the pleasure coils.

  “Oh God,” I cry out.

  The rest is just sounds. Syllables. Incoherent noises of pleasure as I shatter. I break apart into a thousand, million, infinite diamonds of pleasure. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  When he stops, I’m still buzzing. Electric pulses sweep over me, the remains of my orgasm. The aftershocks of the earthquake he gave me.

  Ryder climbs over me. “I love the way you come. I love making you come. I bet you need another one.”

  My eyes widen, and I nod. I’m ravenous, and will take anything he has to give.

  He kneels between my legs. He drags a finger across me, tracking a slow, torturous line along my wet, soft, aching center, and my hips shoot up. How the hell can I feel this way again? But I do, oh God, I do.

  He thrusts a finger inside me, and I see stars.

  “Ryder,” I moan, and my eyes flutter shut. It’s too much. Too good. Too intense. I’m liquid. I am a molten woman as he strokes a long finger inside me, another one rubbing against my clit.

  “Baby, I feel terrible,” he says with a groan.

  “Why?”

  “Because you need it so badly. I feel fucking terrible that you were this desperate for so long.”

  “I did need it. I need you. Oh God, I need you.”

  I ride his hand to the edge again. I fly off in seconds, coming again, harder, more intense. Deeper. When I open my eyes, he’s stripped down to nothing.

  My mouth waters, and I push myself up in bed. I’m breathless. “What are you doing to me? I don’t even know how I’m alive.”

  “You’re alive and so fucking beautiful,” he says, then reaches for the hem of my shirt and tugs it off me.

  I’m in my bra and skirt, my belly pushing at the elastic waistband.

  I’m not in the least bit sexy. I slide to the edge of the bed, push off my skirt, and unhook my bra.

  He’s standing. His mouth falls open. His cock twitches, and I swear it grows even harder as he gazes at me.

  “Nicole.” His voice is nothing but a dry husk.

  I’m keenly aware this is the first time he’s seen me completely naked since he knocked me up. My body tightens with nerves. I hope he still finds me attractive. I hope my weight gain doesn’t change how he sees me.

  He touches my breasts first. But he doesn’t stay there. He travels down my body, to my belly, to the baby, and he dips his head. He plants the gentlest kiss on my navel. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Whatever tension I felt pours out of me.

  “I am?” I can’t help myself. I need to ask. I’m not some fertility goddess hippy earth mother. I’m a dating and mating columnist in New York City, land of the free, home of the beautiful skinny women. I’m not skinny, and I don’t want to be right now.

  But I want to know that he still wants me.

  “God,” he says, running his hand over my naked stomach. “You’re stunning.” He grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed. “And I have never wanted to fuck you more.”

  I shiver.

  I love that he says fuck. I love that he knows that’s what I need to hear, that he can still want me in the same raw, carnal way.

  He
runs his hand along his hard length, and I shudder.

  I get to have him again. This man I’m crazy for.

  Thirty-Three

  Ryder

  I position her ass at the edge of the bed and open her legs. A groan rattles free as I gaze at the warm paradise I’ve already visited twice tonight. She’s so fucking pretty. So pink, plump, and perfect.

  I can’t get enough of her.

  “Lie back on your elbows,” I tell her, because she’s not the only one who can research the best positions. She leans back, all breasts and belly and beautiful flesh.

  I rub the head of my dick against her, and she stretches her neck and moans to the heavens.

  I push in.

  She takes me easily. So fucking easily. It’s a wet, hot slide into her pussy.

  And it’s fucking magnificent. I shudder when I’m all the way in. I still myself as my skin sizzles. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her. I’ve longed to touch her again. And I swear, it’s as if she’s vibrating with pleasure already. She was wonderfully orgasmic in the first place.

  But now?

  She’s a live wire.

  She doesn’t hold back. She never has. But tonight, she’s a new woman. She rides the edge the entire time. I can see it in the exquisite torture on her face. In the way her mouth falls open. In how her fingers grip the covers as if she’s clutching them for dear life.

  And I hear it in her noises.

  My lovely, gorgeous woman can’t shut up, and pride and desire suffuse me in equal measure as she cries out with every goddamn thrust.

  Every single touch.

  Everything.

  My hands grip her hips as I drive into her, her heat enveloping me. She moans my name.

  I groan. I try to form words. To tell her something dirty. Something filthy. Something to get her even hotter. But my brain is shot. All I can manage is a simple, “Feels so good, baby.”

  “I know,” she says, panting. A bead of sweat slides between her tits. Lucky sweat.

  I run my finger through it, stopping at the top of her bump. I grab her hips again and yank her down even tighter on my cock. I go deeper, and it’s fantastic.

  “Nicole,” I rasp, and that’s all I’ve got. I’m nothing but heat, and sparks, and desire. Pleasure snaps everywhere in me. It bathes my brain. It floods every molecule in my body. I’m where I want to be.

  Not just in her.

  But with her.

  This woman.

  This amazing fucking woman, who’s falling apart beneath me. Who’s unraveling under my touch.

  “Look at me,” I demand.

  Her eyes flutter.

  “Nicole. Look at me.”

  I’m overcome with the need to connect with her.

  She opens her eyes as if it’s the hardest thing to do. She meets my gaze and a surge of pleasure barrels down my spine. Hot and electric—a warning sign. “I want to watch you come again. I want to watch your beautiful face when you fall apart.”

  She grabs the covers and moans my name. It sounds filthy and beautiful at the same fucking time. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be here again. I can’t believe I’m with her once more. And most of all, I can’t imagine being anywhere else but with her.

  “Come with me, baby.” I lean over her, letting go of her hips, pressing my palms on the bed. I’m careful with her, making sure not to crush her, but I need to be closer. “Come with me.”

