Abby moans my name.
And I growl, “Christ, you feel good.”
Three pumps later, the small non-pickled portion of my brain wakes up and kicks me. Pointing out just why Abby feels so damn good.
It’s because I’m not wearing a condom.
Shit.
And she’s not on the pill—it gives her migraines.
Double shit.
I freeze.
“Wait,” I pant, raking in air to my starving lungs. “Wait, wait, fuck, wait . . .”
But her hips buck and a sob breaks from her like I’ve broken her heart.
“No, don’t stop.”
I grasp her thigh, holding her still.
“I need to get a condom, love.” I lean over her, kissing deep and stroking with my tongue, promising, “Then I’ll come back here and fuck you into oblivion, I swear.”
Abby stares into my eyes—and her green orbs are clearer, heated yes, but conscious and aware of what she’s about to say.
“I don’t want you to get a condom. I want to know how it feels . . .”
She squeezes her pussy deliberately, clamping down hard like she’s trying to trap me inside.
Her hips lift slowly, rotating and rubbing against me. And her words are liquid silver, nitroglycerin temptation.
“Don’t you want to feel it with me, Tommy? Just you and me and nothing in our way?”
I laugh. Painfully.
It’s ridiculous question—asking a man if he wants to go raw is like the grand-prize jackpot of fucking. No one in his right mind, or not, would say no.
But still, I run my thumb over her cheek and draw her eyes to mine. Because I have to know she means it, that this is what she wants. I need to know she’s certain now and she’ll still be certain tomorrow.
It’ll break us if she’s not.
“Are you sure?”
Abby bites her lip—a tantalizing sex goddess who owns me in every way. Keeping my gaze, she drags her hips up and down slowly, hugging my cock in a scorching embrace and rubbing her clit against my pelvis.
“I’m sure.”
I climb up her body, spreading her hips wide and driving into her hard.
Abby lays back with a sigh and a smile on her perfect fucking mouth. Her eyes are closed, her arms are raised and her hips are high—giving herself over completely to the pleasure.
Completely to me.
I ride her just like that for several moments, pumping steadily in and out—relishing the feel of her and the scent of sweat and sex that rises up between us. Loving how her beautiful tits sway in time to my movements.
I look down where my cock stretches her tight, slick flesh—and I love that too.
And too soon that exquisite pressure coils tight, building low and surging, making my balls heavy and my blood hot.
I rise up to my knees and my fingers dig into Abby’s hips, yanking her to me as I thrust forward again and again. The obscene wet slap of our skin echoes in the room, mingling with gasps and moans.
“I’m going to come,” I groan. “I’m going to fucking come so hard.”
And Abby’s right there with me—writhing and reaching for me. Keening, jagged pleas pour from her lips, driving me mad.
Yes, come.
Yes, inside.
Let me feel it.
Please, Tommy, please.
Please, please, please . . .
Her words are wild, filthy, gorgeous rasps, and I can’t hold back.
I jerk her to me one last time, and then I’m spilling and pulsing inside her, my body strung tight. She comes at the same time, and I can feel every beautiful bit of it around my cock—each spasm and sweet contraction of her roiling release.
Later, in the bed, we go at it again.
It’s lazier the second time around, less frantic but still intense.
And when Abby slides up over me, straddling my waist, I can see my come glistening on her thighs. When she sinks down on me and I feel her filled and sticky wet from me—it’s the hottest fucking moment of my life.
We fall asleep meshed together, with her splayed across my chest and my arms holding her. And everything is right and perfect in the world.
Until five weeks later . . . when Abby wakes up puking her guts out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Abby
STUPID, STUPID, SO DAMN STUPID.
That’s the mantra that repeats in my head as I set the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter with shaking hands. Tommy went out to purchase it early this morning—right after I woke up sick and retching and we looked at each other and thought the same thought at exactly the same moment.
That night. That wild, beautiful, stupid night that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
And I may have a whole other reason to remember it now.
I was so close, I was almost done. Well, not really—even after surgical residency there are years to still prove yourself, specialized instruction and training to be considered the top in the field, but still . . . how could I have been so stupid?
The answer is simple. Happiness makes you careless. Joy breeds recklessness. When everything is good and wonderful, it’s so easy to slip into the illusion that it will always be that way. That nothing could possibly go awry.