God forgive me for what I’m about to do.
“You know, the more time you spend with someone, the better chance you have of getting pregnant,” I say, hoping she will forgive me someday.
“Is that true?” she whispers, eyes wide.
“Yeah. Your body…learns to trust the other person more. Becomes more…receptive.” I try to look really scientific. “If we’re going to do this, don’t you think we should give ourselves the best odds of conception?”
She sucks in a small breath “I suppose you’re right.”
“We better go on a date.”
“A…date?”
“For the baby.”
Missy nods adorably. I want to wife the hell out of this girl.
“On a totally unrelated note, I’ve got money in the bank. From playing football. I’m just working to stay busy. Stay in shape. I don’t want to sit around and dwell on my injury.” I clear my throat after telling her at least one truth—I am financially comfortable. Not as wealthy as her, but… “Bottom line, I will be able to provide for a family one day.”
Her expression is confused. “Why are you telling me this?”
“No reason,” I say quicky. “Just mentioning it.”
“Oh. Okay.” She rakes her fingertips through my chest hair again, then reluctantly begins to slide off the desk. “I suppose we should get back to work.”
“You’re right.” Does she really not notice my cock is the length and consistency of a jumbo Arizona Iced Tea can right now? “But maybe, since we’re here, we could—”
“I guess I could take five minutes more,” she breathes in a rush. As if she’s hoping for something she doesn’t know enough to name. “What do you have in mind?”
Fuck me. I’m going to hell.
Three
Missy
Oh, thank God he suggested staying in the break room a little longer.
I’ve stopped being afraid of the constant fluttering between my thighs and I’ve begun enjoying it. That tugging melt that makes me wish for…what? I don’t know. Only that I’m confident this big, gruff man can give it to me. Give me relief.
And a baby.
I can’t believe he agreed to get me pregnant. I’m so lucky. I seem to have found someone who understands. Turk is the first person I’ve told about my plans to raise a child on my own and he didn’t scoff or ridicule me. Didn’t tell me I’m too young or that I need a man in my life to care for a baby successfully. He’s non-judgmental and kind—and to quote the girls I used to go to college with, I think he might be hot as shit.
No, I’m positive of it—and because he makes me feel so accepted and safe, I want…more. I want to be touched by him and see how it feels.
Why are the tips of his ears red?
“I was thinking…” He closes his eyes and gives a rapid headshake, as if he’s having a hard time getting the words out. “I could kiss you. If you’re up for it, I mean.”
“I would like that very much,” I murmur, staring at his mouth and trying to figure out how it will fit together with mine. “You have to show me how.”
When did his chest start to rise and fall so fast? “Oh. Okay. Jesus.”
My eyes fly up to meet his. “Is it bad that I’m so green?”
“No, cutie. I’m just, uh…” He stoops forward slightly, looks to be in pain. “The fact that you’re letting me be your first kiss has me a little worked up.”
“Worked up? What does that mean?”
His swallow is audible in the break room. “You know. I’ve got a, uh…”
“Yes?”
“My cock is hard.” He exhales shakily at the ceiling. “Like extra painfully hard.”
“Because I’m a virgin?”
“No. Because you’re you, Missy. You’re sweet and beautiful and pure and for some reason, you’re choosing me to help you…be a lot less pure. And frankly?” His laughter is pained. “My dick is honored. I can barely believe you’re letting me kiss you, let alone take you to bed.”
Take you to bed.
Those words coming out of his mouth cause a flex of my stomach muscles.
Slowly, I let my eyes trail down his mountainous torso and as he mentioned, there is quite a large protuberance tenting the front of his folded down jumpsuit. “Oh…” I’m tingling everywhere. All over. My breasts, my loins, the pulse points of my neck. “If we kiss, will that make it better?”
“No. It’s going to make it worse.” His voice is like black smoke. “I need to do it anyway.”
“I understand,” I manage, feeling hypnotized. Like I’m on the brink of an incredible ride or experience and Turk makes me feel cared for enough to let go. “I’m ready.”
He nods once. Seems to gather himself with several deep breaths. And then his hands close around my hips, squeezing me through my skirt. Dragging upward through the valleys of my sides, his thumbs just barely brushing the curve of my breasts—but that light touch is enough to make me gasp. Make me need to get closer. I wiggle to the very edge of the desk and pull him toward me by the chest hair. All the way until my breasts meet the under curve of his pectorals. We both moan and my head falls back automatically. Neck powerless.