Baby Yours – Hunter & Lennon (Roommate Duet 2)

Holy shit.

Lennon wants this just as badly as I do. Finally.

She pulls me on top of her, eagerly fingering the buttons on my shirt, and when I lean to one side, our mouths part just long enough for me to take it off. I quickly rip off my undershirt too.

We crash together on the bed, Lennon’s leg wraps around my hip as I devour her mouth the way I’ve imagined for the past three years.

“Fuck, Lennon,” I hiss against her when I move my lips down her neck. Then she arches her hips, meeting the hard-on that can’t be missed. “Are you sure about this?” I kiss my way back up to her mouth and pause. “I don’t think I can go back to being your platonic best friend who loves watching Friends and pretends to understand pineapple on pizza anymore.” I blurt out Hayden’s taunting words, of what he’s mocked me for the past year

She laughs, and the sexiest blush hits her cheeks. “I can live with that on one condition.”

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes. “Name it.”

She bites down on her bottom lip as if she’s too nervous to say. “You admit that Ross and Rachel were in fact not broken up.” The way she keeps a straight face has me laughing—shoulders shaking, head falling back laughing.

“You, Lennon Corrigan, are impossible.” I release a dramatic sigh. “But for you, I’m willing to do just about anything. So here goes…” I clear my throat as if I’m about to make the most important announcement of my life. “They were not on a break, and the bastard cheated on the hottest actress in Hollywood.”

Lennon cracks the tiniest of smiles. “That’s not exactly what I said, especially the hottest part, but I’m willing to accept it.”

I look up at the ceiling. “Thank you, God.”

Lennon giggles, and I pull her lips back to mine. It’s hard to be without them knowing how amazing she tastes and how perfect our mouths mold together.

She pulls back with an odd expression, which gives me a mild panic attack before she grins. “Actually, can you excuse me for a second? I need to go to the bathroom first.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She slides out, and that’s when I notice she’s only wearing a T-shirt and the bottom of her ass cheeks are hanging out.

And the willpower not to haul her back to bed should be considered admirable.

Lennon looks over her shoulder as if she knew I’d be staring.

“Don’t start without me now.” The seduction in her voice has me groaning in agony.

As soon as I hear the bathroom door shut, my mind wanders like crazy. Is this really happening? Has she finally decided to give us a chance?

After ten minutes, I start to worry she’s changed her mind.

Another five go by and that’s when I tap my knuckles on the wood. “Lennon?”

I hear some commotion and what sounds like Lennon scrambling. “One sec.”

“Everything okay in there?” When she doesn’t answer, my heart races. “Lennon, open the door.”

I know her well enough to know she’s panicking. With my hand on the knob, I slowly turn it, and she finally opens the door.

She peaks her head out. “Hey. Sorry. I just need a minute.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to read her. Part of me wonders if it has to do with being cleared for sexual activity, but then I remember she had her six week postpartum appointment a few days ago because I stayed home and watched Allie for her.

“Are you okay? You know nothing has to happen tonight, Lennon. I hope you know by now that—”

“It’s not that,” she cuts me off then looks away as if she’s embarrassed to elaborate.

I tilt her chin until her eyes meet mine again. “What is it? Tell me, please.”

She releases a short breath then opens the door wider. “I haven’t shaved in a month.”

I hold back a laugh, trying to be sensitive, but honestly, I wasn’t expecting that answer.

“So you’re not internally freaking out about us right now?” I ask, studying her.

“Well, yes. But I’m also just self-conscious about my body and what you’ll see.” There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, and I hate that she feels this way.

“Why would you ever worry about that? I saw you give birth, remember?” I say, teasingly.

“Hunter!” She playfully swats at me, and I catch her wrist, then pull her closer until she’s pressed against my chest.

“You are beautiful,” I tell her slowly.

Her shoulders fall as she sighs. “You deserve perfection. My stomach looks like lumpy mashed potatoes. My boobs are leaky sand bags. I still have baby weight to lose. My thighs kiss when I walk. My vagina is probably ruined. Not to mention, the stretch marks. They’re hideous.” Her eyes are so sad and serious, I’d do anything to make her feel as gorgeous as I see her every day.