by Kira Graham
“Stop thinking so hard. You’re keeping me awake on a Saturday sleep-in.”
“I’m not thinking anything. And stop blaming this on me. You wake up at five every single morning, no matter what,” I grump, reminding him of all those mornings when he woke me up at the ass-crack of dawn, completely ignoring my hangovers.
“I’m trying to change that.”
“Since when?” I snort, my stomach heaving when I twist to my side.
The sudden wave of nausea makes me pause abruptly and blink, my breath stalling when I think about why that may be. Oh, God. I can’t be pregnant, can I? No. Don’t be stupid, Tee. You got inseminated last week. It’s too soon to be knocked up, I tell myself, sweating as I breathe out with relief and frown.
But I feel awful, I realize, and, unlike on most Saturday mornings since I turned nineteen and started using my fake ID at clubs, this isn’t a hangover talking. Shit. I can’t get sick now. Payne warned me to be completely healthy and do everything in my power to stay that way throughout this process.
“Since recently, when someone started keeping me up till two in the morning stealing my money,” he mutters.
“It’s not my fault you suck at poker,” I sneer at him offhandedly, my brow still furrowed when the nausea disappears as fast as it arrived.
“You cheat.”
I totally do, but I’m not about to admit that and lose the two grand I got off him, just to be decent. If he wanted to play with a decent person, he shouldn’t have come over.
“You’re just pissed ’cause you lost,” I trill, my head clearing enough that I roll out of bed before I do something stupid like cuddle into his back.
Which I want to do—so badly, it hurts. I’ve woken up lots of mornings with my face against his back, the smooth skin pressing into my cheek and the heat of his body keeping me warm. Ares sleeps like a corpse, hardly moving, while I sleep like I’m engaging in a contact sport. We usually end up with me all over him, which is a good thing to my way of thinking, because at least I’m sleeping now.
I won’t examine just why I sleep better with this butthead in my bed, but I do. As for hating him a little—well, that hasn’t changed, but no one ever said that you have to love someone to want them. In every way. If it’s eluding you, I mean sexually. Give me a break, though! I have enough hormones swimming through my body to make Mother Teresa crave an orgasm!
“Where you going?” Ares yells out when I open my door and pad to the kitchen.
“Coffee and breakfast!” I yell, my mouth ticking into a grin when I hear more than one pair of feet hit the floor and then scramble out into the kitchen.
Ares practically tackles me, lifting me up and swinging me away from the stove, while a still sleepy-eyed Grange grumbles and makes his way over in a pair of low-hanging sweats and a set of abs that make my already unsteady hormones sit up and take notice!
God, I really need sex!
Nate and Ares are no better. Ares is wearing a pair of tight black boxers that don’t hide a thing, and Nate is in his usual loose basketball shorts, lounging back on a stool while sleepily rubbing at his pecs.
It’s indecent to want to jump these men and do all the things that I wish I could do to them, and I think that Nate catches on, because his mouth crooks into a wicked grin, and he waggles his eyebrows at me.
“You’re hot, sweet cheeks, but do not ever go near that stove again,” he drawls, his teasing snapping me out of my lust-filled eyeballing.
“That happened one time!”
“You almost set the kitchen on fire! And then you made us eat the food.”
“The eggs weren’t that bad,” I argue, giggling when Ares shudders and hands Grange a carton of eggs.
“They weren’t eggs. They were powdered egg whites that came out of a box. Basically, poison,” Ares mumbles, his eyes blinking sleepily when he takes the seat beside me and stretches his legs out beneath the kitchen table.
“I don’t get it. Sin says they’re super healthy and easy to make.”
“Face it, honey, you can’t cook for shit,” Nate teases, smiling softly when I huff and rise to make myself some tea.
I hate tea. I despise the stuff, and if I knew who’d discovered it and decided to flog it as a healthy drink for pregnant or soon-to-be pregnant ladies, I’d find a way to go back in time, hunt that person down like a dog, and then kill him—or her—slowly. I drink it now, though, and as I boil the water and pour coffee for the guys, I avoid Ares and his narrowed eyes. Usually, he’s out the door by five-thirty, so I don’t have to suffer his stares and suspicion while I drink a beverage that he knows I hate.
