Little Secrets:Unexpectedly Pregnant

She was on the brink now, so close. And so was he. Unable to resist, Tyce pushed himself between her legs, sliding into her hot tight channel, keeping her legs together so that she didn’t put any more pressure on her coccyx and bruises than necessary. She was hot and tight and he couldn’t move the way he wanted to but he’d deal. He was inside Sage and he’d stepped into heaven.

Sage moaned and he gently thrust against her, short shallow strokes that were more erotic than he believed possible. Tyce rested his elbows on cushions next to her head. He cradled her face and kissed her, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips.

He felt Sage’s breath quicken, felt her tremble and then felt the gush of warmth against him, the tightening of her internal walls. That was all he needed and he tensed as pleasure rocketed through him. He groaned into Sage’s mouth and then again, holding her tight as tremors passed from her body to his, his to hers.

While his brain and body patched itself back together, he stroked Sage’s glorious frame and dropped gentle kisses on her mouth, her cheekbone, her jaw. His hand stopped when it reached her stomach and his big hand covered most of her slight bump.

His. The thought came from his heart and skittered through his body. The baby was his and so was she. Somehow, in whatever form they took, and on some level they would always be his.

* * *

The next morning, Sage stood in her shower and lifted her face up to receive a blast of hot water. She ached in places she didn’t know she had, good places, places that had been long neglected. Her body felt like she’d spent the day at a spa, loose and relaxed.

Her mind felt like a turtle trying to walk through peanut butter.

Sage placed her hands on the wall of the shower cubicle and watched the water swirl around the drain. What were the implications of making love with Tyce? Was it a once-off thing? What did any of it, all of it, mean?

Sage closed her eyes in frustration and slapped her hand against the white tiles. What had happened to her ordered, calm life? Three months ago she felt calm and in charge and one night—one night!—with Latimore flipped everything around.

Tyce was an amazing lover, but he was also a good man. Good seemed like a bland word but Sage thought it was underused and misunderstood. Good didn’t mean rich or good-looking; it meant that someone was prepared to do the right thing, the honorable thing, to take the path less traveled, even if it flew in the face of convention. Good, to her, meant that he was responsible, honorable and honest.

She liked him...

Sage sighed. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed his company out of the bedroom. She spoke more than he did but, over these past few days, Tyce held up his end of the conversation. They’d discussed movies and politics, books and, of course, art. Actually, they’d argued about art... Tyce, surprisingly, had a fondness for the Dutch Golden Age of painting, artists like Hals and van Baburen, and Sage preferred art from the twentieth century.

But whether they were talking art or music, spending time with Tyce was...fun. Stimulating and relaxing at the same time. She felt she could say anything to him and he wouldn’t judge her. Connor was like that and Sage was reminded of how much alike they were. Strong, alpha, honorable men. Honest men...about everything. Including their antipathy toward relationships and commitment.

Like before, Tyce tempted her to open up, to give him more, to delve beneath the surface of her armor. That was still a very dangerous path to walk down and she couldn’t allow herself to take it. She could not drop her shields and let him into her heart. That way lay hurt, disappointment and madness. Tyce had the power, like nobody she’d ever encountered before, to turn her life upside down. Loving and then losing him would devastate her and having to interact with him as they raised a child together would be like trying to dodge asteroid strikes while walking through the last level of hell.

Frankly, that scenario was best to be avoided. If she was smart she’d say thanks for the fun time and push him out of her apartment and her life. She’d done it with other men, not many, and she could do it with Tyce. But she didn’t want to. She wanted more sex, more conversations and yes, she thought as her stomach growled, more of his fabulous cooking.