  She grabs my shoulders, and she’s already there. I see it on her face. In the twist of her features. In the shudder of her shoulders. In the way she trembles. In how she thrusts against me.

  I follow her, and my orgasm seems to last for minutes. It knocks out wires; it fries circuit breakers. It shocks my whole system with pleasure. I’m louder than I’ve ever been as I groan and grunt, and I can’t seem to stop as I find my own release deep inside this woman I have missed wildly.

  I nearly collapse on her, but I remember my manners. I slide to her side, running my hand down her arm. “It’s good to be back here.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “I don’t know how we managed without that,” I say. Only I do know—we’ve never officially been a we, but in some ways, I’ve felt like a we the entire time.

  “I think the constant barfing killed my sex drive for the first several weeks, so we can blame that.”

  “Glad your appetite is back.”

  She nods several times. “Oh, it’s back, and it’s a hungry beast.”

  “I’ll feed it,” I say, and then nip her earlobe.

  She meows.

  My hand drifts to her belly. “Think the baby is okay? Hope I didn’t knock Papaya out of place.”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Men. The baby is just fine. Besides, the baby likes it when the mama is happy.”

  “Orgasms are the key to your happiness. Duly noted.”

  She laughs and whispers something I can’t make out.

  “What did you say?”

  She shakes her head.

  I furrow my brow, doubting her. Or maybe I’m just wishing she’d said I make her happy, too.

  But I’ll take what I can get. I bring her closer, and I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me, but I can’t get enough of her. I smell her hair, running my nose through the lush strands. I cup her breasts, holding them, feeling their weight. They are bigger than before, and I want to spend my time with these beauties, sucking them, biting her nipples, licking the soft, sweet flesh of her breasts. “I think I might be obsessed with your body.”

  “Really?” Her lips curve into a grin.

  “Yeah. Maybe that makes me a freak, but you’ve never been more beautiful.” I sigh happily.

  “I see orgasms fry your brain, too.”

  “I mean it. You’re gorgeous. All your curves. All your bumps. Everything.” I run my hand over her stomach. “Everything about you is perfect.”

  And the moment becomes more perfect when her belly moves against my hand. Like a little roller coaster. A wave.

  “I felt a kick,” I say, in absolute awe. Our child is moving in her body. It feels like a complete and utter miracle, and I get to witness it. She mentioned in her texts that the baby had started kicking, but I didn’t expect him or her to show off for me so soon.

  “Isn’t it incredible?”

  I nod. “Will it kick again?”

  “Maybe.”

  I don’t move my hand from her stomach. I keep my palm curved over her warm flesh, saying nothing, as if silence will recreate this moment. Then it happens, like an alien pushing against me. Another little miracle, and I want to experience every single one with her.

  I kiss Nicole, tender and gentle, full of so much emotion. So much more than I’ve felt before. I am so far gone.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake to find her hands on me. We’re face to face, and her fingers explore my pecs then trail down to my abs. She reaches between my legs. She strokes me, and her breath catches. Mine does, too.

  Gently, I set my hands on her shoulders, and flip her to the other side. I tug her against me, her back to my chest.

  We are spoons.

  We speak wordlessly, with slow touches and tender moans. With her soft wetness and my hard length. And as she pushes her rear against me, she’s telling me more.

  I reach for her knee, nudge it up to her belly, making room to ease into her like this.

  She murmurs as I enter her.

  I do, too.

  In the dark, I make love to her.

  Her soft cries float across the night, mixing with my groans, creating a new harmony of sex and need and want and desire, and most of all, absolute clarity in my heart.

  We might still fuck.

  We might still like it hard, and wild, and dirty.

  But I’m making love to her now, and she’s doing the same to me. The world fragments around us as we come together. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m in love with the mother of my child.

  But I know,
too, that I haven’t a clue if she wants the same things I do.

  Thirty-Four

  Nicole

  In my job, I’ve encountered nearly every topic known to the modern woman. I’ve written about shaving styles (for the record—I’m a landing strip kind of gal), how to politely turn down a pegging request while still maintaining a relationship with the man (fair warning—it’s not easy), and whether ghosting is ever acceptable (people, please. Be adults and use your words).

  But this is a virgin territory I’ve crossed into.

  I’m not sure what to do when you fall in love with your sperm donor.

  I’ve fallen for his tender touch, his huge heart, his protective soul, his quick mind, and most of all, how he takes care of me. He melts me. He makes me weak in the knees. He treats me like a queen.

  In the early pink light of the dawn, with Ryder still sound asleep, I contemplate what I would advise a caller who approached me with this dilemma.

  Hey there! I asked a man to donate his swimmers to make me a baby and guess what? Oops! I fell for him, too.

  Yeah, I’ve got nothing to tell that crazy caller.

  I choose the age-old method of dealing with complicated stuff. I fall back asleep.

  When I wake a little later, I pull on a loose T-shirt, visit the bathroom, brush my teeth, and wander into my kitchen. Ryder stands at the fridge, and Ruby’s curled up in a little dog ball at his feet. She’s not pacing. He must have walked her.

  He took care of my dog. Dear Lord, I’m falling in love in a big way. This is it. I’ve no antibodies to him, and there’s no question I’m feeling all the zings. Oh God, I hope he feels the same. Please, please, let him be zinging, too.

  Ryder’s in jeans and his shirt from last night, and he’s staring at the fridge. When I pad closer, I see he’s not just staring at the door. I’ve hung my various ultrasound pictures to the silvery surface, and he’s studying them. His index finger is poised over my recent twenty-week one, and he’s tracing the outline of the baby’s legs.

  “Hi,” I say, clearing my throat.

  He straightens and then smiles. It’s a sheepish look, as if he’s been caught. “Just checking out Papaya.”