“I can cook. I cook better than Honey.”
They all shudder and agree wholeheartedly, and then start a discussion about the doozies that my aunt has produced over the last year and a half.
“Remember when she made the duck?” Grange chuckles, while frying bacon, cooking eggs, and flipping pancakes.
Technically, I shouldn’t be eating any of that, but it smells so good that I don’t think I can control myself.
“Remember? I had to go to the hospital,” Nate snarls, his shudders turning into a snort when I whine out a giggle and slap a hand over my mouth.
Oh, I remember. I had to go with him, seeing as how he was lead on my detail that day, and I spent hours sitting against the wall outside—because he refused to close the door and be separated from me—listening to him shit liquid while he hurled into the bucket that I use to soak my period panties.
It was as funny as hell, and awful. I’ve been there.
“What about when she made that Thanksgiving spread?” Ares asks, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head because he’s laughing so hard.
I shudder strongly now because I had to eat some of that food after I lost a bet to Rosetta, and I didn’t get to puke it all up the way Grange did. Because I don’t puke. True story. I wonder how I’ll manage that if I get pregnant? I wonder, my mind wandering off while the guys keep laughing and swapping “Honey almost killed me” stories.
“Yo! Sweet cheeks! You awake?” Nate asks, snapping me out of my musings when Grange sets a plate down in front of me.
It’s piled high with bacon, two eggs, and pancakes so fluffy that Sin would kill him if I ever told her. She’s territorial when it comes to her place in the family, and that place is about cooking. She even cooks better than Lovey, the Harts’ mom, which is saying a lot, because that woman can cook. Grange, though, he’s another story entirely.
“You still flirting with the good doctor?” I ask, when everyone is seated and eating.
Grange grunts, but his smirk is positively predatory, telling me that he’s more than just a pretty face. The man is into Doc Payne like no one’s business, and from the way he’s been steering clear of other women, it’s clear that he means business when it comes to her.
“If that’s what you call meeting your soul mate, then sure. She’ll come around,” he says with a cocky smile that makes me believe she will.
“You stalking that poor chick?” Nate asks with a laugh, dodging Grange’s fist.
“Wooing. It’s not stalking if you intend to spend the rest of your life loving someone, asshole. What’s up with you and the therapist?”
Nate grunts, but I see a grimace pulling at his mouth until he sighs and grabs his coffee mug, leaning back into his seat.
“I stopped dating her a while back, but I didn’t tell anyone. That shit with Mindy took me by surprise, and instead of leading her on, I thought that I should just take a step back and think things through. Fortunately for me, I didn’t decide to get back together with that crazy bitch. I did, however, lose my chance at something more with Doc. She kicked my ass to the curb.”
“Sucks to be you,” I grumble, sticking out my tongue when he huffs. “No woman, no matter how hot a guy is, wants to be treated like an afterthought. ‘Oh, sorry, I just need some time to think about some other chick I used to date,’” I mock, not giving a shit if Nate’s feelings get
hurt.
I love the man, but seriously: either shit or get off the damn pot. I say good for this therapist, who decided that she was worth more than waiting around on some man. If Ares—
Oh, hell, no! Ares nothing, I hiss at whatever screw just came loose in my brain. We are not an item. You don’t think in those terms.
“You’re completely right. Which is why I sent her flowers and an apology note, and walked away without a fight,” he tells me, shaking his head when Ares tries to defend him. “Nah, man. They’re both right. I messed up. I screwed with a good thing because Mindy batted her eyes at me and got my dick hard. Next time I meet someone worth knowing, I’m going to work harder and prove that she’s worth it.”
“Good for you,” I say softly, slapping his hand away when he reaches for my bacon. “I will cut you.”
“Come on! Grange is a miser with the pig. Just one piece?”
“Did I say I’d cut you, Nate, oh honey bear? I meant I’ll cut into you and then rip out your guts,” I say sweetly, meaning it.
No one should steal another person’s bacon and expect to live. It’s more than a crime. It’s a sin.
The rest of breakfast passes that way, with us all ribbing each other and Nate somehow stealthily reaching towards my plate and then eventually acquiring himself some extra bacon.
I hope it’s worth the fork marks he now has on his hand.
After that, Grange leaves, Nate goes out for a run, and I’m left alone with two guards outside the door and Ares, who’s apparently decided that lazy Saturdays are our thing now. It’s while we’re lazing on the couch and watching old episodes of The Middle that I look over at him.
Which is a mistake. My hormones are all over the place, he’s a dick, and I am not supposed to be having sex right now. But then he turns to look at me, and takes in what I think may be the crazy lust pouring off me, and before I know it, his lips crash down on mine, and I find myself on my back, his hips between my legs while he kisses the spit out of me.
“We shouldn’t—” I gasp after he’s kissed me breathless and rips his mouth away for air, my mind and body screaming conflicting messages that turn into a moan of absolute agreement when Ares presses himself into me and rotates his hips, hitting me in exactly the right spot.
“We need to. I can’t take another moment of this tension, Tee. I want you so bad, my cock won’t go down,” he snarls, his mouth landing on mine before I can protest.
Not that I was going to, because…oh, my God.
“There!” I scream, my clit pulsing to roaring life when he reaches a hand down into my pants and slips his finger against my slit, wiggling it until he’s cupping my sex and grinding the heel of his palm into me.
It feels so good that I moan, loudly, and almost come on the spot. My body is a raging inferno of lust, my sex so empty and needy that I moan again and writhe closer, ready and willing to ignore how embarrassingly wet I already am from two seconds of finger play.
“Jesus, woman. You’re already so wet,” Ares groans, dropping his head to my chest when I pant and reach down to push his hand lower.
I like foreplay. Hell, the only time I’ve ever had full-on sex is with this man, and I know he’s awesome at foreplay, but right now, I am not playing. I need.
“Ares.”
“Shhh, just give me a moment,” he groans, his mouth curling around one nipple through my shirt while his hand slips lower, and I feel two thick fingers thrust into me.
The fullness is so good that I tighten, little spasms bleeding from my clit and clamping down onto his digits. I want him inside me, I think, blind with lust as I wriggle out of my shorts and panties, leaving them around my knees as I spread my legs more widely and push myself up.
My eyes nearly cross when he starts to move that hand, and I stop breathing entirely when he reaches more deeply and crooks his fingers at the same time that he bites down on my nipple. Stars explode behind my lids, and I bow up, screaming silently when he lunges down and attaches his mouth to my still throbbing sex. This isn’t pleasure, I think, as I convulse and come so hard that it almost hurts. This is magic, and I need more.
Ares gives me more, suctioning his mouth at my sex and licking and laving his tongue so thoroughly against my sensitive flesh that I groan again and pull him closer, rubbing myself all over his face.
“Ummm,” he groans, pulling back when I’m so close again that I could scream, his chin and mouth wet with my come.
It’s as erotic as heck when he uses his hand to swipe at his chin, and then I pant as he slowly licks his hand, his eyes burning into mine.
“Tastes good, Angry Girl.”
“Ares.”
“I bet you’re going to taste even better after I’ve fucked you,” he snarls, ripping at his own clothes until he’s naked and kneeling over me like a god who’s claiming a sacrifice.
I almost laugh at the comparison, but it’s true, and he proves it even further when he grasps the backs of my thighs, hauls my bottom into his lap, and presses into me, all while keeping his eyes locked between my legs.
Jeeeesus.
“Ahhhh.”
I can’t help letting out the muffled screech any more than I can stop myself from grasping his shoulders and digging my nails deeply into his skin. Ares is not small, and the way that he’s penetrating me in this position, with my body tilted and open for him, allows me to feel him sliding in so deeply that it nearly hurts.
“Fuuuck,” he groans when he’s all in, the copious moisture flowing from me easing his way as he pulls out again and presses back—not hard, not fast, but in a way that lets me know that I am fully claimed.
The thought turns me on, as does the grimace that flits across his face before he falls forward, shoves my legs back all the way, and starts to pound me with enough force to shake the couch and move it with every thrust.
I’m going to come again. I can feel it coming as Ares loses control and starts to fuck me harder, his every thrust slamming him into a spot inside me that makes me want to scream ecstatically. It’s too much, and I start to panic. Too full. Too deep. Too strong.
“That’s it. I can feel you tightening up, Tee. Let it go. I want to feel you suck me deeper,” he snarls, the sound turning into a groan when I grab hold of him and lose myself, pressing up to meet every hard, pounding thrust.
We’re sweating, covered in my juices where his groin meets mine, and I relish the slapping sound of skin as he doubles me over and leans in to lock his lips to mine, his tongue plunging desperately in rhythm with his thrusts.
I feel myself coil, go tight inside, and then explode, when his next thrust turns into a twist, grinding him into my clit. I detonate and fly apart, my body going tight and then releasing so hard that I feel almost lost. He goes with me, and I feel him tense as I go limp beneath him, his own growl of release joining my moan when another, smaller shockwave hits me.
It should be awkward, and God, I feel myself gearing up to tense up and deal with things, with reality, when a soft lick and a nuzzle have me prying my eyes open to stare down at where he’s licking the skin just above my breasts, a naughty glint in his eye.
“Round one.”
Chapter Eight
Tee
“What?”
I croak the word at Dr. Payne, my heart beating hard and fast as her statement settles in and bursts into my consciousness.
“I said congratulations, Tee. You’re pregnant. Exactly four weeks, to be precise,” she says with a smile, her kind eyes twinkling until I do something that I have never, ever done in my miserable life.
I burst into tears so hard that my head swims. While the feeling gets worse, and I approach the point of no return, I have the unholy thought that—
“Welcome back,” I hear, when I blink my eyes open and find Dr. Payne staring down at me, her eyes no longer twinkling because they’re filled with concern.
I’m lying on her exam table while she bends over me, and when I blink to clear my vision, I see Nate standing
on the other side, his face filled with concern as well.
Oh, God. Oh, my God. This is bad, I think, hysteria filling me as the reality hits. I’m pregnant. Definitely pregnant, and while that isn’t bad news, it makes things complicated because…
I slept with Ares, and have been sleeping with Ares for the last four weeks, that first time unprotected because I am an idiot. A complete and utter idiot! After that slip, I wised up fast and insisted on condoms, my mind going far enough to make me behave responsibly, even if it didn’t scream the word no when it came to sex with Ares in the first place. Like it should have. It should have told me that boning the man while trying to conceive my cousin’s and her fiancé’s baby wasn’t a good idea.
I think that my vagina may have been doing the talking on that score, and worse, my feelings were directing the bitch.
“Tee?” Dr. Payne asks when I gulp, after a long moment of silence has passed.
She looks down at me with more than a little concern, and she frowns when I sniffle, the magnitude of the situation’s fucked-up-itude nearly choking me. Whose baby is this? I wonder, terror and remorse filling me, because the question is a valid one. Is there a way for me to find out and be sure? What if I tell Sin that I’m having her baby, and then it turns out to be…?
Just the thought of doing that to her makes my hands curl into tight fists, as sweat beads on my brow and horror fills me. Sin wants a baby so badly. She’s so excited that every time she calls me, she bursts out with one question: “Did you do it yet?” I never answer her; instead, I cackle and tell her that I’m not telling, enjoying her frustration as well as sticking to the brief that we decided on three months ago. But now…
Jesus. Please. Please help me out here, I plead, praying for the first time in what must be a decade. Not that I don’t believe in God or Jesus, ’cause I do, but I figure that they know me intimately, that they can see and hear everything I do, and that praying is a moot point because if they want to help me, they will.
Shit!
“Tee?” the doc asks again, this time helping me to sit up as she checks my pulse and shines a light in my eyes. “Talk to me, babe. What’s up? Are you in shock? I can assure you that this is a very natural response. A lot of first-time mothers and surrogates think that they know how they’ll feel when they get that positive result, only to freak out when it happens. You’re okay. Just breathe deeply and try to calm down,” she says gently, her eyes going over my shoulder to Nate when I shudder and do the unthinkable.